Canadian Battlefields, and Other Poems

And didst thou sing, then, with the mystic morning star
That shone o’er Bethlehem from heaven’s gate ajar?
And didst thy grateful praises like a river flow
When Christ was born there nineteen hundred years ago?
And didst thou follow Him to soothe and bless His life,
Marking His neglect and care, agony and strife?
The meek and lowly Saviour who came a world to save:
For the fallen and sinful His life He freely gave.

All His precious days to man were gladly given
In teaching him the way that leadeth up to heaven,
In visiting the poor, and soothing grief and pain,
Healing every ill, and restoring life again.
And thou heardst His accusers when in rage and hate
They rudely pushed Him forward unto Pilate’s gate,
Where Pilate pled His innocence, finding no just cause
Of complaint against Him to the state or laws.

But still they loudly clamored for His precious blood,
And shamefully crucified Him, the spotless Son of God.
O fatal sixth hour on Calvary’s rugged hill!
When the sun withdrew, and in shuddering stood still,
And the temple veil in the midst was rent in twain,
And the earth trembled as if in throes of pain,
And all nature quaked with terror and amaze—
’Twas hard for the Lord’s followers on it to gaze.
The world had never seen, nor ever will again,
So great a sacrifice, nor such suff’ring and pain.

And didst thou, O sleepless Time, shed a single tear?
For thou didst pause awhile benumbed with fear.
And didst thou when He rose to His Father’s house on
high
Hear the singing of the angels pealing through the sky?
And didst thou there rejoice that He so freely gave
His life man’s poor and ruined soul from sin to save?

Thou knewest all the prophets and their checkered life
Of noble struggle—grand heroes in the strife
With sin and despotism. To save man’s ruined soul
They endured every privation, and their goal
Was heaven and immortality. They would draw
All mankind after them by keeping God’s just law.
With Paul, they counted suffering and loss but gain.
Avoiding earth’s allurements and the bauble fame,
They went among the lowly to help, save, and cheer,
Facing death, every danger, undeterred by fear.
And from home and country they went at duty’s call,
In the work of rescuing man from his sad fall.

CHAPTER V.—A NIGHT IN OLD ROME.

A night in old Rome! The sighing southwind blew
Down from the purple vine-clad hills, and stealing through
A thousand bowers, summer-laden and so fair,
In odorous bloom it revelled everywhere.
A million golden stars looked upon the night;
Over all the crescent moon cast a dreamy light;
And the witchery of music floated on the air
In sweet notes gay and tender. Devoid of every care,
A million hearts were dreaming in that dreamful hour,
Tenderly enveloped by love’s mystic power.
All Rome seemed wrapt in dreamful white-winged peace,
And from every weary care wooed sweet release.

But see! the vast amphitheatre is all ablaze
With brilliant light, revealing the expectant gaze
Of a sea of eager faces packed and pent—
The fierce and gentle strangely in the weird light blent.
And tier on tier the immense radius circles round
The dread arena—fateful and most cruel ground,
Where many a brave life went out on thy red soil
Against sword and shield, or in the dread lion’s toil.

All Rome was there—the proud, the poor and great,
Her chivalry and beauty, the Emperor in state.
And the expectant throng await with bated breath
The tragedy’s beginning, the revelry of death!

Hark! hark! that blood-curdling, thund’rous, awful roar,
As opens wide the den’s concealing iron door!
A majestic lion leaps forth with one great bound
Into the arena, with roar that shakes the ground.
All proudly he sweeps with stern, undaunted eye
That glittering throng. But hushed is now his cry
That chills the very stoutest heart, and makes run cold
The blood of the most dauntless, and the strong and bold.

But opes another door, and like a flash of light
Another leaps within—and bursts upon the sight
A gallant gladiator, with bright spear and shield,
Of stern and lofty mien that will not bend nor yield.
And the dread beast attacks with hungry, savage roar,
And the gladiator falls lifeless to the floor.
But in sprang another of gigantic mould,
With visage all stern, unconquerable and cold;
And he couches his great spear, and with fearless stride
Attacks the forest king, and wounds his tawny side.

Aroused to furious anger by the pain,
He rushes like a deadly avalanche again.
The dauntless foeman feels his fierce and scorching breath,
And is hurled a bleeding mass to instant death!
Another and another in pride of manhood came,
But the most horrible result was still the same;
And a dreadful shudder moves that vast spellbound crowd,
And tender women sorrowfully are bowed.

But amid the horrors of that ensanguined scene
Another calmly enters with countenance serene:
A very Apollo, and of most kingly mien—
A more noble form grand old Rome hath never seen.
And, though young in years, he moves with stately grace,
And a soul devoid of fear looks from a perfect face.
His only weapons are his Roman sword and shield,
With which he hath made way on many a desp’rate field.
A murmur of admiration everywhere is heard,
And the coldest hearts to sympathy are stirred
As with a courtly wave that kings might imitate
The heroic gladiator advances to his fate.

The forest king awaits him with a fiery eye,
And again is repeated that most awful cry;
And with a malignant, prodigious leap and bound
He hurls his deadly charge, but the foe is not found:
For the brave gladiator springs lightly aside,
And on his speaking face beams confidence and pride;
And again he avoids the lion’s ruthless might,
And like streaming lightning flashes in the light
His Roman sword, that stills that savage roar,
And the dread forest king sinks lifeless to the floor;
And the gladiator bows ’mid thunders of applause.
But again is heard between the weird lull and pause
The gay heralds loud proclaiming Cæsar’s will,
That the lists should now be opened to the skill
Of the most famed gladiators, four and four—
A battle unto death, to death and nothing more.

CHAPTER VI.—THE GLADIATORS.

The attendants quickly remove the ghastly slain,
And cover up with sand the gruesome crimson stain.
Again the heralds with trumpets loud proclaim
Permission to begin in cruel Cæsar’s name.

And they came forth bedight in crimson and in gold,
And a tempest of applause round the arena rolled.
Oh, it was a sight! those grand men all arrayed
For the conflict, all so calm and undismayed.
And fiery youth was there, and veteran middle age
With stern front all scarred by battle’s ruthless rage;
But the most imposing and kingly of them all
Was the lion slayer, responsive to the call.

And in that boding hour, there waiting for the fray,
Did sad thoughts steal backward along the toilsome way?
And a glimpse of home did memory bring once more,
And the welcome smile of mother at the open door;
The loved ones waiting for those that come no more?
And do they play again beside the streams and rills,
And as boys again climb the vine-clad purple hills?
How thought of early days the yearning bosom thrills!

But the signal’s given, and for the fight they brace
Their steely sinews, and sternly, defiantly face
Their adversaries with the Roman sword and shield,
And the deadly cestus, to die, but never yield.
Then leaps from the ponderous scabbard fiercely bright
Those deadly weapons that glitter in the light.
Then with a mighty clash of steel they come to guard,
And foot to foot and eye to eye they thrust and strike and ward,
And like lightning they deliver blow on blow,
And fair women’s faces turn as white as snow.
Like crashing of the hail on shielding window pane
Fall the mighty strokes on shield and helmet, but in vain.
Streams of flaming fire from their weapons fiercely fly,
Falling fast like fiery meteors from the sky;
And they leap and spring lightly aside to and fro
To avoid the deadly thrust or savage blow.

Ha! one is reached, and he totters, sinks and dies.
See! the light is fading fast from his glazing eyes,
And his proud conqueror leans panting on his sword.
But not long hath he to wait; another soon is gored
By the deadly cestus, and piercèd through and through;
Then the winners seek each other, and the fight renew.
They advance and recede like waves upon the shore;
Another, and two others are stricken to the floor!
The sixth’s sword is shivered, his shield cleft in twain;
In vain had been the struggle ’gainst the deadly rain.
And the two survivors stand panting there for breath
Before closing in the dreadful finale of death;
And a look of pity stole o’er each speaking face,
And in their eyes, late stern in battle, you might trace
A gathering tear; and the bowed, weary head,
Spoke of their sorrow for their gallant comrades dead.
But they were aroused from their reverie of pain,
And looked upon each other and the dead again.

Ah! who are they, these that survive the bloody strife?
What fate awaits them in the struggle life for life?
’Tis Julian, the Roman, that slew the forest king,
And the brave Athenian, of whom all Rome doth ring.
They turn and face each other, these men of perfect mould,
And all eyes are tearful with sympathy untold.
But ’tis over now, and sweeps a lurid flame
Over each stern and lofty brow; and again
Their Roman swords are lifted up, and they engage—
The champions rouse to dreadful battle’s ruthless rage.
How the thrusts and strokes fast crash on shield and helm!
How they leap and rush and glide to overwhelm!
And the sparks of fire stream again from screaming steel,
And they deliver and recover, and they reel
’Neath the ponderous blows that on their strong shields fall.
O Cæsar! why not thy stern mandate now recall?
Save those noble gladiators from such direful fate;
Speak, most noble Cæsar! ere it be too late.

Still those dreadful swords in fierce fiery circles scream!
How the eyes of those grand combatants glow and gleam!
For the tempting laurels they contend, and fair fame,
And the cruel pride of conquest, and a fadeless name.
Too late! too late! O Rome! see, see the crimson tide
Is streaming from the intrepid Athenian’s side!
For Julian had delivered an upward, lightning stroke,
And his adversary’s scarce ready guard was broke.
And sorely wounded he can thrust and ward no more,
But staggers backward on the ensanguined floor;
And the pallor of death steals o’er his noble brow,
And a weary smile—he is weakly sinking now.
Julian, the conqueror, had retired a pace,
And a look of regret stole o’er his noble face.
Now he springs to the support of his wounded foe,
And o’er his paling cheeks the streaming tears do flow,
And he tenderly clasps and holds that sinking form
That had weathered many a dread battle’s storm.

“Forgive! O Phalereus! forgive this bitter hour!
We are but puppets in Rome’s imperial power.”
And those two clasp hands, and in mournful accents low
Phalereus speaks, and his face is whiter than snow:
“Tell my loving mother at Athens, far away,
That I have e’er missed her so, and every day
I have thought of her, and the dear remembered home,
And the peace of happy childhood forever flown.
And, Julian, there is another, a fair Greek girl,
Patiently awaiting me—precious, priceless pearl,
I have ever loved her so. Say, Julian, will you
Tell her the wayward wanderer was ever true?
Farewell, comrade Julian! hold my fast failing hand
Whilst I glide outward into the strange shadow land.”

Round the dread arena but sigh and sob is heard,
And eyes are dimmed with tears and every heart is stirred.
Ah! ’twas a battle royal, those famed men four and four—
A trial unto death, to death and nothing more.

Now the throng glide away; chilled is every breast,
And stillness wraps the scene; all Rome hath sunk to rest,
And naught disturbs the silence but the watchful sound
Of the sentry of the legion on his lonely round.
Art satiated, remorseless and relentless Time,
By mankind’s sorrow and life’s tragedy sublime?

CHAPTER VII.—THE FALL OF IMPERIAL ROME.

Thou beheldst the Cæsars in their sceptred power
Dominate the known world; but their kingly dower
Was vast Imperial Rome—the Romans’ love and pride;
Her chivalric people were honored far and wide.

Where now is the Forum where Cicero thundered?
And the enrapt throng that listened and wondered?
Death-stilled! But though insatiate time doth sever,
Cicero’s fame shall live, and live forever.
Where now is the grandeur of the Appian Way,
And the proud Roman legions in their grand array,
As home they march with banners proud unfurled—
The stern, invincible conquerors of the world?
The barbarians of the north upon their grandeur rolled,
But the relics remain of those “brave days of old.”

Thou hast looked upon Rome in all her glory—
Grand Imperial Rome, that lives now but in story;
Thou hast seen her rise resplendent as the day,
And droop, and fall to ruin, moulder and decay.
Now by the yellow Tiber, flowing on its way,
Is but the mere mockery of a grander day.

CHAPTER VIII.—ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA.

Forgotten of Rome! Antony, thou true son of Mars!
The invincible leader of so many wars;
A loiterer at Alexandria on the Nile,
Lost to the witchery of a fair woman’s guile.
Cleopatra, thou famed wonder of the world!
For whom men went mad of love, and, reckless, hurled
Honor and fame and manhood at thy peerless feet—
Very slaves if they but win thy soft smile, replete
With fascination; and as the bees about a flower
Of poison petals, benumbed is every power.

Are there no modern Cleopatras in our day
That enslave, and even men’s honor steal away?
Just as wily and just as cunning in their guile;
Just as witching and just as false their winning smile.
And they lure and beckon onward just as well,
Insidiously leading down to death and hell.
Are there no Antonys from lofty heights to fall,
That listen to the witching, wily siren’s call?

Lovely woman! thy thralling power ’s half divine.
Thou canst lift weak man up to heights that are sublime,
Or hurl him down from duty’s high and wide estate,
And destroy the powers of the gifted, good and great.
Why not use the subtle influence given thee
To ennoble and sustain in blameless purity?
And thus walking blameless a beacon on life’s shore,
“A thing of beauty and a joy for evermore.”

CHAPTER IX.—RETROSPECTION.

Let us retrace our steps along the phantom shore
Of the dead centuries, two thousand years or more,
And look upon a nation whose fame will never cease—
A learned and noble people—grand, heroic Greece.
A freedom-loving nation never could be slaves,
And many desperately fought fields are pent with graves
To freedom. Attest Marathon and Thermopylæ,
Where millions rushed to conflict on that fatal day
When Leonidas with his three hundred Spartans fell
In an immortal struggle in the jaws of hell.

Not in vain their fall—they died for freedom’s glory;
Greece remembers still—all time shall tell the story.
Persia was ruined at Platæa and Salamis,
And Greece’s voice exultant was raised in praise and bliss.
Shall we not, too, O Time, those dauntless deeds extol?
Though marred by thy stern hands, Greece shall be brave
of soul.

Alexander at Arbela grasped immortal fame,
And for the Macedonians an undying name;
And Babylon lay at his conquering feet,
And the conquest of the proud Persians was complete.
But the Tigris and Euphrates ran red with gore,
And Darius, all ruined, could not restore
Confidence from disaster, so fled swift away
From Arbela, crushed by disaster in a day.

Swiftly the grand Roman legions marched away
To the field of Metaurus, where waiting lay
The Carthaginians under their leader, Hasdrubal,
Hannibal’s famous brother—idol there of all.
Stealthily the Roman legions swift onward go,
And at Metaurus at the dawn fall on the foe—
A wave of Roman valor with resistless flow
That swept the Carthaginians from the field,
After a heroic struggle compelled to yield
To the fiery Nero, all mangled and torn,
And almost destroyed since the opening morn.
All Rome went mad with joy when news of victory came,
And a wild enthusiasm, like a quenchless flame,
Pervaded all. Imperial Rome would not be denied;
She swept her foes away, and a world defied.

Why should we, O Time, repeat or enumerate
The world’s decisive battles, or the remorseless fate
Of nations that went down on fields of strife and blood
Forgetting the cause of freedom and even God?
The shadow of thy wing fell on them like a pall
Of destiny when tottering unto their fall.

Thou wast with Cambyses at Pelusium on the Nile,
When the earth shook with the collision, and the vile
And cruel Pharaoh met such a sore defeat,
And Egypt lay defenceless at her captor’s feet.

Thou sawest Arminius, the German, put to flight
Varus and his proud Roman legions, and the sight
Should have stirred e’en thy unsympathizing soul—
A people freed from tyranny, winning freedom’s goal.

The Romans and the Visigoths at Chalons stood
Face unto face with Attila, the “scourge of God.”
The carnage of that field the world remembers still,
And the fame of Attila and his daring will.

At Tours, in Gaul, the Saracenic leader came,
And many fine cities of the Franks were in flame,
And Moslem fury raged, pillaged everywhere,
And Christianity was in great despair.
But their noble Christian king to the rescue came,
And all Christendom doth revere and bless his name.
The furious Moslem Arabs were put to flight,
And slain was Abdurahman in the awful fight.
Charles Martel’s name ’s inscribed on the tower of fame,
And thy savage waves, O Time, beat on its base in vain.

The last of the Saxon kings at Hastings field fell—
Heroic Harold! England’s noblest loved thee well.
Nobly Britons faced the ruthless Norman pride;
Fearlessly, desp’rately they fought and died.
Valorous souls! death were preferable to yield,
And they sank to one pent grave on that decisive field.

O’ercoming all obstacles that beset his way,
Marlborough with Eugene for the Danube made way,
Where at Blenheim Marshal Tollard was deployed,
And the French that great day were utterly destroyed.
Immortal Marlborough! thy arm never failed,
And despots, usurpers, before thy power quailed.
Imperishable is thy talismanic name—
E’en yet the thought of thee sets Britain’s heart aflame.

Plassey, Jena, Wagram, Borodino, Fontenoy,
Were maelstroms of butchery, nations to destroy.
Even the “blue, lone sea” hath known man’s ruthless might,
And torn hath been her bosom by the guns in fight—
The fight of navies, drowning the sea’s tumultuous roar,
Shaking the very ocean, reddened by their gore:
Camperdown’s fierce conflict, Copenhagen and the Nile;
Trafalgar, crowning glory of Britain’s dauntless isle.
But that field of fields that stirred the whole world through,
The battle of the battles, deathless Waterloo—
The brightest gem that shines in England’s diadem;
’Twas fought for liberation and the rights of men.

Unbidden they rise up, so many dreadful days—
The world is red with carnage and dreadful affrays;
Millions of tears hath fallen, despair unspoken
Hath deluged millions of hearts, and millions broken.

CHAPTER X.—THE FLIGHT THROUGH SPACE.

Insatiable Time!
I grow weary in a vain attempt to follow thee,
Or tell the past, so full of deepest mystery;
I cannot cope with thee, for thou art everywhere,
And knowest well that I am weak with a despair
Of ever telling of thy wondrous flight
Through the vast realms of space, by the glorious light
Of day, and the weird, lonesome silence of the night,
Or through awful voids of space, dead to human sight.
None but the Maker can measure the flight of time;
Thou art man’s Nemesis, from a power divine.

But in thought I’ll flit with thee through realms of space,
And by the silvery moonlight we may dimly trace
Our way in passage to the dazzling god of day.
I’m blinded by its fierce and glittering ray,
For we are drawing nigh, like lightning through the sky,
So swift is finite thought to mount, to soar, to fly.
Now in affright, and awesome dread falls on our soul—
How its vast fiery billows leap, and mount, and roll
Over the awful desolation of its deeps,
Where a whirlwind of sulphurous flame forever sweeps
In seething eddies over its frenzied plains.
What maintains the equilibrium of its loss and gains—
Immeasurable yawning gulfs that glow and glare?
Are Satan and his dreadful realm abiding there?
And was it here the fallen angels found their hell?
See! see! the molten tides that sink, and rise, and swell,
And the volcanic bursts that leap frightfully away,
Lighting up the far phantom voids intense as day.

O Time! let’s flee away from this maddening sight,
And by more mildly lighted planets take our flight.
Gliding swift onward over soundless, unknown seas,
What stupendous voids the mind in its terror sees!
O shoreless, frightful, endless, vast infinitude!
And by dread amaze unspeakable pursued;
We flit by the way where ’tis neither night nor day,
Amid a deep eternal silence; and I pray
For strength of soul my appalled senses to retain,
A calm the phantom seas may beat upon in vain.
Save us from the calamity of a mind o’erthrown,
Sunk in shoreless darkness with light and reason gone.

Oh, what glory bursts to our view on every side
As we through glowing rosy spaces swiftly glide,
And see the grandeur of a million burning stars
All bejewelled and bedight with golden bars!
In orbits so vast they swing in ellipses round
A grand centre, a controlling power profound.
From the gleaming and glowing centre of the day
Let us glide across the far paths the planets stray.

Hail, Mercury!
All hail! thou “swift winged messenger of the gods,”
Nearest the mighty central heart that burns and throbs;
Holding thee nearest, perhaps the best and dearest,
Obedient to the will thou lovest and fearest.
And so swift thou rollest along these liquid seas,
The poor finite mind amazed but dimly sees
The splendor of thy far panoramic glory,
And failest in an attempt to tell thy story.

Beautiful Venus!
Time and I are drifting by thy luminous shores,
Lost in admiration as the soul in rapture soars
Around the intense splendor of thy outward form.
Surely the great Creator sought but to adorn
Thee in a halo of radiance; a golden sheen
Veils thy beauty, of which we mortals may but dream.
Ah! to penetrate the veil and look upon thy face,
Which surely is benignant with a warmth and grace
Of which we terrestrials have never dreamed nor known—
We of an orb more chilling, of a sterner zone.

And perhaps, Venus, thou hast a more happy clime,
Continents more generous, scenery more divine,
And seas that are more sunny, sweet winds ever bland,
And purer streams and rivers purling through the land;
And thy lovely valleys and undulating hills
Are glad with a grander nature, a life that thrills
To the rich, fair fulness, profuse on every side,
Where being is a blessing, full, and deep, and wide.

Do thy flora and thy fauna ever fade away?
Are thy seasons e’er balmy as a summer day?
Does the sternness of the winter ne’er come to thee?
And from death and sin art thou absolutely free?
Does love and friendship through thy years live on the same?
Man’s most needed blessing, a never dying flame.

Farewell, Venus! we are sweeping fast from thy sight.
Radiant orb, farewell! We resume our outward flight
Across the yawning chasms of eternal gloom,
In which dead worlds, perhaps, have found an unknown tomb.

CHAPTER XI.—MARS.

Across a lessening void we mark a red glare
Rising fierce above us, menacing everywhere;
And we approach with fear and trembling, and the stars
Grow dim, as bursts on us the wrathful face of Mars.

Hail to thee, stern “god of war”!
Terrestrials have looked to thee through distance afar.
Down the centuries thou wast held in dread and fear
Through the predictions of astrologer and seer.
Holding a strong influence o’er the life of man,
The oracles communed with thee when war began.
But their predictions are found wanting, and a time
Of profound investigation and thought almost divine
Is dispelling the curse of ignorance. And the mind,
Once groping in grossest darkness and sorely blind
To truth, is emerging into the marvellous light
Of day, and preceded by superstitious night.

And we hail thee, Mars! we greet thy great glowing face
With wonder and delight, and by its glory trace
Thy continents and seas—so like, so like our own—
Thy towering mountains and atmospheric zone.
Thy undulating hills and valleys seem so fair,
Say, is thy clime more genial? Is life a blessing there?
Thou hast thy clouds and sunshine, thy vapor, mist, and
rain,
And seasons so like ours, that come and go again.
The sweep of storm and tempest, seas that rage and roar—
Are there ships upon thy oceans that come no more?
Are there hearts in waiting crushed by weary pain,
Grown hopeless in the cruel watching all in vain?
Or hast thou a higher strata, man a happier state,
Free from danger and the uncertainty of fate?
A life of love and plenty, and heaven very near,
Intense in soul, and perfect, devoid of all fear?

Does slavery and wrong never come unto thee?
Is man to man there equal, and absolutely free?
And do they live on there, nevermore growing old,
Exempt from decay and death, and the grave so cold,
Where merely a blest transition to man is given
Through thy gates to the immaculate courts of heaven?

Companion Time! can we not nearer, nearer glide,
To get a view more definite of Mars in all his pride?
To view those seas and oceans breaking on their shores,
And hear the thunder of the billow as it roars?
To hear the winds murmur in the lovely bowers,
Caressing the hills and woodlands, rife with flowers?
To hear the strange, sweet songsters carol light and gay,
And watch the glad coming and going of the day?
To trace the streams and rivers, and hills that die away
In blue ethereal distance, where the mountains lay
Cloud-capped in shadow, or in dazzling light,
And the dreamy splendor of the moons of Mars by night?
To look on a race perhaps superior to our own,
A type of our first created, ere man was o’erthrown
By sin—a calamity, the direful deed of Eve,
For which our benighted world hath ne’er ceased to grieve?

Tumultuous thoughts and strange, beyond our weak control,
Flood o’er the startled mind and agitate the soul,
As, gliding by Mars’ shores on our tour outward bound,
Assured by thoughts prophetic, almost profound,
That a nobler race of beings abideth there,
More blest, perhaps, and sinless—a world supremely fair.

Farewell, thou glowing orb! it may be ne’er again
To look upon thy face in pleasure or in pain;
And we bid thee now adieu, and sever thus the spell
Upon us cast by thee; forever, Mars, farewell!
And that saddest of all words floated out, away,
Down the weird and shadowy silence dim and gray;
Up from eternal distance echo repeated, Farewell!
Shudderingly receding in an appalling knell,
Still muttering in hollow phantom tones, Farewell!
From the outer verges of the universe, Farewell!

And vague doubt and terror seizes on us once more
As we dare the frightful chasms, hovering o’er
Abysses, hiding secrets only God may know,
So vast, so deep and shadowy are the seas that flow
Between Mars and Jupiter. But let’s bear away
And calmly move along where unknown dangers lay.

Ha! we move on apace,
Swifter than the lightning in a weird, wild race
Toward Jupiter, passing by the lone asteroids,
Whose phosphorescent lights but glimmer in the voids.
Hail, Ceres, Pallas, Juno, and Vesta! known afar
By the vivid light, the glittering, brilliant star.
Like oases in the desert, to rest the tired eye,
To refresh the famishing, wearily passing by;
Like harbors by the ocean, or isles far away,
The mariner’s haven when skies with rack are gray;
So ye, too, have your mission ever to disperse
A portion of the darkness shrouding the universe.

But we flit by the planetoids
And observe a deep’ning glow of translucent light
Pouring along the aisles of space, intensely bright,
Heralding the approach of an orb stupendous,
Of which the luminous shadow is tremendous!

CHAPTER XII.—JUPITER.

Jupiter is before us! Stay, O Time, thy hand,
That we may gaze on an orb superlatively grand!
And we are rapt in astonishment and amaze
At a form so colossal, wrapped in an outward blaze
Of resplendent glory, whose illuminating stress
Penetrates the verges of the known universe.

Hail, Jupiter! of the solar orbs the greatest,
And thou art, perhaps, the grandest and the noblest.
In thy orbit three thousand million miles or more,
By the confines of Saturn’s strange, luminous shore;
Or looking on the unfathomable unknown,
Peering into the nebulæ of systems strewn
In the eternal mystery of solitudes
Unspeakable, where scarce even thought intrudes.
But thou art a glorious sight when thy brilliant moons
Light thy radiant face in the night’s resplendent noons!

And surely untold millions roam thy mighty plains,
Where existence and progression ever reigns
In peace perpetual, and friendship as true as gold—
A higher life and purer, of love and joy untold.
But thou’rt a mystery still, beyond our eager gaze,
Shadowed by clouds, or belts, and red and purple haze.
We believe man ne’er shall see but the outer line
Of worlds only known to celestial sight divine.