Wlliam Gilmore Simms
The Simms Review (Vol 13: No 2) >> ''The New Dawn'': A New Simms Work >> Page 28

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Page 28

Reviews/Essays | 1863-08-05
Transcription VI.
The city sleeps! its great and various head is
as still as if death brooded over the whole, and
with lifted finger schooled the impatient spirit to
a becoming silence! A thin veil of grey vapor
overhangs it like a mantle, through which the
growing light now begins to pierce, softly, and
with the delicate tinges of the coming sun; look-
ing like the thin clouds of incences, breaking forth
from the golden censor, shaken thought the aisles
of a grand cathedral. The dweillings stand out,
grim and ghastly, in the uncertain but thickening
light. A lamp yet burns, growing more and
more dim momently, in the mansion of me near-
est neighbor. Why has he been so long watchign?
It may be that he broods, with sad anxieties, over
a dear one that suffers and wakes, even while a
whole city lseeps in peace! Ah! what a mockery,
yet what a similitude of life, is the feeble ray of
yonder almp in that chamber, where Death, un-
seen, hangs lurking, and looking on, wistfully
stern, over the very shoulders of Love!

VII.
ANd how heedless of the appraoching flight of
the one soul from its dismantles chamber, are the
joyous impulses with which the day begins his
march unfer the gladdening summons of the
sun! The billows that roll on and swell, and
break along the shore, tell of life only; and life in
its most eager and passionate desires. The
breezes that now pour in upon me, with every
voive of ocean on their wings, tell only of a life
that has never need of repose. What a grand or-
gan melody to the airs of Thought is the dis-
pason from these mignling voices of wind and
sea!They summon the very soul to hear! They
call Faith to the portals! The have a voice for
her, which no vulgar reason can comprehend; and
they speak to out higher, and deeper, and bracer
nature, as so many witnesses waiting on the
Eternal!

VIII.
The stars, all butone, have fled. That is Luci-
fer, the Light Bearer's, who still lingers at the
porches of the day--he, the last torch-bearer of
the night--he, the Bringerin of the Dawn--the
one glorious watcher over the two mingling, yet
divided worlds, of day and night! And see, now,
he too goes upon his way, with his torch invert-
ed. He feels the approach of the mightier Pres
ence, in whose intenser fires his own bright, clear
gleam must pale! In the East, lo! the arrowy
shafts that break through the grey vapors; shut
up in sheaves of orange and crimson, that part,
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