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XXXIII.

A VISION OF TIME.

NEW-YEAR’S EVE.

    O did you not see him that over the snow
    Came on with a pace so cautious and slow?—­

    That measured his step to a pendulum-tick,
    Arriving in town when the darkness was thick?

    In the midst of a vision of mind and heart,
    A drama above all human art,

    I saw him last night, with locks so gray,
    A long way off, as the light died away.

    And I knew him at once, so often before
    Had he silently, mournfully passed at my door.

    He must be cold and weary, I said,
    Coming so far, with that measured tread.

    I will urge him to linger awhile with me
    Till his withering chill and weariness flee.

    A story—­who knows?—­he may deign to rehearse,
    And when he is gone I will put it in verse.

    I turned to prepare for the coming guest,
    With curious, troublous thoughts oppressed.

    The window I cheered with the taper’s glow
    Which glimmered afar o’er the spectral snow.

    My anxious care the hearth-stone knew,
    And the red flames leaped and beckoned anew.

    But chiefly myself, with singular care,
    Did I for the hoary presence prepare.

    Yet with little success, as I paced the room,
    Did I labor to banish a sense of gloom.

    My thoughts were going and coming like bees,
    With store from the year’s wide-stretching leas;

    Some laden with honey, some laden with gall,
    And into my heart they dropped it all!

    O miserable heart! at once overrun
    With the honey and gall thou can’st not shun.

    O wretched heart! in sadness I cried,
    Where is thy trust in the Crucified?

    And in wrestling prayer did I labor long
    That the Mighty One would make me strong.

    That prayer was more than a useless breath: 
    It brought to my soul God’s saving health.

    The hours went by on their drowsy flight,
    And came the middle watch of the night;

    In part unmanned in spite of my care,
    I beheld my guest in the taper’s glare,

    A wall of darkness around him thick,
    As onward he came to a pendulum-tick.

    Then quickly I opened wide the door,
    And bade him pass my threshold o’er,

    And linger awhile away from the cold,
    And repeat some story or ballad old,—­

    His weary limbs to strengthen with rest,
    For his course to the ever-receding West.

    Through the vacant door in wonder I glanced,
    And stood—­was it long?—­as one entranced.

    Silence so awful did fill the room,
    That the tick of the clock was a cannon’s boom.