Poems By John L. Stoddard Part 2

The very dawn of Time Beheld thee sculptured from the living rock!

Still wears thy face its primal look sublime, Surviving all the h.o.a.ry ages' shock: Still royal art thou in thy proud repose, As when the sun on tuneful Memnon rose, O changeless Sphinx!

O voiceless Sphinx!

Thy solemn lips are dumb; Time's awful secrets lie within thy breast; Age follows age; revering pilgrims come From every clime to urge the same request,-- That thou wilt speak! Poor creatures of a day, In calm disdain thou seest them die away: O voiceless Sphinx!

Majestic Sphinx!

Thou crouchest by a sea Whose fawn-hued wavelets clasp thy buried feet: Whose desert-surface, petrified like thee, Gleams white with sails of many an Arab fleet: Whose tawny billows, surging with the storm, Break on thy flanks, and overleap thy form; Majestic Sphinx!

Eternal Sphinx!

The Pyramids are thine; Their giant summits guard thee night and day, On thee they look when stars in splendor shine, Or while around their crests the sunbeams play: Thine own coevals, who with thee remain Colossal Genii of the boundless plain!

Eternal Sphinx!

YOUTH AND AGE

"I will gain a fortune," the young man cried; "For Gold by the world is deified; Hence, whether the means be foul or fair, I will make myself a millionaire, My single talent shall grow to ten!"

But an old man smiled, and asked "And then?"

"A peerless beauty," the young man said, "Shall be the woman I choose to wed.

And men shall envy me my prize, And women scan her with jealous eyes;"

And he looked annoyed, when once again The old man smiled, and asked "And then?"

"I will build," he answered, "a home so fine, That kings in their castles shall covet mine; The rarest pictures shall clothe its walls, And statues stand in its stately halls; It shall lack no luxury known to men;"

But still the old man asked "And then?"

"I will play a role in Church or State That all mankind shall acknowledge great; I will win at last such brilliant fame, That distant lands shall know my name, For I can wield both sword and pen;"

But again the old man asked "And then?"

"Is your heart a stone," the young man cried, "Hath all ambition within you died, That nothing seems to you worth while?

What mean you by that sphinx-like smile?

Of what are you secretly thinking, when You utter those mournful words,--'And then?'"

Gently the old man said "O youth, The words I have spoken veil a truth Learned only through the lapse of years, And first discerned through a mist of tears; For youth is full of illusions fair Which manhood sees dissolve in air.

"Your millions will not make you blest, They will rob you, instead, of peace and rest: Your beautiful wife may be the prey Of a treacherous friend or a skilled roue; And the splendid palace that you crave Will make you Society's gilded slave.

"'Tis a weary road to political fame; Its price you must often pay in shame; And the world-known name for which you yearn On a bulletin board or a funeral urn, Is scarcely worth the toil and strife Which poison the peaceful joys of life.

"For be you ever so wise and good, By some you will be misunderstood, And fame will bring you envious foes To spoil for you many a night's repose; And alas! as your pathway upward tends, You will find self-interest in your friends!

"The loudest shout of the mob's applause Will die out after a moment's pause; And what is the greatest public praise To one whose form in the earth decays?

The cruel world will always laugh At the fulsome lie of an epitaph.

"But Spring recks not of Winter's snow, And you will not believe, I know, That all those boons that tempt your powers, If gained, will be like fragile flowers, Whose freshness wilts in the fevered hand, Like roses dropped on the desert sand.

"And much of the work you deem sublime Is like the grain of pink-hued lime Which once was a coral insect's sh.e.l.l, But now is a microscopic cell, Entombed with countless billions more In a lonely reef on an unknown sh.o.r.e!"

"Alas!" said the youth,--and his eyes were wet,-- "Is old age merely a vain regret, The retrospect of wasted years, Of false ideals and lost careers?

Advise me! What must I reject, And what for my permanent good select?"

"Belovd youth," the old man said, "All is not vain, be comforted!

Seek not thine own, but others' joy; Ring true, like gold without alloy; Waste not thy time in asking Why, Or Whence, or Whither when we die;

"The actual world, the present hours Will give enough to tax thy powers; At no clear duty hesitate; Serve well thy neighbor and the State; So shalt thou add thy tiny form To bind the reef that b.r.e.a.s.t.s the storm!"

SUNSET AT INTERLAKEN

The sun is low; Yon peak of snow Is reddening 'neath the sunset glow; The rosy light Makes richly bright The Jungfrau's veil of snowy white.

From vales that sleep Night's shadows creep To take possession of the steep; While, as they rise, The western skies Seem loath to leave so fair a prize.

The light of day Still loves to stay And round that pearly summit play; How fair a sight That realm of light, Contended for by Day and Night!

Now fainter shines, As Day declines, The l.u.s.trous height which he resigns; The shadows gain Th' illumined plane; The Jungfrau pales, as if in pain.

When daylight dies, The azure skies Seem sparkling with a thousand eyes, Which watch with grace From depths of s.p.a.ce The sleeping Jungfrau's lovely face.

And when the Light Hath put to flight Night's shadows from each Alpine height, Along the skies It quickly flies, To kiss the Maiden's opening eyes.

The timid flush And rosy blush Which then from brow to bosom rush, Are pure and fair Beyond compare, Resplendent in the crystal air.

And thus alway By night and day Her varying suitors homage pay; And tinged with rose, Or white with snows, The same fair, radiant form she shows.

UNDER THE STARS

The breath of summer stirs the trees, A thousand roses round me bloom, Whose saffron petals give the breeze A wealth of exquisite perfume, As, climbing high, with tendrils bold, They clothe the walls with cups of gold.

No sound disturbs the silence sweet, The weary birds have sunk to rest; For where the snow and sunset meet The light is fading in the west, And now the carking cares of day Slip lightly from my heart away.

The emptiness of social strife, The pettiness of human souls, The cheap frivolities of life, The keen pursuit of paltry goals,-- How small they seem beneath the dome That shelters my Tyrolean home!

A shining mote, our tiny earth No furrow leaves in sh.o.r.eless s.p.a.ce!

What is one brief existence worth, Which disappears, and leaves no trace?

That silent, star-strewn vault survives The dawns and dusks of countless lives.

Why grieve, dear heart? Oblivion deep Will soon enshroud both friend and foe, And those who laugh and those who weep Must join the hosts of long ago, Whose transient hours of smiles and tears Make up earth's wilderness of years.

The sunset's glowing embers die, The snow-peaks lose their crimson hue, Through deepening shades the ruddy sky Burns slowly down to darkest blue, Wherein a million worlds of light Announce the coming of the night.

I gaze, and slowly my despair At human wretchedness and crime Gives place to hopes and visions fair,-- So much may be evolved by time!

So much may yet men's souls surprise Beneath the splendor of G.o.d's skies!