Classic Poem

I.

Am I awake? or, is my soul misled,
Thro' the bold tracks of mem'ry's mazy deep?
The empty realms of mimic sleep,
Horrors, by wild imagination, bred,
Skim shadowy, and, about me, circling, spread!
Oh! who can tell the cause of these new fears?
Whence these loud groans, which tortur'd fancy hears?
Whence this thund'ring, in my ears?
Why seems the starting sun to hold back day?
Why does he leap, at once, out of his fire-pay'd way?
And, half-extinguish'd, upward fly,
To shroud his beams, behind a sabled sky?
Why, every way, at once, are those swift lightnings hurl'd?
Trembling nations to amaze,
And terribly adorn, with quiv'ring blaze,
The horrors of a shade-benighted world?

II.

Why breaks yon rising ocean o'er the lands?
Disdainful of its old appointed bounds:
Why does it open, far behind, its brine-delighted sands,
And, leaving dry its roomy bed,
Let loose, at once, high lift its frightful head,
To seek forbidden grounds?
And, hugely swelling, from a-far, with earth-assaulting roar,
Rise o'er the swallow'd mountain tops, and sweep the kingdoms o'er:
Why does this circle-spreading earthquake swell,
Deep-flowing, like a subterraneous tide?
Frighted fancy! can'st thou tell,
Why this strong foe, asham'd, his face should hide?
'Tis not, sure! for want of pride,
He shakes down cities, with his mildest shocks;
Plows in the hill, he rolls beneath, and harrows up the rocks!
Unseen, he, dreadful, does appear
The marble-hearted mountains quake for fear!
And, as they find the danger drawing near,
With huge unweildy terror, leap aside,
And, shook with agues, cast their snowy pride.

III.

The dead, themselves, by nature's charter, blest,
With promis'd beds of lasting rest,
Are, from their graves, their dark long homes, thrown up, and dispossest.
See the pale ghosts of our forefathers rise!
Horribly serene, they glide,
And snuff, with shadowy nostrils, scents of day,
Which fled so lately, all at once, away!
See! how to earth, they bend their beamless eyes,
And seem to wander, guideless, every way,
Unwilling, thro' our hated world, to stray!
In search of the forgotten graves, where, once their bodies lay!
Too conscious soul! I feel it now!
Well may the stubborn pride of nature bow!
Well may trembling nations moan,
And mem'ry, sick with consternation, groan!
God , who to man his ev'ry blessing gives;
From whom, ungrateful, he receiv'd his breath
That God , by whom, alone, man lives,
That very God, this day, by man, met death.