30 HENRY KIRKE WIIITE's POE^IS. 



At God's command, assumed a milder strain, 

 And startled on his watch, in the vast deep, 

 Chaos's sluo-gish sentry, and evoked 

 From the dark void the smiling universe. 



Chained to the grovelling frailties of the flesh 



Mere mortal man, unpurged from eartlilj dro.-3, 



Cannot survey, with fixed and steady eye. 



The dim uncertain gulf, which now the Muse 



Adventurous would explore : — but dizzy grown, 



He topples down the abyss. — If he would scan 



The fearful chasm, and catch a transient glimpse 



Of its unfathomable depths, that so 



His mind n:ay turn with double joy to God, 



His only certainty and resting place ; 



He must put off a while this mortal vest. 



And learn to follow without giddiness, 



To heights where all is vision and surprise, 



And vague conj- cture. — He must waste by night 



The studious taper, far from all resort 



Of crowds and folly, in some still retreat ; 



High on the beetling promontory's crest, 



Or in the caves of the vast wilderness. 



Where compass'd round with nature's wildest shape; 



He may be driven to centre all his thoughts 



In the great Architect, who lives confest 



In rocks, and seas, and solitary wastes. 



So has divine philosophy, vrith voice 



Mild as the murmurs of the moonlight wave, 



Tutor'd the heart of him, w^ho now avrakes. 



Touching the chords of solemn minstrelsy, 



His faint, neglected song — intent to snatch 



Some vagrant blossom from the dangerous steep 



Of poesy, a bloom of such an hue, 



So sober, as may not unseemly suit 



With Truth's severer brow ; and one Avlthal 



So hardy as shall brave the passing wind 



Of many winters, — rearing its meek liead 



[n loveliness, when he who gathered it 



