IN FRENCH FIELDS.
175
THE BLACK P0INT.
Whoever has looked a long time at the sun,
Beholds in the welkin, where spot there is none,
A disk livid and strange, persistently float:
Thus young and audacious, mine eyes dared to gaze
On Glory one instant, and blind from the blaze,
Are destined the black spot for ever to note.
Since then, on all things, like a portent or sign,
Like the seal on Cain's brow, in dark and in shine,
I see the mark spectral,—a black oriflamme:
A bar to my happiness ill I may brook!
Ah woe! 'Tis the eagle alone that may look
On the Sun and on Glory undazzled and calm.
