Conclusion of the "Dream of a Day"

A spirit stood before me, half unseen,
Majestic and severe; yet o'er him play'd
A genial light — subdued though high his mien,
As by a strong collected spirit sway'd —
In even balance justly poised between
Each wild extreme, proud strength by feeling stay'd —
Dwelling in upper realms serenely bright,
Lifted above the shadowy sphere of night.
He stood before me, and I heard a tone,
Such as from mortal lips had never flow'd,
Soft yet commanding, gentle yet alone,
It bow'd the listener's heart — anon it glow'd
Intensely fervent, then like wood-notes thrown
On the chance winds, in airy lightness rode —
Now swell'd like ocean surge, now pausing fell
Like the last murmur of a muffled bell.
"Lone pilgrim through life's gloom," thus spake the shade,
"Hold on with steady will along thy way:
Thou, by a kindly favouring hand wert made —
Hard though thy lot, yet thine what can repay
Long years of bitter toil — the holy aid
Of spirit aye is thine, be that thy stay:
Thine to behold the true, to feel the pure,
To know the good and lovely — these endure.
Hold on — thou hast in thee thy best reward;
Poor are the largest stores of sordid gain,
If from the heaven of thought thy soul is barr'd,
If the high spirit's bliss is sought in vain:
Think not thy lonely lot is cold or hard,
The world has never bound thee with its chain;
Free as the birds of heaven thy heart can soar,
Thou canst create new worlds — what wouldst thou more!
The future age will know thee — yea, even now
Hearts beat and tremble at thy bidding, tears
Flow as thou movest thy wand, thy word can bow
Even ruder natures, the dull soul uprears
As thou thy trumpet blast attunest — thou
Speakest, and each remotest valley hears:
Thou hast the gift of song — a wealth is thine,
Richer than all the treasures of the mine.
Hold on, glad spirits company thy path —
They minister to thee, though all unseen:
Even when the tempest lifts its voice in wrath,
Thou joyest in its strength; the orient sheen
Gladdens thee with its beauty; winter hath
A holy charm that soothes thee, like the green
Of infant May — all nature is thy friend,
All seasons to thy life enchantment lend.
Man, too, thou know'st and feelest — all the springs
That wake his smile and tear, his joy and sorrow,
All that uplifts him on emotion's wings,
Each longing for a fair and blest to-morrow,
Each tone that soothes or saddens, all that rings
Joyously to him, thou canst fitly borrow
From thy own breast, and blend it in a strain,
To which each human heart beats back again.
Thine the unfetter'd thought, alone controll'd
By nature's truth; thine the wide-seeing eye,
Catching the delicate shades, yet apt to hold
The whole in its embrace — before it lie
Pictured in fairest light, as chart unroll'd,
Fields of the present and of destiny:
The voice of truth amid the senseless throng
May now be lost; 'tis heard and felt ere long.
Hold on — live for the world — live for all time —
Rise in thy conscious power, but gently bear
Thy form among thy fellows; sternly climb
The spirit's alpine peaks; mid snow towers there
Nurse the pure thought, but yet accordant chime
With lowlier hearts in valleys green and fair, —
Sustain thyself — yield to no meaner hand,
Even though he rule awhile thy own dear land.
Brief is his power, oblivion waits the churl
Bound to his own poor self; his form decays,
But sooner fades his name. Thou shalt unfurl
Thy standard to the winds of future days —
Well mayest thou in thy soul defiance hurl
On such who would subdue thee; thou shalt raise
Thy name, when they are dust, and nothing more!
Hold on — in earnest hope still look before.
Nerved to a stern resolve, fulfil thy lot —
Reveal the secrets nature has unveil'd thee;
All higher gifts by toil intense are bought —
Has thy firm will in action ever fail'd thee?
Only on distant summits fame is sought —
Sorrow and gloom thy nature has entail'd thee,
But bright thy present joys, and brighter far
The hope that draws thee like a heavenly star."
The voice was still — its tone in distance dying
Breathed in my ear, like harp faint heard at even,
Soft as the autumn wind through sere leaves s sighing
When flaky clouds athwart the moon are- driven
Far through the viewless gloom the spirit flying,
Wing'd his high passage to his native heaven,
But o'er me still he seem'd in kindness bending,
Fresh hope and firmer purpose to me lending.