by Goodwyn Barmby.
Originally published in Howitt's Journal (William & Mary Howitt) vol.2 #44 (30 Oct 1847).
Onward flows the Stream of Time,
Wave on wave, with course sublime,—
Rippling, bubbling, gurgling, foaming,
Bubbling, tinkling, singing on;
Rising, spreading, flooding, foaming,
Surging, billowing, ebbing—gone!
Now with gentle purling playing
O'er the pebbles of the rill;
Now with quiet motion straying
O'er bright sands, so blue and still;
Now with gurgling dimples ringing
Foam-bells, lily-like and fair;
Now, like mermaid, sweetly singing,
Parting trim the rushes' hair;
Or adown the mountain dashing,
Wreathing rainbows in the sun,
Streaming, beaming, sparkling, flashing,
Tumbling, falling, leaping, rushing,
Booming, thundering—echoing—crushing,
Crowned with spray-clouds, torrents on.
Onward flows the Stream of Time,
From the dim, eternal mountains,
With a distant echoing chime,
Rising from their sun-like fountains;
Onward—from those streams which bounded
Eden's garden's golden prime,
And each breast of green earth rounded,
In that paradise of time,
Where the voice of God first sounded
In the sweet Arcadian clime,
And the world's great pulse was founded
Upon harmony and rhyme.
With bright trains of mist attended,
On still flows the Stream of Time,
In the depth of ages splendid
As a distant torrent's chime;
Through the dark primeval wild-wood,
Far from Eden's flowers it rushes;
With the eagle's mighty childhood
From the mountain cairn it gushes;
Like a snake it hath unrolled
Its treacherous folds of blue and gold;
Like a long gaunt wolf it speedeth
Through the hide-clad shepherd's flock,
Flooding where the white lamb feedeth,
Gulphing vale and scaling rock;
But amid the pastures still,
Sometimes flowing sweet in glee,
Like a gently-tinkling rill
Playing rural minstrelsy:
Well accompanied by the reed
Damon plays to lovers' gushes,
While the lambs beside him feed,
And the willing Phillis blushes—
Willing nymph, and loving swain!
Notes of that old pastoral strain!
Onward flows the Stream of Time—
Through the shepherd's pasture fair,
Down to where the spreading lime
Shades the tribes' huts circled there;
Where, beside the beaver's dyke,
Swarthy clans have built their homes,
Who in moonlight's white beam strike
The yellow salmon as it roams;
Or in noontide's scorching hour
Lave their limbs amid its stream;
Bind the bark, and try its power
O'er the swelling waves to gleam;
Or beside its leafy bank,
Hunt wild Nature's savage brood,
In the trackless forest dank,
Dreadful in its solitude,
Lonely in its sweetest mood,
As they pass its rocks sublime,
Sailing on the Stream of Time.
On it flows: its many waves,
Gushing, eddying, roaring on,
Past the tribes'-mens mounded graves,
'Neath the setting of the sun;
On to where the great chief's tent,
Centre-placed is bright-besprent
With the purple's royal dye;
And at length a palace grows
Where the barbarous monarch shows
Conquest in his blood-shot eye;
Bridges o'er its streams are thrown
Rudely, as it floweth down;
O'er them pass wild nations on
From a bleak and barren strand,
Like fierce stream to still lake, gone
To a sunnier sweeter land;
While, alas! the flooding tide
Is with gory crimson dyed,
As if Nature shed in pain
Bloody tear-drops, and not rain.
On yet flows the Stream of Time—
Bluer depths and currents lighter,
Charmed by sweet romance of rhyme,
Softer gleam, and glow the brighter.
'On it glows by tourney plain
Where the feudal barons meet,
Friendly force in arms to strain,
And to lay the guerdon gain
At the fairest ladye's feet;
Bright their arms! as wave on wave,
Flows the tide of chivalry—
Banners floating o'er the brave;
Sounds of martial minstrelsy!
While, like foam-wreaths of cascade,
Flow their snow-white plumes, above
Seas of lances! and the glade
Is sweet with song of war and love.
Thus from the Provencal clime
Of chivalry, love, arms, and song!
Onward flows the Stream of Time
With a broader current strong;
By the mill and by the cot;
By Baron's plain, and yeoman's lot;
And through the town where anvils ring,
And looms their wheels intricate fling;
And where the burgher keepeth guard
In jerkin stout, as watch and ward,
And dons the steel cap on his head
Whene'er the chartered rights he won,
By skill as by the blood he shed
Are threatened by the Baron's son—
For sheltered in his moated walls
He spreads the flag of liberty,
With heart no tyranny appals,
With stalwart arm, and bosom free;
While mill-fall waters cheerly chime,
As onward flows the Stream of Time.
On it flows, and pauses never;
Glory to its gushing tide;
Now an ocean, once a river,
How its billows leap in pride!
As through towns the streamlets glide,
Onwards, shining to the seas,—
So it flows, and on its bosom
Bears the bud, that has to blossom
All amid wild forest trees.
On its breast, swelled to the gale,
Commerce spreads her snow-white sail,
On its ocean ships of iron,
Fed by fire, and breathing steam,
Every anchoring port environ,—
Before, by night, a fiery gleam—
Behind, by day, a sun-tinged cloud—
Misty as the Flag of Dream!
Hopeful as the rainbow proud!
Civilizing, bringing nearer,
Joining lands and making dearer,
Linking fields and marrying nations,
Bearing written messengers.
Fraught with love and aspirations:
Doves with notes unto the stars!
Wires, which lead the electric fires
From the distant heart to heart!—
Like sunrise on village spires,
Beacons of the Better Part:
Racing Time, and conquering space,
Flying on the winds of heaven,
Hallowing with life each place,
Saving hours for goodness given;
Bidding War's red course to cease,
Harnessing the steeds of Peace,
Driving them through sea and land
With a progress good and grand;
Making way for that blest day,
When God's own sun, indeed, shall shine;
And men all brethren in.its ray,
Shall share communion divine;
For this the stream amid the rushes,
Purling, bubbling, tinkling, gushes;
For this the river from its fountain
Floodeth, foameth down the mountain;
For this it streameth in commotion,
That it may flow into the ocean;
For this the course and end sublime,
For which we float the Stream of Time.