Classic Poem

All in their lifetime carve their own soul's statue.

The middle chimes of night were dead; —
The sculptor pressed his sleepless bed,
With locks grown gray in a world of sin;
His eyes were sunken, his cheeks were thin;
And, like a leaf on a withering limb,
The fluttering life still clung to him.

While gazing on the shadowy wall,
He heard the muffled knocker fall: —
Before an answering foot could stir,
Entered the midnight messenger:
Around his shining shoulders rolled
Long and gleaming locks of gold;
The radiance of his features fell
In Beauty's light unspeakable,
And like the matin song of birds,
Swelled the rich music of his words.

" Arise! it is your monarch's will;
Ere sounds from the imperial hill
The warder's trumpet-blast,
His palace portal must be passed:
Arise! and be the veil withdrawn,
And let the long-wrought statue dawn!
The stars that fill the fields of light
Must pale before its purer light;
The unblemished face — the spotless limb,
Must shine among the seraphim:
Faultless in form — in nothing dim —
It must be ere it come to Him! "

The sculptor rose with heavy heart,
And slowly put the veil apart,
And stood with downcast look, entranced,
The while the messenger advanced,
And thought he heard, yet knew not why,
His hopes like boding birds go by,
And felt his heart sink ceaselessly
Down, like the friendless dead at sea.
O! for one breath to stir the air,
To break the stillness of despair;
Welcome alike, though it were given
From sulphurous shade, or vales of Heaven!

Now on the darkness swelled a sigh! —
The sculptor raised his languid eye,
And saw the radiant stranger stand
Hiding his sorrow with his hand;
His heart a billowy motion kept,
And ever, with its fall and rise,
The stillness of the air was swept
With a long wave of sighs.
The old man's anxious asking eyes
Grew larger with their blank surprise,
With wonder why he wept: —
And while his eyes and wonder grew, —
Came, with the tears which gushed anew,
The music of the stranger's tongue,
But broken, like a swollen rill
That heaves adown its native hill,
Sobbing where late it sung: —
" Is this the statue fair and white
A long laborious life hath wrought,
And which our generous Prince hath bought?
Is this (so soulless, soiled, and dull)
To pass the golden gates of light
And stand among the beautiful?
The lines which seam the front and cheek
Too well unholy lusts bespeak;
The brow by Anger's hand is weighed,
And Malice there his scar hath made;
There Scorn hath set her seal secure,
And curled the lip against the poor;
And Hate hath fixed the steady glance
Which Jealousy hath turned askance;
While thoughts, of those dark parents born,
Innumerable, from night till morn,
And morn till night, have wrought their will,
Like stones upon a barren hill.
Old man! although thy locks be gray,
And life's last hour is on its way —
Although thy limbs with palsy quake,
Thy hands, like windy branches, shake —
Ere from yon rampart high and round
The watchful warder's blast shall sound,
Let this be altered — still it may, —
Your Monarch brooks no more delay! "
The stranger spake and passed away.

A moment stood the aged man
With lips apart, and looks aghast,
Still gazing where the stranger passed.
And now a shudder o'er him ran,
As chill November's breezes sweep
Across the dying meadow grass;
His tongue was dry, he could not speak,
His eyes were glazed like heated glass.
But when the tears began to creep
Adown the channels of his cheek,
A long and shadowy train,
Born of his sorrowing brain,
With shining feet, and noiseless tread,
By dewy-eyed Repentance led,
Around the statue pressed:
With eager hand and swelling breast
Hope, jubilant, the chisel seized
And heavenward turned the eye;
Forgiveness, radiant and pleased,
The ridges of the brow released;
While with a tear and sigh
Sweet Charity the scorn effaced;
And Mercy, mild and fair,
Upon the lips her chisel placed,
And left her signet there:
And Love, the earliest born of Heaven,
Over the features glowing, ran;
While Peace, the best and latest given,
Finished what Hope began.

One minute now before the last,
The stately stranger came;
A smile upon the statue cast —
Then to the fainting stranger passed,
And spake his errand and his name:
And on the old man's latest breath
Swelled the sweet whisper, " Welcome, Death! "
Afar from the imperial height
Sounded the warder's horn:
Upward, by singing angels borne,
The statue passed the gates of light
Outshining all the stars of night,
And fairer than the morn.