Classic Poem

'T WAS a voice that rose in the far blue sky,
The voice of a trumpet melody;
And it woke to joy all the subject things,
And brought to the feeble the strength of wings;
The heart grew glad in the lonely breast,
By the soothing sweet of that voice possess'd;
And the eye flash'd bright, as it look'd to see
The source of so glad a mystery;
While the skies, late gloom'd with the growing nig
In the dawn of a better hope grew bright!
It floated along, that voice so clear,
And it brought new strength to the soul of fear,
And men grew glad, they knew not why,
As the musical murmurs came floating by;
A mystery lay in each magic tone,
That made the heavens and earth its own;
And the sun was spell'd in his march above,
As brooding fond o'er a realm of love,
While the drooping stars on each lonely height,
Gave echoes back of their soft delight.

Though the summer had gone, though the winter came
The tones of that voice were still the same;
And it had a power to make of the cold
But a new spur to the young and old;
The city grew brave in its arts and arms,
And the Court in new virtues put on new charms;
While the reapers look'd up from the sun-ripe field,
Joyous and wild in its wondrous yield;
They saw that wherever that music had been,
The fruits grew ripe, and the fields were green.
Oh! then was the nation's greatness known,
And genius grew stronger than Church and Throne;
Valor went forth, and his spear of light
Bore a fresh laurel from every fight;
And the peaceful, but conquering arts, they wrought
Triumphs more goodly in fields of Thought:
The sculptor, from caverns of rock, bade rise
The Silent Grandeur to human eyes;
And the Painter, with pencil of magic, made
The Beautiful steal from the dusky shade.
Ah! for how long a season came,
The spells of that voice, rejoicing Fame!
Even so long as the nation heard,
Still grew the spells of its potent word;
Still did it prompt and guide to toils,
Great in their grandeur and rich in their spoils;
All that it ask'd was the patient ear,
The heedful heart, and the trustful care;
The Faith, that in every hope believes,
The Love that, in humbleness, still achieves!

But there was a cry of wail by night,
As if for a star that had left its height;
And silence fell on the listening ear,
With a feeling of chill and a spell of fear:
Valor went forth to win no more,
And the Genius now grovell'd that soar'd before;
The arts of the city, the courtly grace,
Fled, as they never there had place;
They had mock'd and banish'd that magic voice,
And the land might never again rejoice!