What is the Sun?-I only feel his rays!
What are the Stars, I hear my loved ones praise?
And what is Heaven ?-I hear you say 'tis Love,
And that it bends with boundless arch above.
Alas! I know no more.-Ye say the clouds
Hang out like curtains, or like fleecy shrouds,
On the high breast of the celestial air,—
Like floating seas, or mountains high and fair.
Ye bid me gaze above. I gaze in vain,
And feel the zephyrs, and the pearly rain.-
What else? I know no more; yet toward the sky
I roll in vain my restless, rayless eye;
But all is gloom-all aids my deep despair,
For I behold no wonders mention'd there;
These, these are lovely to illumined eyes;
But, ah! they add new anguish to my sighs!
'Ye, who are blest with soul-inspiring sight,
Think on the mystery of perpetual night;—
Weep for the Blind, and let your soothing aid,
By Heaven's sweet Goddess, Charity! be paid.
The kindred voice of feeling can impart
A partial pleasure to our drooping heart;
Like Music, that soft, honied thing of love!
Which charms our ears like pardon from above!
'Celestial Music! essence of the spheres!d
Distill'd from Heaven to ravish mortal ears!
Extract refined from Nature's bounteous soul,
In love supreme thy halcyon numbers roll!
Sweet universal language of the earth,
Empowered to sadden or inspire with mirth!-
Viewless alike to bright or blanched eyes,—
A pure, etherial spirit of the skies!
'If aught existent can entrance our mind,
And make the eye-less soul forget 'tis Blind;
'Tis thy soft charm, persuasive on the ear,
That makes the atmosphere of midnight clear!
Whether by golden lute, divinely played;
Or in the lay of tender-breathing maid;
Whether in powerful cadence of the horn
From sylvan uplands echoing soft at morn;
Whether in Man's high-tutored, lordly voice,
When thousands gaily gather to rejoice;
Or in the solemn Organ's sacred strains
When heard high-swelling through Cathedral fanes ;
Whether o'er tranquil waters, far remote,
The dulcet sounds of unison may float;
Or in the vocal halls of space above,
Loud with one universal song of Love ;-
One truth we own in all thy modes of sound,
A spell of marvellous magic round us bound!
• If orient shores should tempt our feet to stray, Where sultry skies their blazoning beams display, A song of youth can call our spirit home, However far our weary footsteps roam!
'The ear of Blindness is a second sight! A friendly sound inspires it with delight. A voice once heard, is like a friend once seen, Soon known again, though years should intervene ; His foot-fall, features, height, and age are known So keen has the auricular organ grown; Yet think not four full Senses in their might, Can recompense the painful want of Sight!
So perfect is the great machine of ManSo wondrous, and so intricate in plan ;
With all his thousand moving springs, so strange,
He feels oppressed if one declares a change!
But when the lattice of the soul is dim,
Think on the shades that then encompass him;
Fear reigns the trembling monarch of his brain;
O! what but love can charm his innate pain?
'Think on the breast acute as yours to feel, Which love-condoling lips but fail to heal; Think on the dull monotony of life—
The heavy burthen of our mystic hours, While ye exhaust great Nature, teeming rife With all her odoriferous blooming bowers ;With stars that gem the skies' blue zone above, With streams and groves that gladden earth below; With full observance of those friends ye love ;O, for a moment of the bliss ye know!'
Where shall the Blind in safety find repose,—
A soothing balsam suited to their woes?
In thee-O sacred Charity!—the Poor,
Bereft of Sight, can only know a cure!
Unsafe to wander o'er life's busy way,
Where noisy paths are crowded with the gay,
Stretch forth thy hand, the philanthropic mind,
By feeling led, shall thy Asylum find!
If on thy mazy streets they chance to stray,-
Imperial London! what were their dismay;
In what degree of safety can they stand,
In thy dread, deafening, people-flooded STRAND!
Shrunk by the thunder that unceasing peals
From horses' hoofs, and ever-circling wheels;
While all the lanes along its sides that be,
Send down their streams like currents to a sea!
There wild Ambition, Avarice, and Desire;
Are demi-gods that pull the magic strings!
While Energy, with heaving breast of fire,
Sweeps o'er each scene with never-tiring wings—
Scenes! each an Epic such as MILTON sings, Who viewing these with Wisdom's wondrous eye, Spent its creative light;-then did thy springsTartarian darkness!-rush to make him sigh; But found his soul too bright, and dash'd thy sceptre by!
Thy sceptre-Darkness! ruled with royal hand,
Hath lent to noblest minds thy mental woe,
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