A CURE FOR SEA-SICKNESS: LINES ON A NEW NOTION; COMPOSED AT SEA, Monday Night, April 6, 1829. I SING the story of the ancient ark, - The clouds collect; the various tribes embark; Above the matins of the early lark and hark! The thunders roll. Beyond th' appointed mark He sends the dove to mark and bark; THE VISION OF LIBERTY, AN ODE, RECITED BEFORE THE PHI BETA KAPPA SOCIETY OF HARVARD UNIVERSITY, August 26, 1824. THE matter of the following lines is not a poetical invention, but the simple versification of what was actually dreamed about thirty years ago. The dreams were repeated to the writer by one who heard them at the time, and to whose recollection they were brought by the exhilarating events of the last week. An English lady residing in Hingham, about 1794, imagined that there stood before her a vast and venerable building, which, as she was looking at it, began to wax hot and red, and at length, as if with the violence of the heat, flew to pieces and disappeared; when on the spot where it had stood, appeared a beautiful female figure, whom she knew to be the goddess of Liberty. About the same time, a gentleman in Massachusetts saw in his dream a temple of wonderful magnificence and beauty. As he was approaching to enter it, a bell sounded from the dome with an uncommonly musical tone. He cast his eye up, and was surprised to see written upon it, in golden letters, the name of FAYETTE. The irregular stanza was chosen simply because it seemed to offer fewest embarrassments to a person writing in haste. Is there some genial spirit of the night, And pours within a more effectual light, Is it some spirit, that, in vision, Or is it but that Fancy strays In bolder and prophetic ways, When slumbering Reason drops her stern control; The unsealed records of Time's lengthening scroll? The evening heavens were calm and bright; No dimness rested on the glittering light That sparkled from that wilderness of worlds on high. Those distant suns burned on with quiet ray; The placid planets held their modest way; And silence reigned profound o'er earth, and sea, and sky. O, what an hour for lofty thought! Till morning dawned and Sleep resumed her power. A vision passed upon my soul. And all those countless sons of light Flame from the broad blue arch, and guide the moonless night; When, lo! upon the plain, Just where it skirts the swelling main, In towering grandeur broke upon my eye. And threats and arms deride. Its gorgeous carvings of heraldic pride Yet ivy there and moss their garlands wove, Grave, silent chroniclers of Time's protracted flow. Bursting on my steadfast gaze, See, within, a sudden blaze! So small at first, the zephyr's lightest swell, That scarcely stirs the pine-tree top, Nor makes the withered leaf to drop, The feeble fluttering of that flame would quell. But soon it spread Waving, rushing, fierce, and red- Till every fervent pillar glowed, And every stone seemed burning coal, Beautiful, fearful, grand, Silent as death, I saw the fabric stand. At length a crackling sound began; The shattered walls were rent and riven, Like blazing comets through the troubled sky. But in their place, Bright with more than human grace, And eyes with heaven's own brightness beaming- As the mild rainbow from the storm. Read ye the dream? and know ye not How truly it unlocked the word of fate? Went not the flame from this illustrious spot, And spreads it not, and burns, in every state? And when their old and cumbrous walls, Filled with this spirit, glow intense, Vainly they rear their impotent defence:The fabric falls! |