Nashville patriot. [volume] (Nashville, Tenn.) 1858-1860, 1858-10-07

For the Patriot.
i 5 H O-E l. l. O.
A Prose Poem, after The style of Os,ian.
BY ADAH IsAAcs MENKEN.

LovEl Light of the Utmost soul source OF
all vitality and pleasure! highest. hottest,
sweetest dreaml there beats not heart that
has not felt thy grand music! Oh, divine and
mighty leveler! Thou only canst ''lay the
shepherds crook beside the sceptrer'
| Music, deep divinest music is loves only
language! The light of the heart gushes
forth in the voice, Weakening in all things sim
cere responses TO each thrilling pulsation. 1t
is thus with thee, thou bright beam, Isro-Ello!
Joy dwells in song and thy white hand of the
harp is still. Awake thy voice, roll my soul
| to me upon its golden notesl Thou creature
of beauty, whom the waves do love to lift
hear thy heavenly voice-see thy light, then
shrink away to their dark caves of coral.
Thou art in unison with all created things.
The bird doth pause on the wing to list thee
sing, and accord thee homage. As the soft
tones of the lutte, borne upon the wind. so
does thy voice greet the clouds at eventide,
oh. Isro- Flo, thou sweet enchantress of the
Great Dreamer!
DOst thou remember, bright Beam, the in
nocent glee of our childish hearts as we
splashed music from the falling waters, and
talked of the angels WHO smiled on US? Hast
thou forgotten how the gay, bright flowers
lifted their heads and danced il the wind to
the music of thy silvery laugh, that glanced
at the sunshine as it came ripling through the
ivory gate? | bent me to the rosy lips of the
flowers and heard them call thee their Queen.
The Violet said she drank light from thine
eyes; the Rose boosted that she had kissed
the dew from thy lips; and the Dawn whis-
percd me that he had stood tip-toe. and gaZed
from the mountain-brow and seen the pale
lily slumberng on thy dreaming bosom. On
Isro-Ello then darkness came into my soul, l
flew to the maddening waves, they gushed
around me and Numbered forth curses on the
laughing flowers: | thought they Knocked us,
and so they were murdered in their cleaning
beautvi I saw them dip their white bosoms
in their blood and die. | laughed! for then
dreamed that thou, sweet lsro-Ello. vert all
mine own. But oh, the wind-the strong
wind, that sweeps the foam from old ocean,
this great wind loved thee too and bore thee
to the golden-haired son of the sky, who
opened his blue gates and made thy bed of
repose there.
Whence is the stream of years? Where
have they hid in mist their many-colored
sides? How dim the old earth is growing
like moon-beams reflected from distant lake.
There is no mark of glowing deeds upon the
years as they slowly roll along. Oh, thou
dweller upon the shields of gold! Isro-Ello!
wake my failing, fainting soul! Thou, on
whose grand music-soul the blue hosts of our
fathers gaze, rise! give joy to the stars with
thy harp! l list for thee to help me climb
the great, gray stones and heaped-up earth,
that are between me and my blue course! Oh.
tomorrow. tomorrow will l lift the snowy
sail that will stream through the golden gates
of light, and bring me to the shadowy cave
of the Sun. where thou art sleeping upon the
bright shields of war, who weeps for thy
waking!