TO THE SUN
by: Bernard Barton (1784-1849)
- I.
- onarch of day! once rev'rently ador'd
- By virtuous Pagans; if no longer thou
- With orisons art worshipp'd as the lord
- Of the delightful lyre, or dreadful bow;
- If thy embodied essence be not now,
- As it once was, regarded as divine;
- Nor blood of victims at thine altar flow,
- Nor clouds of incense hover round thy shrine;
- Yet fitly may'st thou claim the homage of the Nine.
- II.
- Nor can I deem it strange, that in past ages
- Men should have knelt and worshipp'd thee; that kings,
- And laurel'd bards, robed priests, and hoary sages,
- Should, far above all sublunary things,
- Have turn'd to thee, whose radiant glory flings
- Its splendour over all Ere gospel-light
- Had dawn'd, and given to thought sublimer wings,
- I cannot marvel, in that mental night,
- That nations should obey, and nature own thy right.
- III.
- For man was then, as now he is, compell'd
- By conscious frailties manifold, to seek
- Something to worship. In the heart, unquell'd
- By innate evil, thoughts there are which speak
- One language in Barbarian, Goth, or Greek;
- A language by the heart well understood,
- Proclaiming man is helpless, frail, and weak,
- And urging him to bow to stone, or wood,
- Till what his hands had form'd his heart rever'd as good.
- IV.
- Do I commend idolatry? O no!
- I merely would assert the human heart
- Must worship: that its hopes and fears will go
- Out of itself, and restlessly depart
- In search of somewhat which its own fond art,
- Tradition, custom, or sublimer law
- Of Revelation brings, to assuage the smart
- Sorrows and sufferings from its essence draw,
- When it can look not up with hope, and love, and awe.
- V.
- Can it be wondrous, then, before the name
- Of the ETERNAL GOD was known, as now,
- That orisons were pour'd, and votaries came
- To offer at thine altars, and to bow
- Before an object beautiful as thou?
- No, it was natural, in those darker days,
- For such to wreathe around thy phantom brow
- A fitting chaplet of thine arrowy rays,
- Shaping thee forth a form to accept their prayer or praise.
- VI.
- Even I, majestic Orb! who worship not
- The splendour of thy presence, who controul
- My present feelings, as thy future lot
- Is painted to the vision of my soul,
- When final darkness, like an awful scroll,
- Shall quench thy fires; even I, if I could kneel
- To aught but Him who fram'd this wondrous whole,
- Could worship thee; so deeply do I feel
- Emotions, words alone are powerless to reveal.
- VII.
- For thou art glorious! when from thy pavilion
- Thou lookest forth at morning, flinging wide
- Its curtain clouds of purple and vermilion,
- Dispensing light and life on every side;
- Brightening the mountain cataract, dimly spied
- Through glittering mist; opening each dew-gemm'd flower;
- Or touching, in some hamlet, far descried,
- Its spiral wreaths of smoke that upward tower,
- While birds their matins sing from many a leafy bower.
- VIII.
- And more magnificent art thou, bright sun!
- Uprising from the ocean's billowy bed;
- Who, that has seen thee thus, as I have done,
- Can e'er forget the effulgent splendours spread
- From thy emerging radiance? Upwards sped,
- E'en to the centre of the vaulted sky,
- Thy beams pervade the heavens, and o'er them shed
- Hues indescribable of gorgeous dye,
- Making among the clouds mute, glorious pageantry.
- IX.
- Then, then how beautiful, across the deep,
- The lustre of thy orient path of light!
- Onward, still onward, o'er the waves that leap
- So lovelily, and show their crests of white,
- The eye, unsated, in its own despite,
- Still up that vista gazes; till thy way
- Over the waters, seems a pathway bright
- For holiest thoughts to travel, there to pay
- Man's homage unto Him who bade thee "RULE THE DAY."
- X.
- And thou thyself, forgetting what thou art,
- Appear'st thy Maker's temple, in whose dome
- The silent worship of the expanding heart
- May rise, and seek its own eternal home:
- The intervening billows' snowy foam,
- Rising successively, seem steps of light,
- O'er which a disembodied soul might roam;
- E'en as the heavenly host, in vision bright,
- Once did on Bethel's plain before the Patriarch's sight.
- XI.
- Nor are thy evening splendours, mighty orb!
- Less beautiful: and O! more touching far,
- And of more power thought, feeling to absorb
- In voiceless ecstacy, to me they are.
- When, watchful of thy exit, one pale star
- Of evening, in a lovely summer eve,
- Comes forth, and, softer than the soft guitar,
- Is said to tell how gentle lovers grieve,
- The whispering breezes sigh, and take of thee their leave.
- XII.
- O! then it is delightful to behold
- Thy calm departure; soothing to survey
- Through opening clouds, by thee all edged with gold,
- The milder pomp of thy declining sway:
- How beautiful, on church-tower old and grey,
- Is shed thy parting smile; how brightly glow
- Thy last beams on some tall tree's loftiest spray,
- While silvery mists half hide its stem below,
- Ascending from the stream which at its foot doth flow.
- XIII.
- This may be mere description; and there are
- Who of such poesy but lightly deem;
- And think it nobler in a bard by far,
- To seek in narrative a livelier theme:
- These think, perchance, the poet does but dream,
- Who paints the scenes most lovely in his eyes,
- And, all unconscious of the bliss supreme
- Their quiet unobtrusiveness supplies,
- Insipid judge his taste, his simple strain despise.
- XIV.
- I quarrel not with such. If battle fields,
- Where crowns are lost and won; or potent spell
- Which portraiture of stormier passion yields;
- If such alone can bid their bosoms swell
- With those emotions words can feebly tell,
- Enough there are who sing such themes as these,
- Whose loftier powers I seek not to excel:
- I neither wish to fire the heart, nor freeze;
- But seek their praise alone, whom gentler thoughts can please.
- XV.
- But if the quiet study of the heart,
- And love sincere of nature's softer grace,
- Have not deceiv'd me; these have power to impart
- Feelings and thoughts well worthy of a place
- In every bosom: he who learns to trace,
- Through all he sees, that Hand which form'd the whole,
- While contemplating fair Creation's face,
- Feels its calm beauty ruder thoughts control,
- And touch the mystic chords which vibrate through the soul.
- XVI.
- Majestic Orb! when, at the tranquil close
- Of a long day in irksome durance spent,
- I've wander'd forth, and seen thy disk repose
- Upon the vast horizon, while it lent
- Its glory to the kindling firmament,
- While clouds on clouds, in rich confusion roll'd,
- Encompass'd thee as with a gorgeous tent,
- Whose most magnificent curtains would unfold,
- And form a vista bright, through which I might behold
- XVII.
- Celestial visions--Then the wondrous story
- Of BUNYAN'S PILGRIMS seem'd a tale most true;
- How he beheld their entrance into glory,
- And saw them pass the pearly portal through;
- Catching, meanwhile, a beatific view
- Of that bright city, shining like the sun,
- Whose glittering streets appear'd of golden hue,
- Where spirits of the just, their conflicts done,
- Walk'd in white robes, with palms, and crowned every one.
- XVIII.
- Past is that vision:--Views of heavenly things
- Rest not in glories palpable to sense;
- To something dearer Hope exulting springs,
- With joy chastis'd by humble diffidence;
- Not robes, nor palms, give rapture so intense
- As thought of meeting, never more to part,
- Those we have lov'd on earth; the influence
- Of whose affection o'er the subject heart,
- Was by mild virtue gain'd, and sway'd with gentle art.
- XIX.
- Once more unto my theme. I turn again
- To Thee, appointed ruler of the day!
- For time it is to close this lingering strain,
- And I, though half reluctantly, obey.
- Still, not thy rise, and set, alone, though they
- Are most resplendent, claim thy votary's song;
- The bard who makes thee subject of his lay,
- Unless he would a theme so glorious wrong,
- Will find it one that makes of thoughts a countless throng.
- XX.
- For can imagination upward soar
- To thee, and to thy daily path on high,
- Nor feel, if it have never felt before,
- Warm admiration of thy majesty?
- Thy home is in the beautiful blue sky!
- From whence thou lookest on this world of ours,
- As but a satellite thy beams supply
- With light and gladness; thy exhaustless powers
- Call forth in other worlds sweet Spring's returning flowers!
- XXI.
- Yes--as in this, in other worlds the same,
- The seasons do thee homage--each in turn:
- Spring, with a smile, exults to hear thy name;
- Then Summer woos thy bright, but brief sojourn,
- To bless her bowers; while deeper ardours burn
- On Autumn's glowing cheek when thou art nigh;
- And even Winter half foregoes his stern
- And frigid aspect, as thy bright'ning eye
- Falls on his features pale, nor can thy power deny.
- XXII.
- Yet though on earth thou hast beheld the sway
- Of time, which alters all things; and may'st look
- On Pyramids as piles of yesterday,
- Which were not in thy youth: although no nook
- Of earth, perchance, retain the form it took
- When first thou didst behold it: even thou
- Must know, in turn, thy strength and glory strook;
- Must lose the radiant crown that decks thy brow,
- Day's regal sceptre yield, and to a Mightier bow!
- XXIII.
- For thou thyself art but a thing of time,
- Whose birth with thine one awful moment blended;
- Together ye began your course sublime,
- Together will that course sublime be ended.
- For, soon or late, have oracles portended,
- One final consummation ye shall meet:
- When into nothingness ye have descended,
- This mighty world shall melt with fervent heat,
- Its revolutions end, its cycle be complete.
- XXIV.
- And then shall dawn Heaven's everlasting day,
- Illum'd with splendour far surpassing thine;
- For HE who made thee shall HIMSELF display,
- And in the brightness of His glory shine.
- Redeem'd from grief and sin by Love Divine,
- Before his throne shall countless thousands bend;
- And space itself become one holy shrine,
- Whence in harmonious concord shall ascend
- To GOD, and to THE LAMB, praise, glory without end!
"To the Sun" is reprinted from Napoleon and Other Poems. Bernard Barton. London: Thomas Boys, 1822. |
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