Staunton vindicator. [volume] (Staunton, Va.) 1860-1896, 1876-12-29
Poetry.
THE FLOOD OF YEARS.
BY WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.

A Mighty Hand, from an exhaustleSsu urn,
POurS forth the never-ending Flood oil years
Bear all before them!. on their foremost edge.
And there alone, is life: the Present there
Tosses and foams, and fills the air with roar
OF mingled noises. They are they who toll.
4 W M fhn eyr VINO fo s sTriI fTo ana Th 6ee Stn Mdy hina- anu 'n's
Wood nan, and deliver with the spade-are there,
And busy artisan beside his bench,
And palid student with his written roll.
A moment on the mounting blli0W seen,
The flood sweeps over them, and they are gone.
There groups of jewellers, whose brOwS are tWlned
With roses, ride the topmost swell a while.
And, as they raise their flowing cups to touch
The clinking briIn to brlm, are whirled beneath
The waves: and disappear. 1 hear the jar
Of beaten drums, and thunders that break forth
From cannon, where the advancing blioW sehoS
Up t. the sight long files OF armed men,
That hurry to the charge through flame and smoke.
The torrent bears them under; whelmed and hid.
Slayer and slain, in heaps of bloody foam.
Down go the steed and rider; the plumed chief
Silks With his followers; the head that wears
The imperial diadem goes down beside
The felon's with cropped ear and branded cheek.
A funeral train-the torrent sweeps away
Bearers and bier and mourners. By the bed
OF one who dies men gather sorroWlng,
And women weep aloud; the 1lood rolls On;
The wall is stiled, and the sobbIng group
Borne under. Hark to that Shrlll. sudden SlouI!-
The cry of an applauding multitude
Swayed by some loud tongued orator who Yields
The living mass as if he were It's soul.
The waters choke the shout, and all is still.
Lo! next, a kneeling crowd, and one VINO spreads
Inc ana n sma1sd IN p t5e@ an edG HIM inguia a scu Mpto Yields
The chisel, and the stricken marble, grows
To beauty. At his easel, eagereyed,
A painter stands; and sunshine, at his soucn,
Gathers upon the canvas, and life CLOVIS.
A poet, as he PAGES to and fro,
MurmurS his sounding lines. a Wfllle tney rae
The advancing billow, till its tossing crest
Strikes them and filings them under while their tasks
Are yet unfinished. See a mother smile
OF her young babe. that smiles to her again.
The torrent wrests it from her arms she shrieks
And weeps, and midst her tears IS carried down.
A beam like that of moonlight turns the spray
To g~listening pearls. Two lovers. hand in hand,
Rise on the biilowy swell. and fondly look
Filings them apart. The youth goes down. The maid,
With hands outstretched in vain, and streaming eyes
An Aai aged q man "a s succeeds ssas lis bending form
Sinks slowly: mingling with the sullen stream.
Clean the white locks. and then are seen no more
Lo! wider grows the stream; a sea like flood
Saps earth's walled cities; massive palaces
Crumble before it f%ortresseS and towers
Dissolve in the swift waters; popul0us realms,
Swept by the torrent, see their ancient tribes
Ingulfed and lost, their very languages
Stifed, and never to be uttered more.
I pause, and turn my eyes; and, looking back
Where hat tumultuOuS flood has passed, l see
The silent Ocean of the Past, a waste
OF waters w%eltering over graves, its shores
Strewn with the wreck of fleets, where mast and hull
Drop away piecemeal. B~attlemented walls
Frown idly, green with moss and temples stand
Unroofed, forSaken by the worshippers.
There lie memorial stones, whence time has gnawed
The craven legends, thrones OF kings o'erturned'
Foundations of cid cities, and long streets
W mere never TALL OF numdn lOOI Il HedIu
Upon the desolate pavement. | behold
Dim glimmerings Of lost Jewels far within
The sleeping waters, diamond, sardonyx,
Ruby and topaz, pearl and chrySollte,
Once glittering at the banquet on fair broWS
That long ago were dust and all around,
StreWn on the waters OF that silent sea,
Are whitening bridal wreaths, and glossy locks
Shorn from fair brows by loving hands, and scrolls
O'erwritten.-haply with fond words of love
And vows of friendship, and fair pages flung
Fresh from the printers engine: There they lie
A moment, and then sink away from sight.
Hook. and the quick tears are in my eyes;
For | behold, in every one OF these,
A bighted hope, a separate history
OF human sorrow, telling Of dear ties
Dissolved in air. and happy days, too brief,
That sorrowfully ended; and l think
How painfully must the poor heart have beat
In boSOmS without number, as the blow
Was struck that slew their hope OF broke their peace
Sadly I turn, and look before, where yet
The Flood must pass, and | behold a mist,
Where swarm dissolving forms, the brood Of Hope,
Divinely fair, that rest on banks OF flowers,
Or wander among rainboWs, fading soon
And re appearing, haply giving place
To shapes of grisly, aspect, such as Fear
Mods from the idle air: where SerpentS lift
The head to strike, and skeletons stretch forth
The bony arm in menace. Further on,
A belt of darkness seems to bar the way,
Long, low, and distant, where the Life that Is
Touches the life to Come. The Flood of Years
Rolls toward it, near and nearer. 1t must pass
That dismal barrier. What is t there beyond?
Hear what the wise and good have said! Beyond
That belt Of darkness AR ness still ,dl the years ye; rs, roll re on i
more S6nblS, UuU VIII loG Z iHlSuty SNCCp.
They gather up again, and softly bear
All the sweet lives that late were overwhelmed
And lost to sight; all hat in them WAS good.
Noble, and truly great and worthy of love;
The lives of infants and INGENIOUS youths,
Sages, and sanity women who have made
Their households happy,-all are raised and borne
By that great current in its onward sweep.
Wandering and ripping with caressing waves
Around green islands, fragrant with the breath
Of flowers that never wither. So they pass,
From stage to stage, along the shining course
OF that fair river broadening like a sea.
As its smooth eddies curl along their way,
They bring old friends to getler; hands are clasped
In Joy unspeakable; the mothers arms
Again are folded round the child she loved
And lost. Old sorrows are forgotten row.,
Or but remembered to make sweet the hour
That overpays them: wounded hearts that bled
Or broke are healed forever. In the room
OF this grief Swallowed Present there shall be
A Present in whose reign no grief shall gnaw
The heart, and never shall a tender tie
Be broken; in whose reign the eternal change
That waits on growth and action Shall proceed
With everlasting concord hand in hand.
-Scribner'S Monthly.