Biographia Poem by Samuel Alfred Beadle

I saw sweep out of the unknown
A worthy sunlit bark, alone,
By eddies dallied and then thrown
Down with Life's stream.


And on its frail though radiant prow,
'Consigned to the unknown art thou,'
Was stamped by Him, Who then, as now,
Directs the end.


There went with it a being of hope -
A radiant being of hope,
An ethereal philanthrope,
Somewhat divine.


She steered the craft hard by the shore -
I heard the stroke of her golden oar,
The silver thread of the streamlet o'er
Throwing the spray.


Her cargo was of jewels rare,
All luminous, splendid and fair;
The ensign of a prince was there
Undoubtedly.


Methinks I saw his armor there,
Brilliantly grand, superb and rare,
Whose shield was beaming ev'rywhere,
Like a coronet.


And through the helmet of his robe
Two luminous orbs lit his abode,
And like the fixed stars brightly glowed
Continuously.


And near this dazzling light appears
A blazing meteor beneath the spheres,
Expression's guide of joy and fears
Incased in pearl.


This pearly armament's support
Is cunningly built, a coral fort
Compassed with ruby fleets, which float
'Round there for aye.


And when its florid portals oped,
The cadence of the prince awoke
The music Mother Eve evoked
In Paradise.


Then the stream, grand, masterly stream,
Moved swiftly, silent and serene,
The bark and its fair guide between,
To run the falls.


But still she, with her skillful hand,
E'er taught the tottering craft to stand
The strain and shock of the rocky strand
Which lies below.


Where the stream runs its merry race
Of rapid, smooth and subtile grace,
The craft leaped o'er the falls, to face
The surge and whirl,


Of the deep, the grand and awful wave,
Where the frothy waters toil and rave
On in their course, as they engrave
Their history.


And bickers on by sunlit hills,
Where Vanity Fair the passion fills,
And pompous pride in the breast instills
A new desire.


Then out, and 'round the slippery curve
Where bold Maturity's heights subserve
The channel to deepen, and to swerve
Its rapid flight.


Then down the rugged precipice,
Through the whirling pools of Error's bliss,
Where the troubled waters seethe and hiss
A flood of tears.


Here, where youth's border land appears,
The gallant oarsman drops his fears,
And, king-like, o'er the floods he rears
His stately head.


Then through green fields and sunny climes,
Where Cupid's violin strikes the chimes
Of melody's tunes and happy rhymes,
The river runs.


Till o'er its purling waters came
The splash of golden oars again,
Dashing the silver spray like rain
From Cupid's prow.


Where Evylin sat, an angel bright,
A fair, celestial angel bright,
Guiding another bark of light
Through Love's domain;


Where moon, and stars, and earth, and air
Seemed covered with the mystic snare,
Which Cupid throws to catch the fair
Angelic thing,


As she sweeps down the silver stream
Beneath the glow of beauty's beam,
With hope's, and love's, and fancy's gleam
Of wild delight,


Steering for that semi-paradise,
To the land where experience lies,
Where truth and wisdom harmonize
Youth's fervent fires.


Here many a green isle appears,
Along the stream, where the sunny years,
Of conjugal life devoutly wears
Contentment's crown.


Till the stream impetuous grows,
And pride, deceitful pride, blows
His clarion horn and goes
About the sails,


Of ev'ry ship which daily files,
Adown the stream by the sunny isles;
Where with them all fame flies and smiles
Bewitchingly.


Just flies and smiles; beguiles and tries
To lead all 'neath the sunny skies,
With windy inconsistencies
Off the Isles of Peace.


Till Ambition comes, an oarsman dark,
A stern, deceptive oarsman dark,
And takes possession of the bark,
And rows blindly on.


Where all the floods become untied
And pour their torrents far and wide,
From mountain side to mountain side,
Through the dismal swamp.


Ambition's meed, dark discontent,
And Fame's worthless emolument,
So often pledged, but seldom sent,
Till this good day.


Till the splendor of the old bark's glow,
Which all well knew in that long ago,
Is storm-driven so till we scarce know
What 'tis or does.


But I saw it with the billows toil,
When the turbulent stream's rough turmoil
Did its fair prospects taunt and foil,
And roll grumbling on.


Through bold tornadoes it had gone;
I saw the rent where Calumny's storm,
Swept through the sails and then hissed on
Relentlessly.


But the bark was a kingly one,
It weathered the storms; I saw it run
Grappling with the stream and overcome
The vicious winds


That stormed along the malignant strand,
Just where looms up the goodly land
Of Fame's domain and Fancy's grand
Expectantcy.


Again, I saw it sail, and sail,
Proud and defiant with the gale,
With hope, iron will, and nerves of mail
Combatting the fates.


Where the stream runs purling swift and strong
In its murmuring, liquid song
Breaking hope, and will, and nerves along
The cataract.


And still the craft sped with the wave.
On the crest of the billows laved,
Nor heeded the omnivorous grave
That yawned below


Where the river bold grew deep and wide;
Till it so placidly seemed to glide,
That its deceptive waves belied
Its rapid flight.


To the grand and deep old ocean wide,
Rolling in all its majestic pride,
Until the crest of its hoar tide
The river met.


There it eddied as if it would be still,
And the oarsman, infirm and ill,
Furled his sails, surrendered his will,
And crossed his oars.


For that ruby bulwark, strong and bold,
And those luminous orbs - now cold -
Swing to and fro, a ruin old,
Sacked at last by Time.


Who stands Death's oceanic mien!
However mute the winds, bright the sheen,
Or peacefully lulled the marine
Which decoys him?


And if the zephyrs do play low,
Light, soft and smooth the deep sea o'er
They but waft the bark and its cargo
Into port.