Classic Poem

I

What marvel is it that, in other lands
And ancient days, men worshipped the divine
And brilliant majesty of stars that shine
Pure in their soft spheres, like angel-bands?
With a deep reverence, when evening came
With her high train of shadows, have I bowed
Beneath the Heaven, as each new-lighted flame,
Glowed in the sapphire free from mist or cloud:
A holy presence seemed to fill the air;
Invisible spirits, such as live in dreams
Came floating down on their celestial beams,
And from my heart there rose a silent prayer.
What marvel, then, that men of yore could see
In each bright star a glorious Deity!

II

Dost thou remember, friend, the rude, wild place
We visited together long ago?
The mountains with their diadems of snow;
The valleys robed in verdure at their base;
The broad, strong river which the eye could trace,
Forcing through broken rocks its silver speed,
Till, on the open plain, like courser freed,
It dashed and bounded in exultant race;
The clump of wood, the hermitage, the spire,
That in the sunrise glittered like fire,
To guide the traveller to the distant town;
The narrow, winding road, the ruin gray
That once a castle was, of old renown —
Sight of past years! it seems of yesterday.