Rounds and completes the perfect sphere; A prophecy and intimation, A pale and feeble adumbration, Of the great world of light, that lies Ah! if thy fate, with anguish fraught, And if a more auspicious fate O'er desert sand, o'er dangerous moor. Nor to thyself the task shall be Without reward; for thou shalt learn True beauty in utility; As great Pythagoras of yore, Standing beside the blacksmith's door, The secret of the sounding wire, THE BRIDGE. STOOD on the bridge at midnight, As the clocks were striking the hour, And the moon rose o'er the city, Behind the dark church-tower. I saw her bright reflection In the waters under me, Like a golden goblet falling And sinking into the sea. And far in the hazy distance Among the long, black rafters The wavering shadows lay, And the current that came from the ocean As, sweeping and eddying through them, Rose the belated tide, And, streaming into the moonlight, The sea-weed floated wide. And like those waters rushing How often, O, how often, In the days that had gone by, I had stood on that bridge at midnight And gazed on that wave and sky! How often, O, how often, I had wished that the ebbing tide Would bear me away on its bosom O'er the ocean wild and wide! For my heart was hot and restless, And my life was full of care, And the burden laid upon me Seemed greater than I could bear. But now it has fallen from me, Yet whenever I cross the river years. And I think how many thousands Each bearing his burden of sorrow, I see the long procession The young heart hot and restless, And forever and forever, As long as the river flows, As long as the heart has passions, |