BRYANT'S POEMS.

THE AGES.*

WHEN to the common rest that crowns our

days,

Called in the noon of life, the good man goes,

Or full of years, and ripe in wisdom, lays
His silver temples in their last repose;

When, o'er the buds of youth, the death-wind

blows,

And blights the fairest; when our bitterest

tears

Stream, as the eyes of those that love us close, We think on what they were, with many fears Lest goodness die with them, and leave the coming years.

In this poem, written and first printed in the year 1821, the Author has endeavored, from a survey of the past ages of the world, and of the successive advances of mankind in knowledge, virtue, and happiness, to justify and confirm the hopes of the philanthropist for the future destinies of the

human race.

II.

And therefore, to our hearts, the days gone

by

When lived the honored sage whose death we

wept,

And the soft virtues beamed from many an eye, And beat in many a heart that long has sleptLike spots of earth where angel-feet have stepped

Are holy; and high-dreaming bards have told. Of times when worth was crowned, and faith

was kept,

Ere friendship grew a snare, or love waxed

cold

Those pure and happy times- the golden days of old.

III.

Peace to the just man's memory, let it grow Greener with years, and blossom through the

flight

Of ages; let the mimic canvas show

His calm benevolent features; let the light

Stream on his deeds of love, that shunned the

sight

Of all but heaven, and, in the book of fame, The glorious record of his virtues write,

And hold it up to men, and bid them claim

A palm like his, and catch from him the hallowed

flame.

IV.

But oh, despair not of their fate who rise

To dwell upon the earth when we withdraw; Lo! the same shaft by which the righteous

dies,

Strikes through the wretch that scoffed at mercy's law,

And trode his brethren down, and felt no awe Of Him who will avenge them. Stainless worth,

Such as the sternest age of virtue saw,

Ripens, meanwhile, till time shall call it forth From the low modest shade, to light and bless the earth.

V.

Has Nature, in her calm, majestic march, Faltered with age at last? does the bright sun Grow dim in heaven? or, in their far blue arch, Sparkle the crowd of stars, when day is done, Less brightly? when the dew-lipped Spring

comes on,

Breathes she with airs less soft, or scents the

sky

With flowers less fair than when her reign

begun?

Does prodigal Autumn, to our age, deny

The plenty that once swelled beneath his sober

eye?

VI.

Look on this beautiful world, and read the

truth

In her fair page; see, every season brings New change, to her, of everlasting youth; Still the green soil, with joyous living things, Swarms, the wide air is full of joyous wings, And myriads, still, are happy in the sleep Of ocean's azure gulfs, and where he flings The restless surge. Eternal Love doth keep In his complacent arms, the earth, the air, the deep.

VII.

Will then the merciful One, who stamped our

race

With his own image, and who gave them sway
O'er earth, and the glad dwellers on her face,
Now that our flourishing nations far away
Are spread, where'er the moist earth drinks the

day,

Forget the ancient care that taught and nursed

His latest offspring? will he quench the ray Infused by his own forming smile at first, And leave a work so fair all blighted and accursed?

VIII.

Oh, no! a thousand cheerful omens give
Hope of yet happier days whose dawn is nigh.
He who has tamed the elements, shall not live
The slave of his own passions; he whose eye
Unwinds the eternal dances of the sky,

And in the abyss of brightness dares to span
The sun's broad circle, rising yet more high,
In God's magnificent works his will shall

scan

And love and peace shall make their paradise

with man.

IX.

Sit at the feet of History- through the night
Of years the steps of virtue she shall trace,
And show the earlier ages, where her sight
Can pierce the eternal shadows o'er their

face;

When, from the genial cradle of our race,

Went forth the tribes of men, their pleasant lot To choose, where palm-groves cooled their dwelling-place,