Clouds

Ye clouds that o'er the azure vault of heaven 
Sweep in bright phalanx, as the whispering winds
Lift your white curling folds, whence and what are ye?
Dyed in the waveless flood of liquid gold, 
Showered from the chariot of the morn or eve, 
Ye seem the drapery of the curtained Throne, 
Hung from the pillars of God's universe, 
Changing and beautiful; or haply else
The white-winged coursers of some angel choir
Treading the soundless pavement of the sky, 
While from their harps they pour the melodies 
That wake the soul to ecstasy,—what time 
The musing poet hangs upon the strains 
Woke by the viewless spirits of the air, 
Who tune great Nature's lyre to harmony.

     May we not deem that from your sunlit folds
Bend the mourned spirits of departed ones—
That they who loved us here are hovering now 
O'er the green paths we water with our tears—
(Their ministers, soft showers and silent dew, 
Bright messengers of love, who wait upon 
Their will in mercy, gliding gently down 
To gladden earth that it may smile on us?
Borne to their homes amid your halls, again 
On the red sunbeam,) — while the sweet soft sounds
Which seem to blend with the half-slumbering breeze
That wreathes your skirts around their airy limbs,
Are their small voices whispering to us, 
Telling the spirit to forget the low 
And grosser passions of perverted being, 
That even on earth it may not seek in vain 
To taste the fountains of ethereal joy?

     O beautiful forms! mysterious creations
Of ever-changing Nature! wonderful 
And "passing strange!" How have I gazed upon ye
When the unstirring pinions of the wind 
Were folded into rest—and ye would change, 
And fade, and kindle into life again, 
Turning your pictured vesture to the Sun 
That gave and drank your beauty up. O! then 
The very soul would sink, or to new joy 
Kindle with your mutations, as by turns 
Shadow or sunlight marked your fleeting forms;
And the fixed eye unnoting all beside,
?? ??? ??? intensity of thought, would rest
On your receding pinions, as they hung
In the far depths of heaven, and watch your folds,
As, melting into ether, they were lost 
In the blue, infinite ocean of the air,
Till the broad arch bent shadowless and void.
     Howe'er Philosophy with eagle eye
May pry into the chambers of your home, 
Ye clouds, and mark the germs from whence ye spring,
Tracing your pathway on the lying winds, 
When the strong tempest shakes your midnight locks,
Or Summer breezes mildly waft you on—
To me ye are the swift-winged ministers 
That bring new gladness to the weary soul—
Welcome alike in all your forms of life;
Whether your golden skirts are waving bright
In the refulgent glories of the morn, 
Or on your dark brown folds in terror reared 
Rides the avenging spirit of the storm, 
While the thick wreathing of your giant shroud 
Bows with its weight of thunder. O ‘tis then 
When the quick lightnings rive the trembling vault
And quivering burn along your hissing front—
As if a thousand serpent-fiends of hell, 
Through the eternal blackness of their pit 
Darted their fiery tongues, —'tis then the soul 
Leaps in exulting, as your mountain drifts 
Ring and re-echo to the dreadful voice 
Of the great thunder; then, sublimely stirred, 
The trembling spirit knows an awful joy, 
And feels its own infinity.

                                                   These are
Your sterner moods—for in your ways ye seem 
Like mortal man, fair, lovely, mild to-day,—
To-morrow, gathered into frowning wrath, 
Startling and terrible as the final blast 
Of the Archangel's trumpet. In your forms,
Your revolutions, and your fading end,
Ye mimic him. When in the calm and light 
Of middle day your lazy drifts are piled 
On the still air, ye smile in golden peace; 
But when the long accumulated mass 
Of rank corruption gathers in your midst 
Tainting the air with pestilence, ye wake 
The voice of angry war. The strong-blown gale[?] 
Is your shrill clarion, at whose startling blast 
Move the dark squadrons to the field of strife, 
And the loud thunder, rattling fierce along 
The gloomy vanguard, is your battle-drum.
See! o'er the shrinking heavens the dark lowers
Clouds are encountering clouds, and wildly ??gle
Storm, thunder, hail and sheeted flames that burst
Through the thick gloom. The strong-winged hurricane,
The lashing whirlwinds, and the lightnings tear 
The crackling forests from their mountain beds 
In the wild tumult of advancing war.
Now when the winds prevail and have beat back 
Your impious legions that have dared deform 
The face of heaven, in martial pomp arrayed, 
And pouring fiercely through your broken front 
Scattered your hosts, how wildly in your fight 
Ye mock a conquered army, trailing off 
The tattered ensigns from the gloomy fight;
And where at times the struggling light bursts through
Your broken ranks, the red beams picture well 
The bloody traces of a hard fought field.
And in your end, when peaceful sunshine lights 
Your silent paths, your history is man's.
Awhile ye hover between life and death, 
Earth and the undiscovered realms beyond-
For ever changing, bright, or dark again, 
Gloomy or joyous, beautiful or stern,
As the clear sun or adverse winds may will;
Shifting and fading till your forms are lost 
In the illimitable waste—and rise
Others, that like your own must frown and change,
Smile, fade, and disappear, and be forgotten.
Thus man departs, and thus his glory fades.