A PASSING YEAR.[MDCCCLX.]
My spirit saw a scene
Whose splendours were so terrible and bright
That the infinitude of mist between
The earth and sky scarce saved its eagle-sight
From being blasted. In the middle night
He stood, the Guardian Angel of the Years:
His wings—that could extend their quenchless light
Across eternity, and rock the spheres
With their immortal strength—were folded now,
Like a still veil of glory, on his brow.
Whose splendours were so terrible and bright
That the infinitude of mist between
The earth and sky scarce saved its eagle-sight
From being blasted. In the middle night
He stood, the Guardian Angel of the Years:
His wings—that could extend their quenchless light
Across eternity, and rock the spheres
With their immortal strength—were folded now,
Like a still veil of glory, on his brow.
One fiery star and vast,
A gem to note the year, forever more
Burned in his ancient crown; and fierce and fast
Escaped the flame from out the one he wore,
Whose dimness vaguely settled on each shore
Along the seas of space; and, pale and lone,
But kingly with the solemn pride of yore,
Clutching the grandeur of a shadowy throne,
A gem to note the year, forever more
Burned in his ancient crown; and fierce and fast
Escaped the flame from out the one he wore,
Whose dimness vaguely settled on each shore
Along the seas of space; and, pale and lone,
But kingly with the solemn pride of yore,
Clutching the grandeur of a shadowy throne,
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