Classic Poem

Spirit of Thought! Lo! art thou here?
Lord of the false fond ceaseless spell
That mocks the heart, the eye the ear: —
In human bosoms dost thou dwell
Self-exiled from thy native sphere,
Or is the human mind thy cell
Of torment? — to inflict and bear
Thy doom? — the doom of all who fell.

Since thou hast sought to prove my skill
Unquestioned thou shalt not depart,
Be thy behests or good, or ill,
No matter what, or whence thou art:
I will commune with thee apart,
Yea, and compel thee to my will
If thou hast power to yield my heart
What Earth and Heaven deny it still.

I know thee Spirit! thou hast been
Light of my soul by night and day,
All-seeing, though thyself unseen,
My dreams — my thoughts — and what are they
But visions of a calmer ray —
All, all were thine — and thine between
Each hope that melted fast away
The throb of anguish, deep and keen.

With thee I've searched the earth, the sea,
The air, sun, stars, man, nature, time,
Explored the universe with thee,
Plunged to the depths of woe and crime,
Or dared the fearful height to climb
Where amid glory none may see
And live, the Eternal reigns sublime
Who is, and was, and is to be!

And I have sought, with thee have sought
Wisdom's celestial path to tread,
Hung o'er each page with learning fraught,
Questioned the living and the dead;
The Patriarchs of ages fled —
The Prophets of the time to come —
All who one ray of light could shed
Beyond the cradle or the tomb.

And I have tasked my busy brain
To learn what haply none may know;
Thy birth, seat, power — thine ample reign
O'er the heart's tides, that ebb and flow,
Throb, languish, whirl, rage, freeze, or glow,
Like billows of the restless main
Above the wrecks of joy and woe
By ocean's caves preserved in vain.

And oft, to shadow forth I strove
To my mind's eye, a form like thine,
And still my soul like Noah's dove
Returned, but brought alas! no sign:
'Till wearying in the mad design
With fevered brow and throbbing vein
I left the cause to thread the mine
Of wonderful effects again.

But now I see thee face to face
Thou art indeed a thing divine
An eye pervading time and space
And an angelic look are thine,
Ready to seize, compare, combine,
Essence and form — and yet a trace
Of grief and care a shadowy line
Dims thy bright forehead's heavenly grace.

Yet thou must be of heavenly birth
Where naught is known of grief or pain;
Though I perceive alas! where Earth
And earthly things have left their stain:
From thine high calling didst thou deign
To prove — in folly or in mirth —
With daughters of the first born Cain
How little Human Love was worth?

Ha! dost thou change before my eyes?
Another form! and yet the same,
But lovelier, and of female guise
Such as our heart's despair can frame
Pine for, love, worship, idolize,
Like Her's [ sic ] who from the sea-foam came,
And lives but in the heart or skies.

Spirit of Change! I know thee too,
I know thee by thine Iris bow,
By thy cheeks ever-shifting hue
By all that marks thy steps below,
By sighs that burn and tears that glow —
False hopes — vain joys that mock the heart
From Fancy's urn, these evils flow
Spirit of Lies! for such thou art!

Saidst thou not once that all the charms
Of life lay hid in woman's love
And to be lock'd in Beauty's arms
Was all man knew of Heaven above?
And did I not thy counsels prove
With all their pleasure, all their pain
No more, no more my heart they move
For I alas! have proved them vain!

Didst thou not then, in evil hour
Light in my soul Ambition's flame
Didst thou not say the joys of Power
Unbounded sway — undying fame
A Monarch's love alone should claim?
And did I not pursue all these,
And are they not when won the same
All Vanity of Vanities?

Didst not to tempt me once again
Bid new deceitful visions rise
And hint though won with toil and pain
" Wisdom's the pleasure of the Wise "
And now when none beneath the skies
Are wiser held by men than me
What is the value of the prize
It too alas! is Vanity.

Then tell me! — since I've found on earth
Not one pure stream to slake this thirst
Which still torments us from our birth
And in our heart and soul is nurst
This hopeless wish wherewith we're curst,
Whence came it, and why was it given?
Thou speak'st not! — Let me know the worst
Thou pointest! — and it is to Heaven!