Charles Mackay (Чарльз Маккей)
The Golden City
Weary and sickening of the dull debate And clang of politics; weary of hate And sorrow, and calamity, and crime Of daily history told us in our time; Weary of wrong that rear'd its hydra head And hiss'd from all its mouths; dispirited With rich man's apathy to poor man's hurt, And poor men's ignorance of their own desert, And for a moment hopeless of mankind And that great cause, the nearest to my mind, Progress — the dream of poet and of sage — I lean'd back in my chair, and dropp'd the page Diurnal, fill'd with all the misery, And fell asleep; if sleeping it could be When, in their natural sequence in the brain, Thought follow'd thought, more palpable and plain Than when I waked; when words took music's voice, And all my being inly did rejoice. And what I saw, I sang of at the time, With ease unparallel'd by waking rhyme, And to this tune, which, many a day since then, A haunting music has come back again. Oh the golden city, Shining far away! — With its domes and steeples tall, And the sunlight over all; With the waters of a bay Rippling gently at its feet, Dotted over with a fleet; Oh the golden city — so beautiful to see! It shall open wide its portals, And I'll tell you if it be The city of the happy, The city of the free. Oh the glorious city, Shining far away! — In its boundaries every man Makes his happiness a plan, That he studies night and day, Till he thinks it not alone, Like his property, his own: Oh the glorious city — so beautiful to see! But spreads it round about him, Till all are bless'd as he; His mind an inward sunshine, And bright eternally. Oh the splendid city, Gleaming far away! — Every man by Love possess'd Has a priest within his breast, And, whene'er he kneels to pray, Never breathes a thought unkind Against men of other mind: Oh the glorious city — so beautiful to see! But knows that God Eternal Will shower all blessings free On hearts that live to love Him, And cling to Charity. Oh the gorgeous city, Shining far away! — Where a Competence is bliss, And each man that lives has this For his labor of the day; A labor not too hard, And a bountiful reward: Oh the glorious city — so beautiful to see! Where mighty wheels creative Revolve incessantly, And Science gains to cheer him A daily Victory. Oh the glorious city, Shining far away! — Neither Misery nor Crime, Nor the wrongs of ancient Time, Nor the Kingly lust of sway Ever come within its wall, To degrade or to enthral: Oh the glorious city — so beautiful to see! But Peace and Love, and Knowledge, The civilizing Three, Still prove by Good that has been The B ETTER that may be. Thus dream'd I, to this rhythm, or something near, But far more copious, musical, and clear; And when I waken'd, still my fancy ran 'Twas not all dream; and that large Hopes for man Were not such idle visions as the wise, In days like ours, should heedlessly despise: I thought that Love might be Religion yet, Not form alone, but soul and substance met; The guide, the light, the glory of the mind, Th' electric link uniting all mankind; That if men loved, and made their Love the Law, All else would follow: — more than ever saw Poet or Prophet in the utmost light Of heavenly glory opening on his sight. But dream, or no dream, take it as it came: It gave me hope, — it may give you the same. And as bright Hopes make the Intention strong, Take heart with me, and muse upon my song.
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