Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, ASPIRATIONS TO THE INFINITE; ADDRESSED TO A FRIEND, by RICHARD SOLOMON GEDNEY


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

ASPIRATIONS TO THE INFINITE; ADDRESSED TO A FRIEND, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Have you ne'er felt a feeling deep arise
Last Line: Star-throned in your heart such utterance to inspire!
Subject(s): Future Life; Poetry & Poets; Retribution; Eternity; After Life


HAVE you ne'er felt a feeling deep arise,
Nameless and inexplicable, yet still
Gladdening the heart, as doth her babe's first cries
Stir the young mother with a holy thrill?
A feeling strange, that momently allies
Man, last of earth create by the Great Will,
With nobler beings far beyond his ken,
Who are not angels, and yet are not men.

Most when the shades of gentle evening steal
With silent strides across the tired world,
And all created things appear to feel
That queenly Night,—her of the brow impearled,
Whose glittering gems Heaven's secrets do reveal,
Her dark, yet glowing banner wide unfurled,—
Claims precedence o'er all things, and commands
That Earth be wrapped in deep morphetic bands.

Then, whilst the peaceful Earth so gently slumbers,
And aloft Heaven's myriads shine so bright,
Seeming like angel-hosts in thronging numbers
Down-gazing on the mysteries of Night;
Then seems scattered the dim mist that cumbers
And impedes the Soul's far-stretching sight;
And across the spirit comes a dawning,
Faint as the Sun's first rosy light at morning!

A consciousness of something hidden yet,
A feeling as of wonders unrevealed,
That makes the haughty spirit chafe and fret,
Unable to advance, yet loth to yield
Its claim upon Dame Nature for a debt,
The right of entrance into that vast Field
That lieth dimly, vaguely, and sublime,
Hid in eternal mists—beyond all Space—all Time!

Have you ne'er felt this throbbing at the heart?
Have you ne'er known this yearning of the soul?
As longing to uplift its wings, and start
Forth into space, when Night's still, starry stole,
In which Time wraps himself from Earth apart,
Most favoureth that low impressive toll
Which rouseth into life, new, wondrous feelings,
Thrilling you, filling you, with grand revealings!

Revealings of the Beautiful and Good—
Revealings of the Solemn and Sublime—
Thoughts of that sweet belief which has withstood
The scoff of thousands and the hand of Time,—
From which the Poet's heart draws spirit-food,
And by whose light the Star-souled ever climb
Up to that Heaven which the common mind,
Howe'er it seeketh, seeks in vain to find!

The Spirit-land!—Oh! how, at such an hour
A heart like yours must yearn for kindred thought!
A star amid dull clouds,—a lonely flower,
Cinctured with leaves, are emblems sorrow-fraught;
But, oh! how mournful 'tis to see a Power
Of Goodness, Grace, and Genius, heaven-taught,
That might illume the world, chilled, broken, crushed,
Mourning "they understand me not," bowed down, despairing, hushed!

Oh! might mine be the Voice to wake to life
The Soul which in your bosom lies enshrined,
With heavenly Genius and Grandeur rife,
O'erflowing with the Poesy of mind!
Not that which strikes the harp to lays of strife,—
Not that which sings voluptuousness refined,
But that whose hymn soars ever to the skies,
And bringeth Heaven down to glad our weary eyes!

A Poesy of Godliness and Grace—
A Harp imbued with purity and love,
That raven-pinioned Evil dare not face,
And from whose song, as from the light above,
Night, rolling back her mists, would flee apace,
And Peace descend among us like a dove!
Ah, me! how many an Angel-thought now lost,
Had proved a Heaven to some soul tempest-toss'd!

Too well I know, in your humility,
You'll sigh and say "This is a vision wrought
"From his kind fancy's bright fertility,—
"I am not Poesy nor Heaven-taught;—
"His love o'errates my poor ability,
"And depth of soul and precity of thought."—
Not so,—when through those soft star-eyes I look,
I read your Poet-soul like some sweet holy book,

In which are anthems, pœans, hymns sublime,—
Grandly, divinely sweet!—Anthems, whose tone
Of pealing melody would swell through Time
Into Eternity, and there alone
Fold its up-soaring wings!—pœans, whose chime
Would thrill and throb through even a heart of stone,
Would make a statue bend in listening joy,
And Sin's dark whisperings would smother and destroy!

And hymns, that like some far off Angel-song,
Would, stealing through the chambers of the soul,
In softened echoes, melody prolong,
Sweet as the harmony of spheres that roll
Their course th' ætherial concavex along,—
And delicate as from fay-haunted knoll,
Whose gossamer-like strains are wafted on
So gently past the ear, their sound seems never gone,

But lingering, brings sweet thoughts of joy and Heaven
To harbour in the heart;—To you, fair girl,
This glorious power from God on High is given,
To gladden Earth, and from His throne to hurl
The Evil, that with rod of iron hath driven
Mankind for ages. Oh! do you unfurl
The radiant bannerol of Truth and Right,
And round, a starry zone, shall throng the Sons of Light!

The true Interpreters of God on Earth,
The speakers of the glorious Angel-tongue,
Descendants of the Race that found its birth
When sons of God came down, and walked among
The earthlings. Beings that would Time engirth
With one Eternal Hymn, of soul-stars strung
Upon the magic chain of heart and mind,
Whose spirit-fraughten links should outlast mankind!

And you might be the Queen of this bright race,
Crowned with a spirit-diadem, whose light
Would cast such holy glory o'er your face
That you would seem a goddess in men's sight,
A Deity of Radiance, Love, and Grace,
In heavenly robes of purity bedight!
And yet, whene'er these things you hear me say,
You thank me with sweet looks, kind smiles, but sigh a "nay."

O! hear my voice! though youngest, weakest, least
Of the Immortal Brotherhood of Song,
I have drank deep of Poesy's best feast,
Life-wisdom.—I have walked amid the throng,
Studied it till my heart grew sick, and ceased,
In utter weariness, to search among
The crowd-life for a kindred soul, whose hand
Mine own might clasp in Love, in Faith and Truth's bright band.

I tell you I have studied human-kind
Till man seems like a book of easy print,
In which are writ the phases of the mind,
As many-hued and varying as the glint
That in a diamond's prismal rays we find,
And I have loathed this book—found nothing in't
To which my soul could claim affinity,
Until in you it met its true Divinity!

Lonely and sad I passed upon my way,
A Recluse 'mid the crowd, till I met you,—
Ah! how my heart thrilled to those star-eyes' ray!
That radiant soul-fraught glance that seemed to strew
Flower-treasures o'er the grave where buried lay
Hope, Love, and Joy, and bid them rise anew,
And pay their homage to th' enchantress sweet,
And with bright, joyful songs her praises loud repeat!

Ah! how my soul throbbed answer to your voice!
That voice as sweet as Ulda's golden bell,
Whose sound convenes the wind-sprites to rejoice,
In summer nights on heath or open fell,—
Soft as the spirit-flute of Siegmund's choice,
Heard in the music of some fairy-dell,—
Melodious as the breath of angel-choir,
Star-throned in your heart such utterance to inspire!





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