Verses to the Comet of 1811

How lovely is this wildered scene,
As twilight from her vaults so blue
Steals soft o'er Yarrow's mountains green,
To sleep embalmed in midnight dew !

All hail, ye hills, whose towering height,
Like shadows, scoops the yielding sky ;
And thou, mysterious guest of night,
Dread traveller of immensity !

Stranger of heaven ! I bid thee hail !

Shred from the pall of glory riven ,
That flash est in celestial gale,
Broad pennon of the King of Heaven !

Art thou the flag of woe and death,
From angel's ensign-staff unfurled ?

Art thou the standard of his wrath
Waved o'er a sordid sinful world ?

No, from that pure pellucid beam,
That erst o'er plains of Bethlehem shone,
No latent evil we can deem,
Bright herald of the eternal throne !

Whate'er portends thy front of fire,
Thy streaming locks so lovely pale, —
Or peace to man, or judgments dire,
Stranger of Heaven, I bid thee hail !

Where hast thou roamed these thousand years?

Why sought these polar paths again,
From wilderness of glowing spheres,
To fling thy vesture o'er the wain ?

And when thou scalest the milky way —
And vanishes! from human view,
A thousand worlds shall hail thy ray
Through wilds of yon empyreal blue !

Oh ! on thy rapid prow to glide !

To sail the boundless skies with thee,
And plough the twinkling stars aside,
Like foam-bells on a tranquil sea !

To brush the embers from the sun,
The icicles from off the pole
Then far to other systems run,
Where other moons and planets roll !

Stranger of heaven ! O let thine eye
Smile on a rapt enthusiast's dream ;
Eccentric as thy course on high,
And airy as thine ambient beam !

And long, long may thy silver ray
Our northern arch at eve adorn ;
Then, wheeling to the east away,
Light the grey portals of the morn !