On the Mountain

Linger a moment, for a moment only,
Here on the height !
Ere our sad feet must feel yon shadows lonely
Sinking to night.
In sooih I know it was but yesterday
You heard me chide
Your calm unhasting progress in the way,
O life, my guide !
An hour agone how fondly I aspired
To crown the crest
Of manly years where beautiful untired
Our elders rest —
Nay seem to rest, for slowly they decline
And leave the brow :
Region of glamour at the last made mine !
Where are they now ?
I view them, I behold them, winding low :
Here it is day.
And all along the mountain from below ;
But there away
Falls their dim going ever in the shade :
Only awhile
Linger, behold with morning in the glade
My home sweet smile
Warm in the vines ! fair home, a hopeful child
I sped from you,
And since, how many a tearful barren wild
Too well I know !
Yet smooth and rugged, beautiful and foul.
Look fair from here.
Softened in mellowing memories of the soul
Made pure from fear.
I never dreamed of passing from the splendour,
Crowned once withal.
Who chid thy slowness when my years were tender.
Yet now I fall
Prone at thy feet, O friend mysterious !
Praying to rest :
Even if I knew them yonder waiting us.
Fair faces pressed
Of human lovers whom I longed to rouse,
Fold to my breast ;
Yea if I knew yon music in the glooming
Of future years
Were surely welcome of sweet souls illuming
With light of tears
My feet confused, with grateful tears my feet;
Yea if I knew,
Still would I trammel all thy steps too fleet,
Feeling they flew.
For even if yonder may be human glory.
Acclaims that roll.
Here, even here, there beams upon my story
An aureole.
A heavenly purple, auroral light of youth
Reblooming never —
But there at most a sombre fire in sooth
Fading for ever !
What though for me may mellow sustenance
Of fruits hang low,
Crimson or golden in the way's advance.
Amber may flow,
Autumn may smoulder ripe and gorgeous
In clouds and leaves ;
Fresh morning never as the pilgrim goes
From now relieves ;
But all in shadowland he wavereth
Out of the sun,
Till in yon gloom of lowland stilly Death,
Dull-eyed and dun.
Feels at his feet for feeding with his breath
Oblivion !
Nay I repine not since upon the air.
Even while I go.
Clear floats a treble of young children fair
Who climb below.
Nay, I repine not, for I lift mine eyes
To heights afar
Tranquil abiding lovely in the skies.
Homes of the star.
Yea, in a vision I can see them moving,
Children of God,
Dear human creatures clear from our reproving,
Nigh His abode.
Though fleeting our frail syllable of story,
God will rehearse
Fresh like the sea, grown never old and hoary.
his universe !