The Conjunction of Jupiter and Venus

I would not always reason. The straight pathWearies us with its never-varying lines,And we grow melancholy. I would makeReason my guide, but she should sometimes sitPatiently by the way-side, while I tracedThe mazes of the pleasant wildernessAround me. She should be my counsellor,But not my tyrant. For the spirit needsImpulses from a deeper source than hers,And there are motions, in the mind of man,That she must look upon with awe. I bowReverently to her dictates, but not lessHold to the fair illusions of old time--Illusions that shed brightness over life,And glory over nature. Look, even now,Where two bright planets in the twilight meet,Upon the saffron heaven,--the imperial starOf Jove, and she that from her radiant urnPours forth the light of love. Let me believe,Awhile, that they are met for ends of good,Amid the evening glory, to conferOf men and their affairs, and to shed downKind influence. Lo! they brighten as we gaze,And shake out softer fires! The great earth feelsThe gladness and the quiet of the time.Meekly the mighty river, that infoldsThis mighty city, smooths his front, and farGlitters and burns even to the rocky baseOf the dark heights that bound him to the west;And a deep murmur, from the many streets,Rises like a thanksgiving. Put we henceDark and sad thoughts awhile--there's time for themHereafter--on the morrow we will meet,With melancholy looks, to tell our griefs,And make each other wretched; this calm hour,This balmy, blessed evening, we will giveTo cheerful hopes and dreams of happy days,Born of the meeting of those glorious stars.

Enough of drought has parched the year, and scaredThe land with dread of famine. Autumn, yet,Shall make men glad with unexpected fruits.The dog-star shall shine harmless: genial daysShall softly glide away into the keenAnd wholesome cold of winter; he that fearsThe pestilence, shall gaze on those pure beams,And breathe, with confidence, the quiet air.

Emblems of power and beauty! well may theyShine brightest on our borders, and withdrawTowards the great Pacific, marking outThe path of empire. Thus, in our own land,Ere long, the better Genius of our race,Having encompassed earth, and tamed its tribes,Shall sit him down beneath the farthest west,By the shore of that calm ocean, and look backOn realms made happy.

Light the nuptial torch,And say the glad, yet solemn rite, that knitsThe youth and maiden. Happy days to themThat wed this evening!--a long life of love,And blooming sons and daughters! Happy theyBorn at this hour,--for they shall see an ageWhiter and holier than the past, and goLate to their graves. Men shall wear softer hearts,And shudder at the butcheries of war,As now at other murders.

Hapless Greece!Enough of blood has wet thy rocks, and stainedThy rivers; deep enough thy chains have wornTheir links into thy flesh; the sacrificeOf thy pure maidens, and thy innocent babes,And reverend priests, has expiated allThy crimes of old. In yonder mingling lightsThere is an omen of good days for thee.Thou shalt arise from midst the dust and sitAgain among the nations. Thine own armShall yet redeem thee. Not in wars like thineThe world takes part. Be it a strife of kings,--Despot with despot battling for a throne,--And Europe shall be stirred throughout her realms,Nations shall put on harness, and shall fallUpon each other, and in all their boundsThe wailing of the childless shall not cease.Thine is a war for liberty, and thouMust fight it single-handed. The old worldLooks coldly on the murderers of thy race,And leaves thee to the struggle; and the new,--I fear me thou couldst tell a shameful taleOf fraud and lust of gain;--thy treasury drained,And Missolonghi fallen. Yet thy wrongsShall put new strength into thy heart and hand,And God and thy good sword shall yet work out,For thee, a terrible deliverance.