THE MORROW OF GRANDEUR

 ("Non, l'avenir n'est à personne!") 
 
 {V. ii., August, 1832.} 


 Sire, beware, the future's range 
 Is of God alone the power, 
 Naught below but augurs change, 
 E'en with ev'ry passing hour. 
 Future! mighty mystery! 
 All the earthly goods that be, 
 Fortune, glory, war's renown, 
 King or kaiser's sparkling crown, 
 Victory! with her burning wings, 
 Proud ambition's covetings,— 
 These may our grasp no more detain 
 Than the free bird who doth alight 
 Upon our roof, and takes its flight 
 High into air again. 
 
 Nor smile, nor tear, nor haughtiest lord's command, 
 Avails t' unclasp the cold and closèd hand. 
 Thy voice to disenthrall, 
 Dumb phantom, shadow ever at our side! 
 Veiled spectre, journeying with us stride for stride, 
 Whom men "To-morrow" call. 
 
 Oh, to-morrow! who may dare 
 Its realities to scan? 
 God to-morrow brings to bear 
 What to-day is sown by man. 
 'Tis the lightning in its shroud, 
 'Tis the star-concealing cloud, 
 Traitor, 'tis his purpose showing, 
 Engine, lofty tow'rs o'erthrowing, 
 Wand'ring star, its region changing, 
 "Lady of kingdoms," ever ranging. 
 To-morrow! 'Tis the rude display 
 Of the throne's framework, blank and cold, 
 That, rich with velvet, bright with gold, 
 Dazzles the eye to-day. 
 
 To-morrow! 'tis the foaming war-horse falling; 
 To-morrow! thy victorious march appalling, 
 'Tis the red fires from Moscow's tow'rs that wave; 
 'Tis thine Old Guard strewing the Belgian plain; 
 'Tis the lone island in th' Atlantic main: 
 To-morrow! 'tis the grave! 
 
 Into capitals subdued 
 Thou mayst ride with gallant rein, 
 Cut the knots of civil feud 
 With the trenchant steel in twain; 
 With thine edicts barricade 
 Haughty Thames' o'er-freighted trade; 
 Fickle Victory's self enthrall, 
 Captive to thy trumpet call; 
 Burst the stoutest gates asunder; 
 Leave the names of brightest wonder, 
 Pale and dim, behind thee far; 
 And to exhaustless armies yield 
 Thy glancing spur,—o'er Europe's field 
 A glory-guiding star. 
 
 God guards duration, if lends space to thee, 
 Thou mayst o'er-range mundane immensity, 
 Rise high as human head can rise sublime, 
 Snatch Europe from the stamp of Charlemagne, 
 Asia from Mahomet; but never gain 
 Power o'er the Morrow from the Lord of Time! 
 
 Fraser's Magazine. 


 

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