Poetry of Cornwall
Barry Cornwall
born 1787, died 1874
Pseudonym of
Bryan Walter Procter
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The Prophet
Day broke: - The Morning of a mighty year
Came forth, and smiled;
And, in its sunny arms, (like waters clear),
It bore - a child.
Time flew: - Quick life along his arteries sang;
Love's pulses beat:
And from his burning temples Thought outsprang,
And Truth, complete.
Time flew: - The brightness of a Poet's sight
Enlarged his eye;
And Strength and Courage knit his limbs for fight,
To live, - or die.
Time flew: - Sad Wisdom from his heart arose,
And touched his brain;
And he stood up, 'midst all a Prophet's woes;
And spoke, - in vain!
He spoke: - Men hearkened to his piercing cry,
With smiles, with scorn;
But the dim Future felt his threatenings nigh,
And shook, - unborn!
He died: and race to race did still succeed;
And suns did shine;
And Centuries passed; and still no eye could read
His awful line.
You mourn? - Mourn not; nor deem his history vain;
Nor vain his strife:
To breathe, to feel, to hope are worth the pain
Of Death, and Life:
And now, - (as generations rise, and far
Like vapours roll,)
Some few begin to gaze, as on a star,
And scan his scroll:
And, in its inspiration, vaguely shown,
We seem to trace
The march of revolutions, come and flown;
And of man's race
The history. Amidst blots, of blood and tears,
The verses run,
Until we lose their light in distant years,
And - all is done!
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