The Conjunction Of Jupiter And Venus.

I would not always reason. The straight path     Wearies us with its never-varying lines,     And we grow melancholy. I would make     Reason my guide, but she should sometimes sit     Patiently by the way-side, while I traced     The mazes of the pleasant wilderness     Around me. She should be my counsellor,     But not my tyrant. For the spirit needs     Impulses from a deeper source than hers,     And there are motions, in the mind of man,     That she must look upon with awe. I bow     Reverently to her dictates, but not less     Hold to the fair illusions of old time,     Illusions that shed brightness over life,     And glory over nature. Look, even now,     Where two bright planets in the twilight meet,     Upon the saffron heaven, the imperial star     Of Jove, and she that from her radiant urn     Pours forth the light of love. Let me believe,     Awhile, that they are met for ends of good,     Amid the evening glory, to confer     Of men and their affairs, and to shed down     Kind influence. Lo! they brighten as we gaze,     And shake out softer fires! The great earth feels     The gladness and the quiet of the time.     Meekly the mighty river, that infolds     This mighty city, smooths his front, and far     Glitters and burns even to the rocky base     Of the dark heights that bound him to the west;     And a deep murmur, from the many streets,     Rises like a thanksgiving. Put we hence     Dark and sad thoughts awhile, there's time for them     Hereafter, on the morrow we will meet,     With melancholy looks, to tell our griefs,     And make each other wretched; this calm hour,     This balmy, blessed evening, we will give     To cheerful hopes and dreams of happy days,     Born of the meeting of those glorious stars.     Enough of drought has parched the year, and scared     The land with dread of famine. Autumn, yet,     Shall make men glad with unexpected fruits.     The dog-star shall shine harmless: genial days     Shall softly glide away into the keen     And wholesome cold of winter; he that fears     The pestilence, shall gaze on those pure beams,     And breathe, with confidence, the quiet air.     Emblems of power and beauty! well may they     Shine brightest on our borders, and withdraw     Towards the great Pacific, marking out     The path of empire. Thus, in our own land,     Ere long, the better Genius of our race,     Having encompassed earth, and tamed its tribes,     Shall sit him down beneath the farthest west,     By the shore of that calm ocean, and look back     On realms made happy.         Light the nuptial torch,     And say the glad, yet solemn rite, that knits     The youth and maiden. Happy days to them     That wed this evening! a long life of love,     And blooming sons and daughters! Happy they     Born at this hour, for they shall see an age     Whiter and holier than the past, and go     Late to their graves. Men shall wear softer hearts,     And shudder at the butcheries of war,     As now at other murders.         Hapless Greece!     Enough of blood has wet thy rocks, and stained     Thy rivers; deep enough thy chains have worn     Their links into thy flesh; the sacrifice     Of thy pure maidens, and thy innocent babes,     And reverend priests, has expiated all     Thy crimes of old. In yonder mingling lights     There is an omen of good days for thee.     Thou shalt arise from midst the dust and sit     Again among the nations. Thine own arm     Shall yet redeem thee. Not in wars like thine     The world takes part. Be it a strife of kings,     Despot with despot battling for a throne,     And Europe shall be stirred throughout her realms,     Nations shall put on harness, and shall fall     Upon each other, and in all their bounds     The wailing of the childless shall not cease.     Thine is a war for liberty, and thou     Must fight it single-handed. The old world     Looks coldly on the murderers of thy race,     And leaves thee to the struggle; and the new,     I fear me thou couldst tell a shameful tale     Of fraud and lust of gain; thy treasury drained,     And Missolonghi fallen. Yet thy wrongs     Shall put new strength into thy heart and hand,     And God and thy good sword shall yet work out,     For thee, a terrible deliverance.