The Prayer of a Restless Heart

The kingly Sun sunk solemnly to rest, 
And his last hues were fading from the west— 
The clouds, whose pomp of purple and of gold 
Had veiled his setting, to the air unrolled, 
Floating and wavering, till in deeper night 
Their vapory pinions melted from the sight.
Like a pure spirit from its home afar,
Looked o'er the darkling earth eve's earliest star, 
Showering her radiance from her crystal urn, 
Haply to greet the queenly Night's return, 
Till one might deem that in her light intense 
Kindled a something like intelligence!

With lifted eye, in melancholy mood, 
Pale, thoughtful, statue-like, ALCÆUS stood—
Yet not for him the sky its radiant scroll 
Transcribed in starlight on his wondering soul;
Nor thrilled his spirit with the quickening sense 
Of the still Night's serene magnificence—
Not of the glory of those marshalled stars 
That 'wheel forever on their golden cars'—
Not of the mystic spirit of the hour
That fills the heart of him who owns its power—
Not of the solemn hush that evening brings 
When she unfurls o'er earth her shadowy wings,—
Not of seraphic music, soft and clear, 
Down-quivering through the dewy atmosphere, 
Were that pale dreamer's thoughts.

                                                      From day to day
ALCÆUS wasted his young life away, 
In wildest visions, withering heart and brain, 
Though cherished fondly, cherished still in vain— 
Of knowledge, such as angels never won— 
Of deeds of daring, by no mortal done— 
Of power, that, haply, to his asking eyes 
The glories might unfold of Paradise!
To him the Present, with its good or ill, 
Was as the Past—inadequate to fill 
The soul whose aspirations overleapt
     All human science, and with tireless wing 
Onward and upward in its daring swept
     To seek, of Knowledge and of Power, the spring 
Where to his gaze the future should disclose 
Mysteries that none save the OMNISCIENT knows!

Long on the heavenly host with burning eye, 
As if to read the language of the sky, 
Intent he gazed. No revelation there 
Shone, as in answer to his voiceless prayer—
No Book of Fate its starry leaves unrolled,
As to the Babylonian seers of old—
No spirit-voice, with its strange eloquence,
Stirred the soft air and thrilled his inner sense—
Still, shadowless, cold, the stars their radiance shed, 
But not their lore mysterious, on his head— 
Baffled, he turned away, while on the air 
Quivered the watcher's bold and impious prayer:

                                   I.
          "SPIRIT! before whose eye Past, Present, Future, lie
     Alike unveiled in that intensest light
          That curtains o'er thy throne
          With splendors all its own,
     Too brightly blazing for seraphic sight—
                                   II.
          On me thy prescience shower—
          A rich though fearful dower!
     Unseal the history of my coming years, 
          And give me strength of soul 
          To con the mystic scroll—
To read the record of its smiles and tears.
                                   III.
          What hath the future still 
          In life of good or ill,
     That the chafed soul should tremble to foreknow?
          Are care, and pain, and sorrow 
          Written upon to-morrow,
     And will the certainty enhance the wo?
                                   IV.
          Still, STILL my soul doth yearn 
          Futurity to learn—
     Still would I tear the mystic veil away, 
          And though I knew I must
          See hope resolved to dust,
     Lay the dim Future open to the day!
                                   V.
          Though every page of life 
          Told me of toil and strife,
     Affections blighted, confidence betrayed,
          Love whelmed in sorrow's flood, 
          Struggles, and tears, and blood,
     The heart's best treasures in the dark grave laid—
                                   VI.
          Yet would my curious eye
          Into it secrets pry-
     Then would I turn away, and gird my soul,
With the tried mail of Thought From mines of Knowledge wrought—
And dare the Future I could not control!
                                   VII.
          Sorrow might wring my heart, 
          And I would hide the smart
     From the cold eye of an inquiring world—
          Clouds gather o'er my way, 
          Dark'ning the spirit's day,
     And from my heart hope be forever hurled –
                                   VIII.
          Still would I not repine—
          ENDURANCE should be mine!
     And, slaked for aye the burning thirst TO KNOW,
          Still would I deem, undone, 
          Such knowledge cheaply won,
Though the price paid were years of keenest wo!
                                   IX.
          Oh, give me then an eye 
          To read Futurity—
     To learn those mysteries others fear to name!
          Give me a power to wring
          Even from suffering,
     Knowledge too mighty for another's aim—
                                   X.
          And hopes, and loves, and joys, 
          Shall be accounted toys
     Cheerfully yielded unto meaner clay—
          And my proud soul shall then
          No longer herd with men,—
     Wedded to knowledge that cannot decay!"

Oh, was the boon so rashly craved of Heaven, 
To the wild seeker of its secrets, given?
Was the thick curtain that beneath its told 
Hides the dim Future, to his eye uprolled, 
Laying the secrets bare of unborn years, 
A changeful record, traced in smiles and tears!
Was that strange gift of knowledge and of power 
Shed on the suppliant soul, a baleful dower?
No!—for the MERCIFUL who site on high, 
Veiled with the light and girt with majesty,
Pities his earth-born children, and denies 
Prayer poured in madness, impious and unwise.
He knows the feeble frame-the soul that strives 
With inborn energy to burst its gyves—
He knows our strong temptations, and his eye 
Beams on our path with calm benignity;
While, by its trials and its suffering
He calls the spirit from forbidden things, 
And through the tireless ministry of Love, 
Centres its hopes upon the world above !