Solomon and the Genius

Spirit or Thought! Lo! art thou here?
Lord of the false, fond, ceaseless spell
That mocks the heart, the eye, the ear —
Art thou, indeed, of heaven or hell?
In mortal bosoms dost thou dwell,
Self-exiled from thy native sphere?
Or is the human mind thy cell
Of torment? To inflict and bear
Thy doom! — the doom of all who fell?
Since thou hast sought to prove my skill,
Unquestion'd thou shalt not depart,
Be thy behests or good or ill,
No matter what or whence thou art!
I will commune with thee apart,
Yea! and compel thee to my will —
If thou hast power to yield my heart
What earth and Heaven deny it still.
I know thee, Spirit! thou hast been
Light of my soul by night and day;
All-seeing, though thyself unseen;
My dreams — my thoughts — and what are they,
But visions of a calmer ray?
All! all were thine — and thine between
Each hope that melted fast away,
The throb of anguish, deep and keen!
With thee I 've search'd 'the earth, the sea,
The air, sun, stars, man, nature, time,
Explored the universe with thee,
Plunged to the depths of wo and crime,
Or dared the fearful height to climb,
Where, amid glory none may see
And live, the Eternal reigns sublime,
Who is, and was, and is to be!
And I have sought, with thee have sought,
Wisdom's celestial path to tread,
Hung o'er each page with learning fraught;
Question'd the living and the dead:
The patriarchs of ages fled —
The prophets of the time to come —
All who one ray of light could shed
Beyond the cradle or the tomb.
And I have task'd my busy brain
To learn what haply none may know,
Thy birth, seat, power, thine ample reign
O'er the heart's tides that ebb and flow,
Throb, languish, whirl, rage, freeze, or glow
Like billows of the restless main,
Amid the wrecks of joy and wo
By ocean's caves preserved in vain.
And oft to shadow forth I strove,
To my mind's eye, some form like thine,
And still my soul, like Noah's dove,
Return'd, but brought, alas! no sign:
Till, wearying in the mad design,
With fever'd brow and throbbing vein,
I left the cause to thread the mine
Of wonderful effects again!
But now I see thee face to face,
Thou art indeed, a thing divine;
An eye pervading time and space,
And an angelic look are thine,
Ready to seize, compare, combine
Essence and form — and yet a trace
Of grief and care — a shadowy line
Dims thy bright forehead's heavenly grace.
Yet thou must he of heavenly birth,
Where naught is known of grief and pain;
Though I perceive, alas! where earth
And earthly things have left their stain:
From thine high calling didst thou deign
To prove — in folly or in mirth —
With daughters of the first-born Cain,
How little Human Love is worth?
Ha! dost thou change before mine eyes!
Another form! and yet the same,
But lovelier, and of female guise,
A vision of ethereal flame,
Such as our heart's despair can frame,
Pine for, love, worship, idolize,
Like hers, who from the sea-foam came,
And lives but in the heart, or skies.
Spirit of Change! I know thee too,
I know thee by thine Iris bow,
By thy cheek's ever-shifting hue,
By all that marks thy steps below;
By sighs that burn, and tears that glow —
False joys — vain hopes — that mock the heart;
From Fancy's urn these evils flow,
Spirit of Lies! for such thou art!
Saidst thou not once, that all the charms
Of life lay hid in woman's love,
And to be lock'd in Beauty's arms,
Was all men knew of heaven above?
And did I not thy counsels prove,
And all their pleasures, all their pain?
No more! no more my heart they move,
For I, alas! have proved them vain!
Didst thou not then, in evil hour,
Light in my soul ambition's flame?
Didst thou not say the joys of power,
Unbounded sway, undying fame,
A monarch's love alone should claim?
And did I not pursue e'en these?
And are they not, when won, the samel
All Vanity of vanities!
Didst not, to tempt me once again,
Bid new, deceitful visions rise,
And hint, though won with toil and pain,
"Wisdom's the pleasure of the wise?"
And now, when none beneath the skies
Are wiser held by men than me,
What is the value of the prize?
It too, alas! is Vanity!
Then tell me — since I 've found on earth
Not one pure stream to slake this thirst,
Which still torments us from our birth,
And in our heart and soul is nursed;
This hopeless wish wherewith we're cursed,
Whence came it, and why was it given!
Thou speak'st not! — Let me know the worst!
Thou pointest! — and it is to Heaven!