William Cullen Bryant

“ In the dark earth, where never breath has blown
Of heaven’s sweet air, nor foot of man dares tread
The long and perilous ways—the cities of the dead;
XIV.
And tombs of monarchs to the clouds up pil’d—
They perish’d—but the eternal tombs remain—
And the black precipice, abrupt and wild,
Pierc’d by long toil and hollow’d to a fane;—
Huge piers and frowning forms of gods sustain
The everlasting arches, dark and wide,
Like the night heaven when clouds are black with rain.
But idly skill was task’d, and strength was plied,
All was the work of slaves, to swell a despot’s pride. ”

“ Earth shuddered at thy deeds, and sigh’d for rest
From thine abominations; after times
That yet shall read thy tale, will tremble at thy crimes.
XVII.
Yet there was that within thee which has sav’d
Thy glory, and redeem’d thy blotted name;
The story of thy better deeds, engrav’d
On fame’s unmouldering pillar, puts to shame
Our chiller virtue; the high art to tame
The whirlwind of the passions was thine own;
And the pure ray, that from thy bosom came,
Far over many a land and age has shone,
And mingles with the light that beams from God’s own throne. ”

“ To dwell upon the earth when we withdraw;
Lo! the same shaft, by which the righteous dies,
Strikes through the wretch that scoff’d 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,
Falter’d 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? ”