Graham's Magazine, Vol. XXXVII, No. 1, July 1850Various
General
Graham's Magazine, Vol. XXXVII, No. 1, July 1850
Various
Literature -- Periodicals; Literature, Modern -- 19th century -- Periodicals
And each one seemed to walk the sod,
Clothed in his wisdom, like a god;
But in his step, and in his air,
Were mingled terror and despair.
Even as they came, the distant bell
Again proclaimed its solemn knell;
Eleven deep sounds, which, one by one,
Through every shuddering bosom run.
The night grew light, and on the skies
Each one in wonder fixed his eyes,
And saw, encircled with his rays,
Cold Saturn, like a comet, blaze.
Saturn, who on the zenith stood,
Freezing, it seemed, their very blood;
So cold, so thin it grew, they shook
As if by sudden palsy strook.
Each gazed in terror on the other;
Sister sought sister—brother brother—
But over all had come a strange,
Unprecedented—horrid change.
A moment did the work of years;
And gazing through their blinding tears,
They felt that centuries had passed
Since they saw one another last—
That what was youth was wrinkled age,
Sere, hoary, palsied, trembling age:
The very babe, so great the charm,
Grew gray upon its mother’s arm.
Suddenly, on the gloom of night,
Leaving a trail of silvery light,
Six coursers, with disheveled hair,
Swept madly through the fields of air.
Their argent manes, in separate threads,
Streamed from their bony necks and heads;
The crooked lightnings of their eyes
Flashed fitfully athwart the skies;
Behind a sparkling chariot shone,
Burning with many a precious stone
And flaming on the eyes of all—
A planet trembling to its fall!
Erect, while sobbing, at his side
Reclined his once immortal bride,
Sat Oberon, with pallid brow,
And tresses white as winter’s snow.
Pale Hecatè, peering from a cloud—
A maiden, lying in her shroud—
Less pale were than the Fairy Queen,
Less cold, less motionless of mien.
Heart-broken Titania, wan with age,
Leant feebly on her Indian page,
Looking as if all hope was gone;—
Than even Death himself more wan.
“Subjects,” said Oberon, “gentle friends,
This night our long dominion ends;
Stern Saturn, with his stony eyes,
Smiles grimly on his sacrifice.”
“Henceforth all poetry is dead!”
And as he spoke, above his head
In masses rolled the weltering clouds;
The stars still lay within their shrouds;
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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