All things to me, how far soe'er they seem,
Are near, for I am earth, air, water, fire;
The life of man is but a “fitful dream,”
And all created things to me aspire.
Many may doubt, — 't is I who gave them thought With which they vainly think from me to flee, — Dispel illusions! seek me as you ought!
Say "I am Brahma " in thyself find me.
Wouldst thou this riddle read? I am the Soul, Whence both the known and unknown have their
And I am God, for God is but the whole,
Of which all souls form each an equal part.
LONG the scholar's glowing page
I read the Orient thinker's dream
Of things that are not what they seem,
Of mystic chant and Soma's rage.
The sunlight flooding all the room
To me again was Indra's smile,
And on the hearth the blazing pile
For Agni's sake did fret and fume.
Yet most I read of who aspire
To win Nirvana's deep repose,
Of that long way the Spirit goes To reach the absence of desire.
But through the music of my book
Another music smote my ear,
A tinkle silver-sweet and clear,
The babble of the mountain-brook.
"O, leave," it said, "your ancient seers; Come out into the woods with me; Behold an older mystery
Than Buddhist's hope or Brahman's fears!" ·
The voice so sweet I could but hear;
I sallied forth, with staff in hand,
While, mile on mile, the mountain-land
Was radiant with the dying year.
I heard the startled partridge whir,
And crinkling through the tender grass
I saw the striped addér pass,
Where dropped the chestnut's prickly bur.
I saw the miracle of life
From death upspringing evermore;
The fallen tree a forest bore Of tiny forms with beauty rife.
I gathered mosses rare and sweet,
The acorn in its carven cup:
Mid heaps of leaves, wind-gathered up,
I trod with half-remorseful feet.
The maple's blush I made my own,
The sumac's crimson splendor bold,
The poplar's hue of paly gold,
The faded chestnut, crisp and brown.
I climbed the mountain's shaggy crest,
Where masses huge of molten rock,
After long years of pain and shock,
Fern-covered, from their wanderings rest.
Far, far below the valley spread
Its rich, roof-dotted, wide expanse; And further still the sunlight's dance The amorous river gayly led.
But still, with all I heard or saw
There mingled thoughts of that old time, And that enchanted eastern clime Where Buddha gave his mystic law,
Till, wearied with the lengthy way,
I found a spot where all was still,
Just as the sun behind the hill
Was making bright the parting day.
On either side the mountains stood,
Masses of color rich and warm;
And over them in giant form
The rosy moon serenely glowed.
My heart was full as it could hold;
The Buddha's paradise was mine;
My mountain-nook its inmost shrine, The fretted sky its roof of gold.
Nirvana's peace my soul had found,
Absence complete of all desire,
While the great moon was mounting higher, And deeper quiet breathed around.
Immortal son of Macedon! to hang
In the high fane of maritime renown
The fairest trophies of thy fame, and shine,
Then only like a god, when thy great mind
Swayed in its master council the deep tide
Of things, predestining the eventful roll
Of commerce, and uniting either world,
Europe and Asia, in thy vast design.
"T was when the victor, in his proud career,
O'er ravaged Hindostan, had now advanced
Beyond Hydaspes; on the flowery banks
Of Hyphasis, with banners thronged, his camp
Was spread. On high he bade the altars rise,
The awful records to succeeding years
Of his long march of glory, and to point
The spot where, like the thunder rolled away,
His army paused. Now shady eve came down ;
The trumpet sounded to the setting sun,
That looked from his illumed pavilion, calm
Upon the scene of arms, as if, all still,
And lovely as his parting light, the world
Beneath him spread; nor clangors, nor deep groans,
Were heard, nor victory's shouts, nor sighs, nor shrieks,
Were ever wafted from a bleeding land,
After the havoc of a conqueror's sword.
So calm the sun declined; when from the woods,
That shone to his last beam, a Brahmin old
Came forth. His streaming beard shone in the ray,
That slanted o'er his feeble frame; his front
Was furrowed. To the sun's last light he cast
A look of sorrow, then in silence bowed
Before the conqueror of the world. At once
All, as in death, was still. The victor chief
Trembled, he knew not why; the trumpet ceased
Its clangor, and the crimson streamer waved
No more in folds insulting to the Lord
Of the reposing world. The pallid front
Of the meek man seemed for a moment calm,
Yet dark and thronging thoughts appeared to swell
His beating heart. He paused, and then abrupt :
Victor, avaunt! he cried,
Hence and the banners of thy pride
Bear to the deep! Behold on high
Yon range of mountains mingled with the sky!
Where the great Father of the human race
Rested, when all the world and all its sounds
Ceased; and the ocean that surrounds
The earth, leaped from its dark abode
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