Starlight Musings

THE gentle spirit of the twilight nowHas shut his rosy wings, and I have comeOut in the sad, sweet starlight, to communeWith olden visions, soft and beautiful,Yet fading in my soul.

Ye lovely stars!Bright, holy watchers of the glorious sky!Ye gave to me in eves of other yearsYour gentle sympathy—Oh grant it still,For now 'tis dearer to the orphan's heart,Than when in childhood's happy years she gazedEnchanted on your lovely light, and dreamedHad she but wings, that she could rise and graspYour shining forms and twine them round her brow;A band of glorious jewels. Now she comesWiser, but oh, less happy, bent in soulAnd crushed in hope, to weep her griefs awayBeneath your pitying beams. Her proud soul chafesAnd struggles in its earthly pilgrimage;Her weary feet and panting heart would restTo-night, and she would muse on dear old joysThat lent their glow, their spirit-thrilling dreams,Their wild, ideal spell of witchery,To years that cannot come again, and scenesShe never can see more.

Nay, now her heartAgain grows young and gentle, as it thrillsDelightedly beneath your beautifulAnd holy spell, as ocean thrills and heavesTo the young moon in heaven. Again she dreams,And years and sorrows vanish from her life,And leave her in her pure and innocentAnd joyous childhood. Once again she treadsWhere roses bloom, and no dark serpent coilsBeneath their leaves; again she looks abroadO'er nature, with a soul that leaps to blendWith every scene and sound of love; againShe hears the well-remembered tones that madeThe music of her life, ere yet she knewThat Death was in the world; and oh, againTears; gentle tears, the chastened spirit's dew,Are overflowing from a heart whose depthsShe thought were turned to dust. And now one star,One soft, bright star, beams on her eye and soul,On which she used to gaze in ecstasyWith him, the idol of her heart, when they.Sat hand in hand on glorious eves like this,In deep and voiceless love, their souls too fullOf wild and beautiful and burning dreamsFor human utterance. Ah, little dreamedTheir hearts, as on their favorite star they gazed,That soon its beams would shine alone for her,And that her eyes would strain through gushing tearsTo search its glittering orb, and see if 'twereHis spirit's dwelling-place.

Ye glorious stars !Ye shone like blessed spirits of the skyOn Eden's groves and fountains, ere the pallOf sin had fallen there; ye shone uponA dark, and wild, and shoreless world of waves,A lone and billowy desert, when the arkThat held all mortal breath was drifting o'erThe mountain tops; ye shone on Sinai's tallAnal awful summit, when a mortal manWas talking face to face with God; ye shoneOn Calvary's sacred height, while yet the bloodThat flowed to wash the human race from guiltWas red upon the tree; ye shone on allThe prophets and the patriarchs of old,And saw their tears as forth they stole and weptIn agony beneath your silent light;Ye shone upon the meek and reverend headsOf those who went forth in the strength of God,To bear His message to a fallen world,And on the dark brows and the gleaming steelOf the fierce hosts that spread their prophet's creedAbroad by sword and wasting flame; ye shoneOn Egypt's plains ere yet the pyramidsLifted their bald and solemn heads to heaven;Ye shone on Tadmor, Nineveh, and Rome:Their glories and their ruins; ye have shoneUpon the living forms and on the gravesOf the departed generations; yeHave shone on all that's been on earth, and nowYe shine on all that is. Oh, in your beamsThere is a world of bright and awful lore,A deep spell woven of the centuries,And though we scarce may read the mystic scroll,It shines upon our spirit with a pure,And deep, and mighty power, and charms awayCare, sin, and woe, and makes us strong to bearThe strifes of mortal being.

BeautifulAnd holy stars! ye seem in Paradise;Ay, when your beams are resting on our brows,We feel that we are bathed in what has beenA part of Heaven itself. We know that yeAre God's own thoughts writ by His mighty hand,And that our wingéd souls, by mounting upFrom earth and mingling with your flames, may catchA portion of your living glory. We,Chained darkly to the dust, may never listWith mortal car the lofty symphonyThat ye are ever pealing in your swiftAnd radiant sweep through the eternal space;Yet, with our listening spirits we can hearIts echoes sounding nightly o'er the earth,The solemn music of eternity.