366 A FRAGMENT. 



As bright an emanation as the gem 



It fondly clasped ; then think thee of a blight 



That ere a morning's sun arose despoiled 



Both stem and blossom. Dost thou seek the cause ? 



Ask of the night who, sleepless, guides the storm 



And rules the elements, educing good 



From evil ? God the mandate gives, and man 



Obeys. E'en from that hour of envious blight 



Which crept like winter on a summer's sky, 



I felt an undefined expression mock 



Repinings that would oft unbidden rise 



Against a dispensation so remote 



From all conjecture. God was in the storm 



Asserting his prerogative to reign 



Sole arbiter of earth, and air, and skies, 



And I, the weakest of his works, must needs 



The intervention of his will obey. 



These thoughts, companions of my solitude 



In after years, when time a mild restraint 



Imposed upon the impassioned soul, confirmed 



My longing for another brighter world ; 



But then like thee, when on that fatal rock 



Self-banished I no beacon knew, nor found 



In busy search a pathway for the mind. 



And 1 had wandered on, self-willed, condemned, 



But God in judgment interposed, and through 



The gloom and darkness of that hour brought life 



And immortality to light. 



****** 



But I was stationed by the bed of death, 

 Though long the summons tarried, and I thought 

 Sometimes the messenger had been recalled. 

 Oh ! how I longed identity with that 

 Which seemed to slumber in its clay, alike 

 Insensible to hope or dread ! I feared 

 Intrusion where no welcome might be found, 

 And day and night consumed in fruitless search 

 Of some stray token of that soul's repose 

 In God. But hope, sustained by no defence 

 That principle which never yields preserved 

 My spirit from unseemly cares, and thoughts 

 That never slumber in such scenes awoke 

 The memory of the past. I could not look 

 Intently on that silent sleepless form, 

 Nor listen to the struggles of a sigh 

 That would not be restrained, but Fancy drew 

 Her sketch of morning's brightness, now eclipsed 

 By deeper shadows than the night endures. 

 And there before me, as in infancy, 

 Through some dark vista, I beheld the train 

 Of early brief realities too brief 

 For earth, who all her succours drew 

 From sympathies so pure that her abode 

 Befitted not their essence. And I saw, 

 Depicted in a darker shade, the void 

 That crept upon existence, and betrayed 

 The broken cistern where my dream of hope 

 Reposed ; and, if a pang the bosom owned, 



