The fountains mingle with the river,
And the river with the ocean;
The winds of heaven mix forever,
With a sweet emotion;
Nothing in the world is single;
All things by a law divine
In one another's being mingle:-
Why not I with thine?
See! the mountains kiss high heaven,
And the waves clasp one another;
No sister flower would be forgiven
If it disdained its brother;
And the sunlight clasps the earth,
And the moonbeams kiss the sea:-
What are all these kissings worth,
If thou kiss not me?
WAY, away, through the sightless air-
Stretch forth your iron thread;
For I would not dim my sandals fair
With the dust ye tamely tread;
Ay, rear it up on its million piers-
Let it reach the world around,
And the journey ye make in a hundred years
I'll clear at a single bound!
Though I cannot toil like the groaning slave
Ye have fetter'd with iron skill,
To ferry you over the boundless wave,
Or grind in the noisy mill;
Let him sing his giant strength and speed:
Why, a single shaft of mine
Would give that monster a flight, indeed,
To the depths of the ocean brine.
No, no! I'm the spirit of light and love:
To my unseen hand 'tis given
To pencil the ambient clouds above,
And polish the stars of heaven.
I scatter the golden rays of fire
On the horizon far below,
And deck the skies where storms expire
With my red and dazzling glow.
The deepest recesses of earth are mine-
I traverse its silent core;
Around me the starry diamonds shine,
And the sparkling fields of ore;
And oft I leap from my throne on high,
To the depths of the ocean's caves,
Where the fadeless forests of coral lie,
Far under the world of waves.
My being is like a lovely thought
That dwells in a sinless breast;
A tone of music that ne'er was caught-
A word that was ne'er expressed.
I burn in the bright and burnish'd halls,
Where the fountains of sunlight play-
Where the curtain of gold and opal falls
O'er the scenes of the dying day.
With a glance I cleave the sky in twain,
I light it with a glare,
When fall the boding drops of rain
Through the darkly-curtain'd air;
The rock-built towers, the turrets gray,
The piles of a thousand years,
Have not the strength of potters' clay
Before my glittering spears.
From the Alps' or the highest Andes' crag,
From the peaks of eternal snow,
The dazzling folds of my fiery flag
Gleam o'er the world below;
The earthquake heralds my coming power,
The avalanche bounds away,
And howling storms at midnight hour
Proclaim my kingly sway.
Ye tremble when my legions come-
When my quivering sword leaps out
O'er the hills that echo my thunder-drum,
And rend with my joyous shout:
Ye quail on the land or upon the seas,
Ye stand in your fear aghast,
To see me burn the stalwart trees,
Or shiver the stately mast.
The hieroglyphs on the Persian wall,
The letters of high command,
Where the prophet read the tyrant's fall,
Were traced with my burning hand;
And oft in fire have I wrote since then,
What angry Heaven decreed—
But the sealed eyes of sinful men
Were all too blind to read.
At last the hour of light is here,
And kings no more shall blind,
Nor the bigots crush with craven fear
The forward march of mind;
The words of Truth, and Freedom's rays
Are from my pinions hurl'd,
And soon the sun of better days
Shall rise upon the world,
But away, away, through the sightless air,
Stretch forth your iron thread;
For I would not soil my sandals fair
With the dust ye tamely tread.
Ay, rear it upon its million piers-
Let it circle the world around,
And the journey ye make in a hundred years
I'll clear at a single bound!
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