I MARK'D the Spring as she pass'd along,
With her eye of light, and her lip of song;
While she stole in peace o'er the green earth's breast,
While the streams sprang out from their icy rest:
The buds bent low to the breeze's sigh,
And their breath went forth in the scented sky;
When the fields look'd fresh in their sweet repose,
And the young dews slept on the new born rose.
The scene was changed. It was Autumn's hour:
A frost had discolor'd the summer bower;
The blast wailed sad mid the wither'd leaves,
The reaper stood musing by gather'd sheaves;
The mellow pomp of the rainbow woods
Was stirr'd by the sound of the rising floods;
And I knew by the cloud, by the wild wind's strain,
That Winter drew near with his storms again!
I stood by the ocean; its waters rolled
In their changeful beauty of sapphire and gold;
And day looked down with its radiant smiles,
Where the blue waves danced round a thousand isles:
The ships went forth on the trackless seas,
Their white wings play'd in the joyous breeze;
Their prows rushed on mid the parted foam,
While the wanderer was wrapp'd in a dream of home!
The mountain arose with its lofty brow,
While its shadow was sleeping in vales below;
The mist like a garland of glory lay,
Where its proud heights soar'd in the air away;
The eagle was there on his tireless wing,
And his shriek went up like an offering:
And he seem'd, in his sunward flight, to raise
A chant of thanksgiving — a hymn of praise!
I look'd on the arch of the midnight skies,
With its blue and unsearchable mysteries:
The moon, mid an eloquent multitude
Of unnumber'd stars, her career pursued:
A charm of sleep on the city fell,
All sounds lay hush'd in that brooding spell;
By babbling brooks were the buds at rest,
And the wild-bird dream'd on his downy nest.
I stood where the deepening tempest pass'd,
The strong trees groan'd in the sounding blast;
The murmuring deep with its wrecks roll'd on,
The clouds o'ershadow'd the mighty sun;
The low reeds bent by the streamlet's side,
And hills to the thunder-peal replied;
The lightning burst forth on its fearful way,
While the heavens were lit in its red array!
And hath MAN the power, with his pride and his skill,
To arouse all nature with storms at will?
Hath he power to color the summer-cloud —
To allay the tempest when hills are bow'd?
Can he waken the Spring with her festal wreath?
Can the sun grow dim by his lightest breath?
Will he come again when death's vale is trod?
Who then shall dare murmur " There is no God! "
With her eye of light, and her lip of song;
While she stole in peace o'er the green earth's breast,
While the streams sprang out from their icy rest:
The buds bent low to the breeze's sigh,
And their breath went forth in the scented sky;
When the fields look'd fresh in their sweet repose,
And the young dews slept on the new born rose.
The scene was changed. It was Autumn's hour:
A frost had discolor'd the summer bower;
The blast wailed sad mid the wither'd leaves,
The reaper stood musing by gather'd sheaves;
The mellow pomp of the rainbow woods
Was stirr'd by the sound of the rising floods;
And I knew by the cloud, by the wild wind's strain,
That Winter drew near with his storms again!
I stood by the ocean; its waters rolled
In their changeful beauty of sapphire and gold;
And day looked down with its radiant smiles,
Where the blue waves danced round a thousand isles:
The ships went forth on the trackless seas,
Their white wings play'd in the joyous breeze;
Their prows rushed on mid the parted foam,
While the wanderer was wrapp'd in a dream of home!
The mountain arose with its lofty brow,
While its shadow was sleeping in vales below;
The mist like a garland of glory lay,
Where its proud heights soar'd in the air away;
The eagle was there on his tireless wing,
And his shriek went up like an offering:
And he seem'd, in his sunward flight, to raise
A chant of thanksgiving — a hymn of praise!
I look'd on the arch of the midnight skies,
With its blue and unsearchable mysteries:
The moon, mid an eloquent multitude
Of unnumber'd stars, her career pursued:
A charm of sleep on the city fell,
All sounds lay hush'd in that brooding spell;
By babbling brooks were the buds at rest,
And the wild-bird dream'd on his downy nest.
I stood where the deepening tempest pass'd,
The strong trees groan'd in the sounding blast;
The murmuring deep with its wrecks roll'd on,
The clouds o'ershadow'd the mighty sun;
The low reeds bent by the streamlet's side,
And hills to the thunder-peal replied;
The lightning burst forth on its fearful way,
While the heavens were lit in its red array!
And hath MAN the power, with his pride and his skill,
To arouse all nature with storms at will?
Hath he power to color the summer-cloud —
To allay the tempest when hills are bow'd?
Can he waken the Spring with her festal wreath?
Can the sun grow dim by his lightest breath?
Will he come again when death's vale is trod?
Who then shall dare murmur " There is no God! "