Francis William Lauderdale Adams - Epode lyrics

BEYOND the Night, down o'er the labouring East, I see light's harbinger of day released: Upon the false gleam of the ante-dawn, Lo, the fair heaven of sun-pursuing morn. Beyond the lampless sleep and perishing d**h, That hold my heart, I feel my New Life's breath, — I see the face my Spirit-shape shall have When this frail clay and dust have fled the grave. Beyond the Night, the d**h of doubt, defeat, Rise dawn and morn, and life with light doth meet, For the great cause, too, — sure as the Sun, you ray Shoots up to strike the threatening clouds and say: I come, and with me comes the victorious Day! When I was young, the Muse I worshipped took me, Fearless, a lonely heart, to look on men. ''Tis yours,' said she, 'to paint this show of them Even as they are.' Then smiling she forsook me. Wherefore with pa**ionate patience I withdrew, With eyes from which all loves, hates, hopes and fears, Joy's aureole and the blinding sheen of tears, Were purged away. And what I saw I drew. Then, as I worked remote, serene, alone, A Child-girl came to me and touched my cheek; And lo her lips were pale, her limbs were weak, Her eyes had thirst's desire and hunger's moan. She said: 'I am the Soul of this sad day Where thousands toil and suffer hideous Crime, Where units rob and mock the empty time With revel and rank prayer and d**h's display.' I said: 'O Child, how shall I leave my songs, My songs and tales, the warp and subtle woof Of this great work and web, in your behoof To strive and pa**ionately sing of wrongs? 'Child, is it nothing that I here fulfil My heart and soul? that I may look and see Where Homer bends, and Shakspere smiles on me, And Goethe praises the unswerving will?' She hung her head, and straight, without a word, Pa**ed from me. And I raised my conscious face To where, in beauteous power in her place, She stood, the Muse, my Muse, and watched and heard. Her proud and marble brow was faintly flushed; Upon her flawless lips and in her eyes A mild light flickered as the young sunrise, Glad, sacred, terrible, serene and hushed. Then I cried out, and rose with pure wrath wild, Desperate with hatred of Fate's slavery And this cold cruel Demon. With that cry, I left her and sought out the piteous Child. 'Darling, 'tis nothing that I shed and weep These tears of fire that wither all the heart, These bloody sweats that drain and sear and smart. I love you, and you'll kiss me when I sleep!'