Classic Poem

There was a time, when the o'erhanging sky
And the fair earth with its variety,
Mountain and valley, continent and sea,
Were not alone the unmoving things that lie
Slumbering beneath the sun's unclouded eye;
But every fountain had its spirit then,
That held communion oft with holy men,
And frequent from the heavenward mountain came
Bright creatures, hovering round on wings of flame,
And some mysterious sibyl darkly gave
Responses from the dim and hidden cave:
Voices were heard waking the silent air,
A solemn music echoed from the wood,
And often from the bosom of the flood
Came forth a sportive Naiad passing fair,
The clear drops twinkling in her braided hair;
And as the hunter through the forest strayed,
Quick-glancing Beauty shot across the glade,
Her polished arrow levelled on her bow,
Ready to meet the fawn or bounding roe;
And often on the mountain-tops the horn
Rang round the rocky pinnacles, and played,
In lighter echoes, from the checkered shade,
Where through the silvery leaves at early morn
Stole the slant sunbeams, shedding on the grass
Brightness, that quivered with the quivering mass
Of thickly arching foliage; — often there
Dian and all her troop of girls were seen
Dancing by moonlight on the dewy green,
When the cool night-wind through the forest blew,
And every leaf in tremulous glances flew;
And in the cloudless fields of upper air,
With coldly pale and melancholy smile
The moon looked down on that bright spot, the while,
Which in the depth of darkness shone as fair,
As in lone southern seas a palmy isle;
And when a hunter-boy, who far away
Had wandered through the wild-wood from his home,
Led by the eagerness of youth to roam,
Buried in deep unbroken slumber lay, —
Then as the full moon poured her mellow light
Full on the mossy pillow where he slept,
One more than nymph, in sylvan armor dight,
Bent fondly over him, and smiled, and wept.
Each lonely spot was hallowed then; — the oak
That o'er the village altar hung, would tell
Strange hidden things, — the old remembered well,
How from its gloom a spirit often spoke.
There was not then a fountain or a cave,
But had its reverend oracle, and gave
Responses to the fearful crowd, who came
And called the indwelling deity by name.
Then every snowy peak, that lifted high
Its shadowy cone to meet the bending sky,
Stood like a heaven of loveliness and light;
And as the gilt cloud rolled its glory by,
Chariots and steeds of flame stood harnessed there,
And gods came forth and seized the golden reins,
Shook the bright scourge, and through the boundless air
Rode over starry fields and azure plains.
It was a beautiful and glorious dream,
Such as would kindle high the soul of song;
The bard who struck his harp to such a theme
Gathered new beauty as he moved along:
His way was now through wilds and beds of flowers,
Rough mountains met him now, and then again
Gay valleys hung with vines in woven bowers
Led to the bright waves of the purple main.
All seemed one bright enchantment then; — but now,
Since the long sought for goal of truth is won,
Nature stands forth unveiled with cloudless brow,
On earth One S PIRIT OF L IFE , in heaven One S UN .