To Time

Power of the sweeping wing, And wasting sand; Lord of the healing breath, And spoiling hand, Whose lengthen'd fingers fling The viewless shaft of Death, Beneath whose tread the crumbling marble lies, From whose vast hoard unbounded empires rise; Yet rise to fall! While to thy sway, and thee, The some-time Victor bends his conquer'd knee, And feels his palsied heart obey thy call; Whose grasp can shake the tyrant from his throne, And off his withering temples snatch the tarnish'd crown.

MAGICIAN, whom all arts obey! Now from thy wand is ruin hurl'd, Now a rude outlaw gains imperial sway, And a wall'd acre awes the subject world. Thy talisman could Egypt's pillars bow, From their broad base her pyramids shall throw, While all her faded laurels shade thy brow.

Egypt! from whom immortal hope arose, Beneath whose orient ray, Celestial Science met the eye of day, Where bursting Wisdom shed her earliest beam, On the rich borders of whose worship'd stream, Like a new god, PAPYRUS grew! And bid surrounding realms lift their adoring view, While all the Arts on his smooth breast repose.

Egypt! where Alexander sleeps in dust, Where great Sesostris rears his trophied bust, A worthless pageant and an empty name, While the barbarian Turks her meads deflower, And the wild Arab mocks her murder'd power, Assisting thee to blast her fading fame; No more Osiris guards those wasted plains, No paean'd Isis strews the golden grains.

Proud Xerxes wept to find That ere one fleeting century sun'd mankind, His million heroes to thy power must bow; Vain man! with all thy treasured radiance shine, Nerved with full strength, and graced with form divine, For the rude sea thy bonds prepare, Bid thy frail vassals lash the angry air, While thy delusive moments flow! And the great Conqueror arrests thy care, Nor will his lifted scythe those vaunted glories spare.

Where is Palmyra's boast! Where towers Zenobia's dome! Where the Chaldean! Syrian! Persian host! Or where thy glorious freedom, laurel'd Rome! Ask their great founder, Time, Whose plastic hand, Where Ignorance led his vagrant band, In some uncultured clime, Now bids the marble palace rise With glittering turrets to the central skies, Adorn'd with infant Arts aspiring to their prime. Thus rose Columbia, o'er whose growing plains, Chief of her choice! her GREAT CIVILIAN reigns, Of towering genius, and controlling hand, Firm to resolve, and gentle to command; DECIDED PATRIOT! Time for thee prepares A crown, uncanker'd by the rust of years, Halo'd with stars, whose varying rays entwine, The gift is GLORY, and the grace is thine.— —While withering millions on Europa's shore Gaze on thy rights and all their wrongs deplore, From thee shall TIME the letter'd lesson give— —Instruction flows—they drink the stream and live.

O VIRTUE! sovereign of the mind, No force can wither nor subdue thy sway, Thou bright consoler of mankind, Shedding on midnight grief a diamond ray, Thee shall all-ruling Time himself obey.

SIRE OF THE SILVER LOCKS! to whom Creation's crowding myriads come, With pleading eye, and pouring tear, Besieging oft thy heedless ear; With Adulation bending low, And smoothing o'er thy furrow'd brow; While senseless Age with bleachen'd hairs, Demands a lengthen'd lease of years, From thee, flush'd Hectic looks for health, From thee, pale Avarice grasps at wealth, From thee, Ambition dreams of boundless power, The Prisoner waits thy aid to set him free, The Chymist yields his crucible to thee, And on thy wings the Poet hopes to soar.— E'en I my vain petition raise In all the melody of praise, Yet not for wealth, nor power, nor fame, Would invocate thy fearful name; Let Wealth his joyless nothings keep, Ambition gain his world—and weep— And on the Chymist mayst thou pour, Like fabled Jove, a golden shower; Ah! may the pining Prisoner find, A Howard's cares have made thee kind. Nor would the humble Muse implore Thy latest, best regard, Since from her life-consoling power Ascends each wish'd reward; But yet thy sharpest scythe display, To sweep this shadowy form away, Ere from this cheek you chase the tear, And close the portals of this ear, Or the warm speaking glance control, That wings the language of the soul, Or let one anguish'd sense depart, That rends the concave of my heart, Which bids each trembling fibre thrill To agony's excess, And gives this raptured breast to feel Reflected happiness. Ah! yet thy sweeping scythe display, Ere these brown locks are turn'd to grey, Ere this slight form to thee shall bend, O let me to the tomb descend! Then Memory shall delight to trace Some living worth, some pictured grace, While bending o'er the hallow'd spot, Each human frailty is forgot. There oft shall Friendship's graceful form be found, Heaving from breast of down the sacred sigh, And fondly spelling but the piteous tale; There shall chaste Love his hopeless woes bewail, On the cold marble nail his burning eye, And wear with pilgrim knee the insensate ground.

So may fresh laurels deck thy faded brow, So may new realms thy wasted plains adorn, O'er thirsty desarts milky streamlets flow, And joyful carols greet the gift of morn: So may thy charms regain their golden prime, Eternal blessings crown thy placid sway, Striving with anxious Love to strew thy way, And barter'd Slavery, from creation hurl'd, One bright Millennium free a fetter'd world, And not a tear-drop shame the eye of TIME.