The Mirage.
Across the wild and barren wastes,1
Beneath a maddening, cloudless sky,2
The lonely pilgrim panting hastes,3
No grateful shade, no water nigh ;4
No water—he must drink or die.5
For weary miles behind him lies6
The track that he has travelled o’er ;7
For weary miles he yet descries8
The sterile, pathless plain before ;9
Sand, burning sand, and nothing more.10
What, nothing but the desert ? Stay—11
An effort and the strain is past !12
For yonder, not so far away,13
The cool oasis looms at last,14
And waving palms their shelter cast.15
Surely around a fairer spot16
The fervent sunbeams never shone !17
The way was hard—it matters not,18
Thus cheered the traveller presses on—19
Only to find the vision gone.20
Is there no mirage save the one21
That mocks the wanderer’s fevered pain,22
Who journeying ’neath Sahara’s sun,23
Beholds the haven he would gain,24
And striving, ever strives in vain ?25
The man engrossed in greed for wealth,26
Toiling perchance till he abuse27
His time, his talents, and his health—28
Or fame or pleasure does he choose—29
It is a mirage he pursues.30
A mirage born of mists that cling31
About the cloud-encumbered earth ;32
Our human sense bewildering33
’Twixt fleeting joys that have no worth,34
And hidden ones of holier birth.35
For lo, when to his longing eyes36
The boon he coveted is near ;37
And when his hand may pluck the prize,38
Eternity dawns sharp and clear,39
Earth and her shadows disappear.40
And, if the moral you would know41
Before I lay aside my pen—42
The goal we seek is not below,43
But far beyond our mortal ken ;44
Immortal, we shall see it then !45