And not a sound was heard but of a dog
Crunching beneath the stall a refuse bone,
Or the dull echo from the pavement rung,
As the faint captive changed his weary feet.
'Twas evening, and the half-descended sun
Tipped with a golden fire the many domes
Of Athens, and a yellow atmosphere
Lay rich and dusky in the shaded street,
Through which the captive gazed.
The golden light into the painter's room
Streamed richly, and the hidden colors stole
From the dark pictures radiantly forth,
And in the soft and dewy atmosphere,
Like forms and landscapes, magical they lay.
Parrhasius stood, gazing, forgetfully,
Upon his canvas. There Prometheus lay
Chained to the cold rocks of Mount Caucasus,
The vulture at his vitals, and the links
Of the lame Lemnian festering in his flesh;
And, as the painter's mind felt through the dim,
Rapt mystery, and plucked the shadows forth
With its far-reaching fancy, and with form
And color clad them, his fine, earnest eye
Flashed with a passionate fire, and the quick curl
Of his thin nostril, and his quivering lip
Were like the wingéd god's, breathing from his flight.
"Bring me the captive now!
My hands feel skillful, and the shadows lift
From my waked spirit airily and swift,
And I could paint the bow
Upon the bended heavens; around me play
Colors of such divinity to-day.
"Ha! bind him on his back!
Look! as Prometheus in my picture here!
Quick! or he faints! stand with the cordial near!
Now-bend him on the rack!
Press down the poisoned links into his flesh!
And tear agape that healing wound afresh!
"So, let him writhe! How long
Will he live thus? Quick, my good pencil, now!
What a fine agony works upon his brow!
Ha! gray-haired, and so strong!
How fearfully he stifles that short moan!
Gods! if I could but paint a dying groan!
"Pity' thee! So I do!
I pity the dumb victim at the altar,
But does the robed priest for his pity falter?
I'd rack thee though I knew
A thousand lives were perishing in thine-
What were ten thousand to a fame like mine?
"But, there's a deathless name !—
A spirit that the smothering vault shall spurn,
And, like a steadfast planet, mount and burn-
And though its crown of flame
Consumed my brain to ashes as it burns-
By all the fiery stars, I'd bind it on!
"Ay-though it bid me rifle
My heart's last fount for its insatiate thirst-
Though every life-strung nerve be maddened first-
Though it should bid me stifle
The yearning in my throat for
And taunt its mother till my brain went wild.
"All-I would do it all—
Sooner than die, like a dull worm, to rot;
Thrust foully into earth to be forgot.
O heavens-but I appall
Your heart, old man!-forgive-Ha! on your lives Do n't let him faint!-rack him till he revives!
"Vain-vain-give o'er. His eye
Glazes apace. He does not feel you now-
Stand back! I'll paint the death-dew on his brow!
Gods! if he do not die,
But for one moment-one-till I eclipse
Conception with the scorn of those calm lips!
"Shivering! Hark! he mutters
Brokenly now-that was a difficult breath-
Another? Wilt thou never come, O Death?
Look! how his temples flutter!
Is his heart still? Aha! lift up his head!
He shudders-gasps-Jove help him-so-he's dead."
How like a mounting devil in the heart
Rules the unreined ambition! Let it once
But play the monarch, and its haughty brow
Glows with a beauty that bewilders thought,
And unthrones peace for ever. Putting on
The very pomp of Lucifer, it turns
The heart to ashes, and with not a spring
Left in the bosom for the spirit's life,
We look upon our splendor, and forget
The thirst of which we perish!
Oh, if earth be all, and heaven nothing,
What thrice mocked fools are we!
UNFADING hope! when life's last embers burn,
When soul to soul, and dust to dust return,
Heaven to thy charge resigns the awful hour!
Oh! then thy kingdom comes! Immortal Power!
What though each spark of earth-born rapture fly
The quivering lip, pale cheek, and closing eye!
Bright to the soul thy seraph hands convey
The morning dream of life's eternal day:
Then, then the triumph and the trance begin!
And all the phoenix spirit burns within!
Oh! deep-enchanting prelude to repose,
The dawn of bliss, the twilight of our woes-
Yet half I hear the parting spirit sigh,
It is a dread, an awful thing to die!
Mysterious worlds, untraveled by the sun!
Where time's far-wandering tide has never run,
From your unfathomed shades, and viewless spheres,
A warning comes, unheard by other ears.
'Tis Heaven's commanding trumpet long and loud,
Like Sinai's thunder, pealing from the cloud!
While nature hears with terror-mingled trust,
The shock that hurls her fabric to the dust;
And, like the trembling Hebrew, when he trod
The roaring waves, and called upon his God,
With mortal terrors clouds immortal bliss,
And shrieks, and hovers o'er the dark abyss!
Daughter of faith, awake, arise, illume
The dread unknown, the chaos of the tomb!
Melt and dispel, ye specter doubts, that roll
Cimmerian darkness on the parting soul!
Fly, like the moon-eyed herald of dismay,
Chased on his night-steed by the star of day!
The strife is o'er-the pangs of nature close,
And life's last rapture triumphs o'er her woes.
Hark! as the spirit eyes, with eagle gaze,
The noon of heaven, undazzled by the blaze,
On heavenly winds that waft her to the sky,
Float the sweet tones of star-born melody;
Wild as that hallowed anthem sent to hail
Bethlehem's shepherds in the lonely vale,
When Jordan hushed his waves, and midnight still
Watched on the holy towers of Zion's hill!
Soul of the just! companion of the dead!
Where is thy home, and whither art thou fled?
Back to its heavenly source thy being goes,
Swift as the comet wheels to whence he rose ;
Doomed on his airy path awhile to burn,
And doomed, like thee, to travel, and return.
Hark! from the world's exploding center driven,
With sounds that shock the firmament of heaven,
Careers the fiery giant, fast and far,
On bickering wheels, and adamantine car.
From planet whirled to planet more remote,
He visits realms beyond the reach of thought;
But wheeling homeward, when his course is run
Curbs the red yoke, and mingles with the sun!
So hath the traveler of earth unfurled
Her trembling wings, emerging from the world;
And, o'er the path by mortal never trod,
Sprung to her source, the bosom of her God!
My aunt! my dear unmarried aunt!
Long years have o'er her flown;
Yet still she strains the aching clasp
That binds her virgin zone:
I know it hurts her,
As cheerful as she can:
Her waist is ampler than her life,
For life is but a span.
My aunt! my poor deluded aunt!
Her hair is almost gray:
Why will she train that winter curl
In such a spring-like way?
How can she lay her glasses down,
And say she reads as well,
When through a double convex lens
She just makes out to spell.
Her father-grandpapa !-forgive
This erring lip its smiles-
Vowed she would make the finest girl
Within a hundred miles.
He sent her to a stylish school-
'Twas in her thirteenth June;
And with her, as the rules required,
"Two towels and a spoon."
They braced my aunt against a board,
To make her straight and tall;
They laced her up, they starved her down,
To make her light and small;
They pinched her feet, they singed her hair, They screwed it up with pins;
Oh! never mortal suffered more
In penance for her sins!
So, when my precious aunt was done,
My grandsire brought her back;
By daylight, lest some sober youth
Might follow on her track.
"Ah!" said my grandsire, as he shook
Some powder in his pan,
"What could this lovely creature do
Against a desperate man ?"
Alas! nor chariot, nor barouche,
Nor bandit cavalcade,
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