'Twas eventide in Eden. The mortals stood,
Watchful and solemn, in speechless sorrow bound.
He was erect, defiant, and unblenched.
Tho' fallen, free—deceived, but not undone.
She leaned on him, and drooped her pensive brow
In token of the character she bore—
The world's first penitent. Tears, gushing fast,
Streamed from her azure eyes; and as they fled
Beyond the eastern gate, where gleamed the swords
Of guarding Cherubim, the flowers themselves
Bent their sad heads, surcharged with dewy tears,
Wept by the stare o'er man's immortal woe.
Far had they wandered, slow had been the pace,
Grief at his heart and ruin on her face,
Ere Adam turned to contemplate the spot
Where Earth began, where Heaven was forgot.
He gazed in silence, till the crystal wall
Of Eden trembled, as though doomed to fall:
Then bidding Eve direct her tear-dimmed eye
To where the foliage kissed the western sky,
They saw, with horror mingled with surprise,
The wall, the garden, and the foliage rise!
Slowly it mounted to the vaulted dome,
And paused as if to beckon mortals home;
Then, like a cloud when winds are all at rest,
It floated gently to the distant west,
And left behind a crimson path of light,
By which to track the Garden in its flight!
Day after day, the exiles wandered on,
With eyes still fixed, where Eden's smile last shone;
Forlorn and friendless through the wilds they trod,
Remembering Eden, but forgetting God,
Till far across the sea-washed, arid plain,
The billows thundered that the search was vain!
Ah! who can tell how oft at eventide,
When the gay west was blushing like a bride,
Fair Eve hath whispered in her children's ear,
"Beyond yon cloud will Eden reappear!"
And thus, as slow millenniums rolled away,
Each generation, ere it turned to clay,
Has with prophetic lore, by nature blest,
In search of Eden wandered to the West.
I cast my thoughts far up the stream of time,
And catch its murmurs in my careless rhyme.
I hear a footstep tripping o'er the down:
Behold! 'tis Athens, in her violet crown.
In fancy now her splendors reappear;
Her fleets and phalanxes, her shield and spear;
Her battle-fields, blest ever by the free,—
Proud Marathon, and sad Thermopyl!
Her poet, foremost in the ranks of fame,
Homer! a god—but with a mortal's name;
Historians, richest in primeval lore;
Orations, sounding yet from shore to shore!
Heroes and statesmen throng the enraptured gaze,
Till glory totters 'neath her load of praise.
Surely a clime so rich in old renown
Could build an Eden, if not woo one down!
Lo! Plato comes, with wisdom's scroll unfurl'd,
The proudest gift of Athens to the world!
Wisest of mortals, say, for thou can'st tell,
Thou, whose sweet lips the Muses loved so well,
Was Greece the Garden that our fathers trod;
When men, like angels, walked the earth with God?
"Alas!" the great Philosopher replied,
"Though I love Athens better than a bride,
Her laws are bloody and her children slaves;
Her sages slumber in empoisoned graves;
Her soil is sterile, barren are her seas;
Eden still blooms in the Hesperides,
Beyond the pillars of far Hercules!
Westward, amid the ocean's blandest smile,
Atlantis blossoms, a perennial Isle;
A vast Republic stretching far and wide,
Greater than Greece and Macedon beside!"
The vision fades. Across the mental screen
A mightier spirit stalks upon the scene;
His tread shakes empires ancient as the sun;
His voice resounds, and nations are undone;
War in his tone and battle in his eye,
The world in arms, a Roman dare defy!
Throned on the summit of the seven hills,
He bathes his gory heel in Tiber's rills;
Stretches his arms across a triple zone,
And dares be master of mankind, alone!
All peoples send their tribute to his store;
Wherever rivers glide or surges roar,
Or mountains rise or desert plains expand,
His minions sack and pillage every land.
But not alone for rapine and for war
The Roman eagle spreads his pinions far;
He bears a sceptre in his talons strong,
To guard the right, to rectify the wrong,
And carries high, in his imperial beak,
A shield armored to protect the weak.
Justice and law are dropping from his wing,
Equal alike for consul, serf or king;
Daggers for tyrants, for patriot-heroes fame,
Attend like menials on the Roman name!
Was Rome the Eden of our ancient state,
Just in her laws, in her dominion great,
Wise in her counsels, matchless in her worth,
Acknowledged great proconsul of the earth?
An eye prophetic that has read the leaves
The sibyls scattered from their loosened sheaves,
A bard that sang at Rome in all her pride,
Shall give response;—let Seneca decide!
"Beyond the rocks where Shetland's breakers roar,
And clothe in foam the wailing, ice-bound shore,
Within the bosom of a tranquil sea,
Where Earth has reared her Ultima Thule,
The gorgeous West conceals a golden clime,
The petted child, the paragon of Time!
In distant years, when Ocean's mountain wave
Shall rock a cradle, not upheave a grave,
When men shall walk the pathway of the brine,
With feet as safe as Terra watches mine,
Then shall the barriers of the Western Sea
Despised and broken down forever be;
Then man shall spurn old Ocean's loftiest crest,
And tear the secret from his stormy breast!"
Again the vision fades. Night settles down
And shrouds the world in black Plutonian frown;
Earth staggers on, like mourners to a tomb,
Wrapt in one long millennium of gloom.
That past, the light breaks through the clouds of war,
And drives the mists of Bigotry afar;
Amalfi sees her burial tomes unfurl'd,
And dead Justinian rules again the world.
The torch of Science is illumed once more;
Adventure gazes from the surf-beat shore,
Lifts in his arms the wave-worn Genoese,
And hails Iberia, Mistress of the Seas!
What cry resounds along the Western main,
Mounts to the stars, is echoed back again,
And wakes the voices of the startled sea,
Dumb until now, from past eternity?
"Land! land!" is chanted from the Pinta's deck;
Smiling afar, a minute glory-speck,
But grandly rising from the convex sea,
To crown Colon with immortality,
The Western World emerges from the wave,
God's last asylum for the free and brave!
But where within this ocean-bounded clime,
This fairest offspring of the womb of time,—
Plato's Atlantis, risen from the sea,
Utopia's realm, beyond old Rome's Thule,—
Where shall we find, within this giant land,
By blood redeemed, with Freedom's rainbow spann'd,
The spot first trod by mortals on the earth,
Where Adam's race was cradled into birth?
'Twas sought by Cortez with his warrior band,
In realms once ruled by Montezuma's hand;
Where the old Aztec, 'neath his hills of snow,
Built the bright domes of silver Mexico.
Pizarro sought it where the Inca's rod
Proclaimed the prince half-mortal, demi-god,
When the mild children of unblest Peru
Before the bloodhounds of the conqueror flew,
And saw their country and their race undone,
And perish 'neath the Temple of the Sun!
De Soto sought it, with his tawny bride,
Near where the Mississippi's waters glide,
Beneath the ripples of whose yellow wave
He found at last both monument and grave.
Old Ponce de Leon, in the land of flowers,
Searched long for Eden 'midst her groves and bowers,
Whilst brave La Salle, where Texan prairies smile,
Roamed westward still, to reach the happy isle.
The Pilgrim Fathers on the Mayflower's deck,
Fleeing beyond a tyrant's haughty beck,
In quest of Eden, trod the rock-bound shore,
Where bleak New England's wintry surges roar;
Raleigh, with glory in his eagle eye,
Chased the lost realm beneath a Southern sky;
Whilst Boone believed that Paradise was found
In old Kentucky's "dark and bloody ground!"
In vain their labors, all in vain their toil;
Doomed ne'er to breathe that air nor tread that soil.
Heaven had reserved it till a race sublime
Should launch its heroes on the wave of time!
Go with me now, ye Californian band,
And gaze with wonder at your glorious land;
Ascend the summit of yon middle chain,
When Mount Diablo rises from the plain,
And cast your eyes with telescopic power,
O'er hill and forest, over field and flower.
Behold! how free the hand of God hath roll'd
A wave of wealth across your Land of Gold!
The mountains ooze it from their swelling breast,
The milk-white quartz displays it in her crest;
Each tiny brook that warbles to the sea,
Harps on its strings a golden melody;
Whilst the young waves are cradled on the shore
On spangling pillows, stuffed with golden ore!
Look northward! See the Sacramento glide
Through valleys blooming like a royal bride,
And bearing onward to the ocean's shore
A richer freight than Arno ever bore!
See! also fanned by cool refreshing gales,
Fair Petaluma and her sister vales,
Whose fields and orchards ornament the plain
And deluge earth with one vast sea of grain!
Look southward! Santa Clara smiles afar,
As in the fields of heaven, a radiant star;
Los Angeles is laughing through her vines;
Old Monterey sits moody midst her pines;
Far San Diego flames her golden bow,
And Santa Barbara sheds her fleece of snow,
Whilst Bernardino's ever-vernal down
Gleams like an emerald in a monarch's crown!
Look eastward! On the plains of San Joaquin
Ten thousand herds in dense array are seen.
Aloft like columns propping up the skies
The cloud-kissed groves of Calaveras rise;
Whilst dashing downward from their dizzy home
The thundering falls of Yo Semite foam!
Look westward! Opening on an ocean great,
Behold the portal of the Golden Gate!
Pillared on granite, destined e'er to stand
The iron rampart of the sunset land!
With rosy cheeks, fanned by the fresh sea-breeze,
The petted child of the Pacific seas,
See San Francisco smile! Majestic heir
Of all that's brave, or bountiful, or fair,
Pride of our land, by every wave carest,
And hailed by nations, Venice of the West!
Where then is Eden? Ah! why should I tell,
What every eye and bosom know so well?
Why thy name the land all other lands have blest,
And traced for ages to the distant West?
Why search in vain throughout th' historic page
For Eden's garden and the Golden Age?
Here, brothers, here! no further let us roam;
This is the Garden! Eden is our Home!
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