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EVERGREEN:
A MISCELLANEOUS COLLECTION
OF
ORIGINAL POETRY.
-- Electronic text encoded by
Charlotte Payne
Copyright ©2007, University of California
This edition is the property of the editors. It may be copied freely by individuals for personal use, research, and teaching (including distribution to classes) as long as this statement of availability is included in the text. It may be linked to by internet editions of all kinds.
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-- Managing Editor
Charlotte Payne
-- Founding Editor
Nancy Kushigian
-- by
Mary Anne Bourne.
This text was scanned from its original in the Shields Library Kohler Collection, University of California, Davis. Kohler I:134. Another copy available on microfilm as Kohler I:134mf .
All poems, line groups, and lines are represented. All material originally typeset has been preserved, with the exception of running heads, the original prose line breaks, signature markings and decorative typographical elements. Page numbers and page breaks have been preserved. Pencilled annotations and other damage to the text have not been preserved.
March 28, 2007
Charlotte Payne
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A wreath of rude and simple form, unskilfully entwined,
Yet offered by affection's hand,—affection's brow to bind
O scorn it not, tho' little grace or beauty it may claim,
For feeling's sacred hue it wears, unfading as its name.
IN compliance with the wishes of many esteemed friends, the following Poems are now (with much diffidence and hesitation) presented to the public. They were written without any view to publication, many of them at a very early age, and the writer ventures to hope that these circumstances will plead in extenuation of the defects which she is conscious the eye of criticism may discover. To the valued friends whose kind partiality will, in a great measure, veil those defects, she is confident that the perusal of this little volume will afford gratification,—and their approbation is far dearer to the feelings of her heart than would be the most brilliant poetic fame.
Heytesbury,
August
14th,
1839.
WITH feelings of painful emotion,
Loved sister! we bid thee farewell;
And trust thee to cross the wide ocean,
Whose billows tumultuously swell;
May He to whom tempests surrender,
Who calms the wild storm at His will,
Be ever thy guide and defender,
And guard thee from every ill!
New scenes to thy view are unfolding,
Gay scenes which till now were unknown,
And in hope's fairy glass thou'rt beholding
Bright visions—of pleasure alone;
Though at thought of the lov'd ones thou'rt leaving,
A pang of regret thou mays't feel;
And, perhaps, thou a sigh may'st be heaving,
And a tear from thine eyelid may steal.
Yet the sigh and the tear will soon vanish
'Midst prospects of pleasure to come;
And hopes of the future will banish
The sorrow of leaving thy home.
We part—let us hope not for ever,
Though years may elapse ere we meet,—
But nor absence nor distance can sever
The ties of relationship sweet.
Those bonds of affection endear us,
Whene'er from each other we part;
And though fate far asunder may tear us,
We still are united in heart.
They say—and there's truth in the saying—
That no bliss is unmixed with alloy;
That anxiety ever is preying
At the root of the most cherished joy:
'Tis thus with the fond hopes we cherish,
The earthly delights which we prize,
They bloom—but how soon do they perish,
How quickly are lost to our eyes!
Though the gay scenes of life seem enchanting,
True comfort they cannot impart;
But something will ever be wanting
To whisper sweet peace to the heart.
Then trust not, dear girl! to the pleasures
That vanish so swiftly away,
But seek for those heavenly treasures
Which never will fade or decay;
Then, e'en though misfortune surround thee,
Religion a calm will bestow,
And a tranquil content shed around thee
Which none but her vot'ries can know.
Farewell! but oh think with affection
Of the home and the friends left behind;
And oft may the fond recollection
Serenely steal over thy mind.
FLOW on, fair stream; beneath these waving bowers
Thy gentle murmurs tranquillise the heart;
Flow on, bright emblem of life's happiest hours,
Unmixed with passion's storms or sorrow's smart.
AGAIN Spring's gladsome song I hear,
Again her beauty's seen;
The pure Heaven smiles in azure clear,
The earth is rob'd in green.
She comes, all clad in radiant light,
O'er valley, hill, and mead;
And flowers, in sparkling beauty bright,
Spring up beneath her tread.
Her genial breath has loosed the chains
That late the streamlets bound;
Her vernal smile has decked the plains,
And joy diffused around.
The warbling wood, the deep green dale,
Each grove, and bush, and tree,
Her blest return exulting hail
And wake to melody.
Where late the whirling tempest roared
The leafless bowers among;
Soft strains of harmony are poured,
The linnet's blithesome song;
The cuckoo, from each echoing hill,
Sounds her unvaried note,
And sweetly does the blackbird trill
His wild airs as they float.
Again bright verdure clothes the trees,
And robes the valleys fair,
And, borne on every balmy breeze,
Soft fragrance fills the air.
The twining woodbine scents the gale,
Where wild brier roses bloom;
The violet, through the lonely dale,
Scatters its sweet perfume.
Where low the murmuring streamlet flows,
Hid from the noontide ray;
Where o'er the rill dark willows close,
And where mild zephyrs play.
Oh! there would I enraptured rove,
To fancy's dreams resigned,
Lulled by the music of the grove
Soft warbling in the wind.
Delightful season! are there joys
That can with thine compare ?
Who would not quit each scene of noise
And strife, thy sweets to share?
Where is the cold, corrupted heart,
To which thy genial ray
No thrill of rapture can impart,
No calm delight convey?
Oh! be it mine these joys to prove,
Which nature's votaries know;
Amid her varied scenes to rove,
And feel my bosom glow
With rapture as my eye surveys
Her nice, harmonious laws;
And learn from them my thoughts to raise
To their Eternal Cause!
OH! there are ties that twine with power
Around the human heart,
Whose force is felt not, till the hour
When they are torn apart!
E'en then, 'midst sorrow's gloomiest dream
And dark imaginings,
How fondly to hope's feeblest gleam
The broken spirit clings.
How sweet to rove when silent eve steals on,
And draws o'er nature's face her dusky veil;
When shadows stretch gigantic o'er the lawn,
And distant sounds die on the whispering gale;
When from the vale, or from the hill's steep side,
As down the solitary glade I rove,
Responsive murmurs echo far and wide,
And with soft soothing accents fill the grove.
MEEK, simple flower! low on thy bed
Of leaves so darkly green;
Who scorn'st to feel, or fear, or dread,
Or from the rude blasts hide thy head
Of January keen.
Though on thy pale, unsullied bell
No gaudy hues appear;
Yet, gentle flower, I love thee well, .
For thou to my glad heart dost tell
That spring again is near.
Emblem of innocence! with joy
Thy lov'd return I hail,
Ere other flow'rets yet dare try
To brave the keen, inclement sky,
Or tempt the piercing gale.
Oh may each quick revolving year
Thee to my garden bring;
'Midst the last storms of winter drear,
The desolate parterre to cheer,
And tell of coming spring.
WHEN from our dearest friends we part,
And broken is the magic spell;
Perhaps long twined round each fond heart,
How mournful is the word—Farewell!
The fairy dream at once is fled,
Of past delight, of future joy;
And darker visions quickly spread,
The soft illusion to destroy.
Holy bright in beauty seems the past,
Endeared by sweet affection's ties;
As memory brings, in sad contrast,
Those vanished hours before our eyes.
The anxious throb, the thrilling smart,
Oh! none but those who feel can tell,
The pang that desolates the heart,
When comes the blighting word—Farewell!
AND does that placid mien indeed bespeak
A heart detached from every earthly tie?
Does bliss indeed dwell on that pallid cheek,
And heavenly hope beam from that listless eye?
Can those dark walls, meet emblem of the tomb,
Of peace celestial form the bright abode?
Enthusiast, no! there discontent's dark gloom
And blighting care the withered heart corrode.
Go, look again; and on that cold, pale brow,
Mark where chill apathy has fixed her throne;
Read the dark lines which tell of hidden woe,
Of many a joy foregone and hope o'erthrown.
Shut out from life's endearing, social ties,
From love's soft charm, and friendship's soothing power;
Conflicting passions in the bosom rise,
And share with deep despair each lonely hour.
Or should perchance enthusiasm's glow
Awhile shed radiance o'er the dreary scene,
How soon subsides the false, tumultuous glow,
And leaves a gloomier void than erst had been.
Call ye this peace? shall gentle woman's heart,
Formed the delight of social life to share,
In such a sad existence choose her part,
And drag along her hours in sorrow there?
No! rather may each genial virtue shed
Its mild effulgence o'er the female breast
Teach her the path of active life to tread,
And be within the kindred circle blest.
THE morn is breaking, lady, wake!
The east is bright with burning gold;
The light mist wreaths the sleeping lake,
And curls in many a lucid fold.
Arise! the lark has hailed the day,
The sun's first beam has lit thy bower;
And decked with lustre by the ray,
Bright hangs the dew on leaf and flower.
The fawn bounds through the forest glade,
Where cooling airs play fresh and sweet;
Loud sings the thrush amid the shade,
The bright, the joyous day to greet.
The wild stream, dancing on its way,
Reflects the clear and sunny skies;
And all things sparkle in the ray
With life and beauty—lady, rise!
FAR sunk in the west is the orb of day,
The moon has risen in splendour bright;
The breeze of even has died away,
And tranquil and lovely is the night.
On the tall cliffs the moonbeams sleep,
And gild the surface of the deep;
Whose azure waves beneath the ray
In sportive brilliant ripples play.
With paler radiance o'er the tide,
The beacon sheds its steady light;
To mariners a welcome guide,
On many a wild tempestuous night;
When vivid lightnings fiercely blaze,
When clouds obscure the lunar rays,
And not a star breaks forth to cheer
The dark and lurid atmosphere.
All now is hushed and silent, save
The distant plash of the seaman's oar
Or the gentle murmuring of the wave,
Receding from the lonely shore.
Is there 'neath the pure light of heaven
A scene so beautiful as this?
Is there an hour to mortals given
More meet to raise the soul to bliss?
That solemn, sacred bliss, which stealing
The thoughts above all earthly feeling,
Each jarring passion lulls to rest,
Calm as th' unruffled ocean's breast.
The chastened beauty of the scene,
Soft in the trembling moonbeam's smiling,
Breathes o'er the heart a spell serene,
From human joys and griefs beguiling;
While sublimed fancy soars on high,
To brighter scenes beyond the sky;
And seems, upborne on wings of air,
To blend with purer spirits there.
When sorrow does the heart oppress,
And all its energies destroy;
Oh! one such hour of soul felt peace
Is worth whole years of heartless joy;
OH I pity, kind lady! my friendless condition,
And grant a poor Orphan some trifling relief;
Attend to his mournful, yet humble petition,
And lessen by kindness the weight of his grief.
Thrown on the wide world, with no friend to direct him,
A stranger to comfort, a stranger to joy;
No mother to cherish, no sire to protect him,
Oh pity the woes of a poor Orphan Boy!
Yet was I not always so poor and so friendless,
Nor sunk in such misery as now I appear:
Once, alas! I imagined my happiness endless,
Nor dreamt that misfortune and grief were so near,
But the calm was soon broken by war's direful rattle,
The shrill clarion and trump sounded forth her alarms,
My father by duty was called to the battle,
And my poor mother franticly wept in his arms;
In vain she entreated him, half broken hearted,
To remain, and restore her to comfort and joy;
Stern honour prevailed, for the last time they parted,
And soon I became a forlorn Orphan Boy.
My father, engaged in the heat of the battle,
Was valiantly fighting, by numbers pressed round,
And 'midst war's frightful din, and the cannon's loud rattle,
The guide of my childhood received his death wound.
But who could describe my poor mother's deep anguish,
When the heart-rending tidings to her were conveyed;
'Midst sickness and sorrow not long did she languish,
And I saw my last friend in the gloomy grave laid.
Since then I have wandered; alone,—unprotected,—
Bereft of all comfort, and hopeless of joy;
My sufferings unnoticed, my sorrow neglected,
For ah! none will pity the poor Orphan Boy!
Yet is there not One, who from yonder bright heaven
Beholds the poor wanderer with pitying eye;
Whose care to the children of sorrow is given,
Who hears with compassion the mourner's sad sigh?
MOURN! Scotland! for thy mighty son,
Whose bright career is o'er,
Mourn for the great, the glorious one,
Whom nations shall deplore!
Thy bard from earth hath passed away,
Cold is his hand and mute his lay,
His spirit vast hath fled;
And o'er the tomb where low he sleeps,
Dejected Genius bending weeps,
And mourns her favourite dead!
Hark! as the plaintive wind sweeps by
With low, funereal tone,
It mingles sadly in the sky
With echoing Nature's moan;
His was the glorious task to raise
From dark oblivion's shade,
The scenes—the deeds of by-gone days,
In truth's bright garb arrayed:
Nature's own characters to trace,
To blend each hue with softest grace,
And on his magic page
To mingle grandeur—beauty—fire—
And with the witchery of his lyre
To charm a wondering age.
'Twas his, tradition's wild expanse
Unwearied to explore,
To lift the veil from dark romance
And legendary lore:
'Round Scotia's storied song to bind
A wreath by genius' hand entwined
From truth's unfading green;
And tinged with fancy's brilliant ray,
Life's vivid colouring to pourtray
In every varied scene.
But hushed is now the minstrel's strain,
And silent is his breath;
And his loved country mourns in vain
Her boasted poet's death.
The hallowed scenes where once he strayed—
River—and dell—and forest glade—
Wild heath and mountain hoar;
Those lone haunts, where he loved so well
To weave his song's enchanting spell,
Shall wake that song no more.
Yet say not that upon his bier
Hath died his well-earned fame;
No! unborn ages shall revere
Great Scott's immortal name!
His praise on every tongue shall dwell,
When in oblivion's silent cell
Full many a bard shall lie;
His name—his memory still shall bloom
And breathe around his hallowed tomb
Fragrance that cannot die!
OUR country! our own country!
Land of freedom and of fame;
What British heart hath never glowed
At thy inspiring name!
Thy towering rocks and tall white cliffs
Smile proudly o'er the sea,
Whose waves have never washed a spot
So beautiful as thee.
Our country! our own country!
Land of the true and brave;
Of many a noble race alike
The birth-place and the grave.
The loved home of our forefathers,
Who now beneath thy sod
In deep and peaceful slumber lie
Within their last abode.
Our country! our own country!
Land of beauty and of light;
Of pleasant woods and wandering streams,
Whose murmurs breathe delight.
Our country! our own country!
How lovely are thy shades;
Thy fair and peaceful solitudes—
Lone dells and winding glades.
Thy forest wilds, thy flow'ry heaths,
Deep vales, and streamlets clear,
And every haunt to memory,
And kindling fancy dear.
Our country! our own country!
Where quiet gladness reigns,
And lingering summer loves to rest
Upon thy smiling plains;
Where kindly looks of social love
Meet in thy dwellings fair,
And kindred ties of heartfelt force
Endear the circles there.
Our country! our own country!
On thee what beams divine,
What holy rays of sacred truth,
With light refulgent shine.
Our country! our own country!
The loved land of our birth;
The land of valour—genius—song—
And patriotic worth.
How sweet and powerful is the spell
Which round our hearts entwined,
Each cherished scene of home and youth,
Can there so firmly bind.
Our country! our own country!
On thy beloved shores
May peace and freedom ever dwell,
And plenty spread her stores.
Long may thine annals grace the page
Of glory—truth—and fame,
When cold and silent are the hearts
That now revere thy name.
IN life's gay spring, when youth and hope had twined their spells around thee,
And strengthened every magic link to this fair world that bound thee,
Death came with quick and powerful wrench the golden chain to sever,
To blast the promise of thy youth, and crush thy hopes for ever.
As when to the delighted eye some landscape bright is blooming,
And sunny rays of sparkling light its beauties are illuming;
A whirlwind from the desert comes, with sudden fury sweeping,
The lovely scene in darkness whelms, and leaves beholders weeping.
Just so, lamented youth, when hope was gaily smiling o'er thee,
And gilding with deceitful beams the prospect spread before thee;
The awful form of death at once dispelled each fairy vision;
How swift, how fatal was the stroke—how mournful the transition;
The promise of thy future worth in one short hour is blighted,
And every tie which held thee here is rent and disunited.
Upon the low and early grave where thou in peace art sleeping,
The hearts whose only hope thou wert in bitter grief are weeping;
Beloved and valued as thou wert, their tears shall long fall o'er thee,
And all who knew and prized thy worth unfeignedly deplore thee.
Thy memory shall in future years be long and deeply cherished,
Tho' on thy tomb the earthly hopes that lived in thee have perished;
BY the calm sea side I love to stray
In the bright dear noon of a summer's day,
When all around me, and all above,
Is breathing of beauty, and joy, and love;
When the tall dark cliffs and rocky strand
Stretch their giant shades o'er the gleaming sand;
When balmy zephyrs are floating by
So lightly, that the blue waves lie
Unruffled by their gentle breath,
And still as the pearls that sleep beneath.
On the bright sea sand I love to roam
When the waters sparkle, and dash, and foam;
When the sunbeams cover the billowy sea
With sheen of dazzling radiancy;
When the breeze of morning o'er it sweeps,
And the bark lightly bounds o'er its fathomless deeps;
On the lone and quiet shore I love
In the evening's solemn calm to rove;
When only the ocean's low murmuring sound
Breaks the holy stillness that reigns around;
When the waves are at rest, and the air serene,
And the moon beams soft on the lovely scene;
While the silvery clouds that are floating by,
Half veil her radiant majesty;
And their lucid folds and snowy hue
Seem like angel's wings in the deep clear blue.
And I love to roam on the wild sea shore
When the tempest is raging with deafening roar;
When the billows in foaming tumult rise,
As though they would war with the angry skies;
When the loud wind raves through the darken'd air,
Like the voice of a storm-spirit howling there;
When the sea fowl shrieks from the dizzy height
Of the thick black clouds where she wheels her flight;
In the morning gales and sun-light rays;
In the calm and glare of noontide blaze;
In the hush of eve's soft shadowy hour;
In the grandeur and burst of the tempest's power;
In stillness—in fury—the boundless sea
Has a voice of deep-toned melody;
It speaks to the spirit, it speaks to the heart,
And sweet are the thrillings its sounds impart;
For it tells of a Power, whose only sway
Can hush its wild tumult—its proud course stay.
That Power, whose bright dwelling is glory above,
And who watches o'er us with a father's love.
How sweetly sound those village bells,
As on the summer gale
Their distant music softly swells,
And echoing through the woody dells
Dies faint along the vale.
How sweetly do they sound!—and yet
They waken thoughts of pain;
Of days whose joyous beams have set
Midst lingering clouds of dark regret,
That still their gloom retain.
They rouse remembrance of the past,
Of childhood's careless hours;
Ere life's bright sky was overcast,
Or sorrow, with its chilling blast,
Had withered hope's gay flowers.
They bring youth's happy scenes to mind—
Beloved—tho' far away;
And ties once round my young heart twined,
And deep in memory's urn enshrined,
Resume their long lost sway.
But still those chimes I love to hear,
For they have soothing spells;
And though they prompt the sigh and tear,
No other sounds are half so dear
As those sweet village bells.
DAY with its beams and bright glare is gone,
And the mild hour of evening steals gently on;
The last gleam of crimson has died in the west,
And earth in the mantle of twilight is drest.
The ocean is quiet, the air is all still,
Dark shades are falling o'er valley and hill;
The daisy has closed her fringed eye,
Where, on the green turf, the night dews lie;
And the hum of the bee, and the song of the bird,
In the soft summer air are no longer heard.
When nature is hushed in this deep repose,
How sweet to stray where the wild stream flows,
O'erhung by the tall dark forest trees,
That whisper and sigh to the evening breeze;
While their mingled music, low and clear,
Steals gently and soothingly on the ear;
And one by one in the deep blue sky
The stars gleam forth in their brilliancy,
Like the burning thrones of a seraph band
From a glorious and a far off land.
There's a solemn spell in this tranquil hour,
That breathes o'er the heart its magic power,
O then let us rove through the lonely glen,
Where there is not a trace of the dwellings of men;
Where no human sound on the ear can intrude
To break the deep dreamy solitude;
And the loneliness of the pale night ray
Shall steal our calmed thoughts from earth away;
Shall prompt the deep breathings of praise and prayer,
And the hallowed feelings awakened there,
Shall still o'er our hearts their power retain,
When we mix with the thoughtless world again.
THERE is a small and simple flower,
That decks the blooming robe of May;
Fairest in all the vernal bower,
And sweetest in its meek array.
Why does that gem of nature raise
Such soft emotions in the breast?
Why does the eye thus fondly gaze,
And love that flower above the rest?
Is it its bright celestial blue
That wakes these feelings in the heart?
No! lovely though its form and hue,
They could not such sweet thrills impart.
'Tis the deep magic of its name,
Recalling hours, else long forgot.
This is the charm, to whose soft claim
The heart responds—Forget me not.
AND here, within this darksome tomb,
So early hast thou found a rest;
While life was bright with youth and bloom,
And hope was bounding in thy breast?
The green grass waves above thy head,
For spring's soft zone the earth hath bound;
And many a wild flower decks thy bed,
And breathes its dewy fragrance round.
Emblems of her who sleeps beneath—
Once fair, and young, and bright as they;
And, withered by the touch of death,
As quickly left to dark decay.
But how can we the fate lament
That snatched thee from a world of woe?
Was not the stroke in mercy sent,
Which thus in dust hath laid thee low?
There is a better land than this,
Where fadeless joy and glory bloom;
And to that world of radiant bliss
The only passage is—the tomb.
And can we mourn that thou hast found
So soon—so young—that happy shore;
And with immortal beauty crowned,
Shalt feel nor pain nor sorrow more?
No! though unbidden tears may start,
And o'er thy cherished memory fall,
When fancy to the sorrowing heart
Thy loved lost image shall recall;
Yet chasten'd shall that sorrow be,
And joyous hope shall banish gloom;
Whilst heaven-born faith ascends with thee,
And views thee smiling o'er the tomb.
And, oh! when circling years have shed
Oblivion o'er thy place of rest;
When kindred feet no longer tread
The hallowed turf that wraps thy breast.
If nature's sacred ties endure,
And flourish in a holier sphere,
Blest will be their re-union pure
To thee, and all who held thee dear.
WHAT means that loud and fearful cry that swells the midnight gale,
And spreads thro' proud Egyptia's plains an universal wail;
Whilst awful darkness, such as reigned ere bright creation rose,
Strikes terror to the stubborn hearts of God's rebellious foes?
And who is He, that glorious one, whose bright yet dreadful eye
With lightning glance breaks thro' the gloom that shrouds the trembling sky;
The terrors of an angry God are gathered in his hand,
And wild dismay and gloomy death fill the affrighted land?
Mark! where o'er city and o'er plain he wings his awful flight,
Increasing still, with vengeful ire, the horrors of the night;
'Tis God's avenging angel, sent His sentence to fulfil,
And execute the just decrees of His almighty will;
To punish Pharoah's unbelief, his pride to humble low,
And teach him to the great I AM submissively to bow.
Woe! woe to thee, rebellious king! lament thee for the hour
When God on thy devoted head the cup of wrath shall pour;
Thy haughty spirit, though subdued, yet unconvinced remains,
Soon wilt thou know that He alone, the great Jehovah reigns.
He leads his chosen people forth with loud triumphant joy,
But thee and thy oppressive race shall terribly destroy.
The day of vengeance is arrived—the solemn fearful day,
When thou, with all thy chosen host, thy battle's proud array,
No eye to pity thine o'erthrow, no potent arm to save,
Shalt sink, engulphed beneath the deep, in one tremendous grave.
His holy prophet's sacred arm divides th' obedient sea,
Which safety to thy foes affords—destruction hurls on thee;
And when they see, at morning light, black corses strew the shore,
They learn, before their mighty Guide, to tremble and adore.
ADIEU! my own, my native land, adieu!
Receive a lonely wanderer's last farewell;
Yet tho' no more thy shores beloved I view,
Of happier days long past I fain would tell—
Tell how in childhood's hours I loved so well
Amongst thy hills and rallies fair to rove;
The forest wild; the deep romantic dell;—
And softer freshness of the leafy grove,
Where oft fantastic wreaths of wild flowers sweet I wove.
How gaily glided on life's careless morn,
Bright and unclouded as a summer sky;
Unconscious that thus wretched and forlorn,
Exiled, and lone, and outcast, I should sigh!—
Oft as I view the past with memory's eye,
A tear unbidden down my cheek will stray,
Sweet, well-remembered scenes; the more endeared
By bitter contrast with my present woe;
Thoughtless of ill, no future grief I feared,
Nor dreamt that ought but bliss could dwell below;—
Or if perchance a tear would sometimes flow,
Urged by soft pity from my infant eye;
And my gay heart would feel compassion's throe
At some sad fresh-told tale of misery,
The sigh was soon dispelled, and soon the tear was dry.
Oft would I wander when the morning dew
Trembled on every leaf and grassy blade;
Ere the light mist had left the mountain blue,
Or day's bright orb his rosy beams displayed.
At noontide too, beneath the welcome shade
Of the tall elm that by the wild brook grew,
How oft my weary, listless limbs I've laid,
And gazed enraptured on th' ethereal blue;
While warm imagination to my view
Would many a scene of future pleasure show;
And as upon her rapid wing I flew,
Ah! little thought I that this world below
To man is e'er a scene of suffering, pain, and woe.
What joy to climb the mountain's craggy steep,
With one companion of my childish glee;
O that I had long since beside thee lain,
Where pain and sorrow could intrude no more!
But, hush! rebellious heart, this murmuring strain,
Nor dare repine, although thou may'st deplore.
Sweet sufferer! all thy bitter woes are o'er;
Then why should I lament thine early doom?
Soon shall we meet upon a happier shore,
Triumphant rising o'er the dreary tomb,
Blest thought! to reunite through heav'n's eternal bloom.
This one bright beam of hope, with cheering ray,
Still shines amidst the gloomy clouds of care;
Sheds light around my future darksome way,
And chases back the demons of despair.
And though in this wide dreary world, where'er
I turn; misfortune marks me for her prey;
Though I no more in earthly joy may share,
A few brief years, and, bursting mortal clay,
My spirit freed shall soar rejoicingly away.
Meantime, this sweet sad solace yet is mine,
To turn me to the past with pleasing pain;
Fondly to bend at memory's hallowed shrine,
And trace the long lost images again
Of youth, and home, and love, that still retain
The power to sooth, e'en while they rend my breast.
Alas! my early life was marked by nought
That could disturb my dream of young delight;
Sorrow I only knew by name—nor thought
A world that seemed so beautiful, so bright,
So decked with all that breathes of life or light,
Could be the nursery of grief and pain.
Time has dispelled the illusion from my sight,
And shown me that where sin and error reign,
Disease, and woe, and death, move in their direful train.
Our peaceful cot, far in the sheltering glen,
Where fragrant jasmine twined with wild briar sweet;
Remote from noise, and strife, and busy men;
Again I see, again with gladness greet.
Oft with my gentle sister would I stray
Through the dark wood; as unconstrained and free
As the young fawns that frolicked in our way,
In all the pride of forest liberty;
While her sweet bird-like voice of melody
Was raised in tones of terror or delight,
As climbing fearlessly some lofty tree,
I chased the squirrel to its topmost height,
Or from the thick bough shook the hazel's clusters bright.
Sometimes we to the distant shore would roam,
In search of sea weeds, shells, and pebbles gay;
The mountain stream that wander'd wild and free,
Through the deep valley, where our cottage stood,
Oft heard the light bursts of our artless glee,
As seated on the margin of its flood,
In wondering now—and now in mirthful mood
We read some legend, fanciful and old,
Of magic's potent spell, or fairy brood
That loved of yore, beneath the moonlight cold
To weave the mystic dance, and their wild revels hold.
Indulging then romance's airy flight,
Far in the gloomy forest we would stray;
Where, frowning in the dim uncertain light,
An ancient pile in ruined grandeur lay.
Green ivy half concealed its turrets gay,
And grass and weeds in rank luxuriance grew;
Where trod the brave, the beautiful, the gay;
And we would wander those dark ruins through,
And almost wish to see those elves their feats renew.
Sometimes at early dawn we bent our way
To the thick tangled copse, where tempting hung
Wood strawberries in scarlet clusters gay,
Which upon dewy blades of grass we strung,
Pausing to listen as the blackbird sung;
Or pluck wild roses, briar, and woodbine sweet,
That twined their blossom the green hedge among,
Then bear the spoil to our embowered retreat,
Screened by the aged oak from summer's noon-tide heat.
Oh! these were days of which I love to think;
On these dear scenes I could for ever dwell;
Though sever'd is each firm, endearing link
That bound them to my heart with magic spell.
Still are they treasured deep in memory's cell,
And I must e'er the fatal causes mourn
That snatched me from the scenes I loved so well;
Have all I prized from my sad bosom torn,
And left me what I am—an outcast wretch forlorn!
Those who were dearest to my heart are gone,
Their loss I've mourned with many a bitter tear;
There are none left I care to look upon—
And scarce a tie remains to bind me here.
But yet that once loved home to linger near,
To end my sad existence in the scene
Of former joys, though now so changed and drear,
Would to my lorn, desponding heart, I ween,
A source of melancholy pleasure still have been.
Far from my country, in a distant land,
Cheerless to roam, must be my future lot;
And sigh, while wandering in a foreign strand,
For home and friends in that beloved spot;
Henceforth my brief existence will be fraught
With disappointment, penury, and woe!
Content and happiness to me are nought
But shades of joys departed long ago—
Names—with no power one gleam of comfort to bestow!
O'er many a wild, o'er many a stormy wave,
My restless and uncertain path will be;
And little reck I where I find a grave,
Since adverse fate denies me one in thee,
My native land!—and who would not, like me,
Feel with keen anguish, and with tears deplore
The unrelenting, cruel destiny
That bid him, when life's pilgrimage is o'er,
Unknown—unloved—unwept, die on a stranger shore?
This wayward fate is mine—and be it so
It little matters where my head I lay,
Once more, thou loved and lovely land, farewell!
Thy dim receding shores I faintly see;
For the breeze rises, and the billows swell,
That soon will bear the far away from thee.
Dash on, ye bright waves, in your foaming glee,
As if in bitter mockery of my pain;
Your angry roar would more congenial be
With the wild tumult of my throbbing brain,
And the contending storms that in my bosom reign.
'Tis gone! in distance the faint outlines die;
For ever, then, my native land, adieu!
No more will I repine—for that Great Power
Who rules the storm, and calms the raging sea,
Will be my guide, when threatening tempests lour,
Or when appalled from danger's brink I flee.
Then hushed be all complaints 'gainst His decree;
Henceforth His praise shall be my sole delight,
For sorrow ever will man's portion be,
Till from this world he wings his joyous flight
To brighter realms, where reign eternal joy and light.
But fruitless was the exile's dream of rest,
Vainly each path of earthly hope he trod,
At length he turned him, wearied and opprest,
For comfort to the Holy Book of God!
Nor turned in vain—affliction's chastening rod
He learnt submissively to own and bear,
And gradually within his heart abroad
The light of truth was shed—and words of prayer
Succeeded the wild plaint of anguish and despair.
And deep and humbling was the consciousness
Of guilt and error that his spirit stirred;
Yet even then the healing streams of peace
He drank from the pure fountain of that word;
Then from his lips sublimer strains were heard—
The overflowings of a heart renewed—
Praise, gratitude, and love!—and like a bird
From prison freed—his soaring spirit viewed
Eternal joys, and calmly its bright way pursued.
BRIGHT rose the morn, and lightly played the breeze,
O'er the smooth surface of the azure seas;
The sun shone clear, and smiling in the ray,
Sand, cliff, and rock, and distant headland lay;
And countless vessels, o'er the pathless tide,
Pursued their destined course in stately pride;
There, a tall ship, her white sails all unfurled,
From the bright regions of the western world;
Bearing the produce of that sunny land,
Sought the glad welcome of her native strand.
Her gallant crew beheld, with gladdening eyes,
Their country's hills in shadowy distance rise,
And hoped, with eager joy, ere long to greet
The homes, by absence rendered doubly sweet.
Already they in ardent fancy heard,
From faltering lips, the oftsaid kindly word;
Saw through affection's tears the glistening smile,
That bade them welcome to their native isle.
Sudden the winds in fitful gusts arise,
The sea grows dark, and dark the frowning skies;
Black clouds in wild tumultuous masses sweep,
And hollow thunder peals along the deep.
The gathering waves that late so tranquil lay,
Now furious roared beneath the whirlwind's sway;
Billow on billow heaped, came rolling on
With frightful rage and desolating tone.
Loud, and more loud, the blast came sweeping by,
With deafening tumult rushing through the sky,
Heaved the rough surges from their depths below,
And rocked the creaking vessels to and fro.
Their frighted crews, in desperate wild amaze,
On the dread scene of watery ruin gaze;
See death approach in every furious wave,
Nor dare to hope a rescue from its grave;
Vainly their feeble efforts all are tried,
Destruction mocks their skill on every side.
When morn, at length, dawns in the eastern sky,
What dismal scenes of ruin meet the eye;
The gale, with loud insatiate fury roars,
And hurls the breakers on the wreck strewed shores;
Hushed in deep, fearful silence are the cries
Of wild distress that lately pierced the skies;
But o'er the billowy waste of waters strown,
Disjointed wreck in sad confusion thrown,
A tale reveals of deep and thrilling woe
That bids the tear of pity freely flow,
With moans of piercing anguish on the shore,
Half frantic friends the sufferers' fate deplore.
Parents, now childless, hear the mournful tale,
And vent their grief in deep heart-rending wail;
Widows, with aspect pale and tear dimmed eyes,
Breathe o'er their orphan babes sad, hopeless sighs;
The work of wild destruction now is o'er,
The storm has spent its rage, and howls no more;
The hushed winds o'er the deep in murmurs die,
And the blue waves again in stillness lie;
But every tide that roils along the shore
Brings mournful trophies of the tempest's power;
And each succeeding day fresh tidings tells,
That o'er the land the wail of sorrow swells.
THOU dark, unfathomed, boundless sea,
Mysterious waste of waves!
For ever rolling, wild, and free,
Above thy gloomy caves.
What strange emotions thrill the breast
At thy terrific frown!
Feelings that may not be expressed—
Indefinite—unknown!
Oh, many-voiced and solemn deep!
What art thou? Wonder, say!
Speak! for thy waves in stillness sleep
Beneath the moonlight ray.
Unchained, unchecked by mortal power,
Thou dost thy proud course hold;
Speak! in this soft and peaceful hour
Thy mysteries unfold.
Child of the earth! seek'st thou to know
The wondrous things that lie
In my deep dark caverns, far below
The search of mortal eye?
Would'st thou hear of my dread, resistless power;
Of the wreck, the woe, the death,
I have wrought in my awful tempest hour,
With the blast of the whirlwind's breath?
I could reveal full many a tale,
So fearful and so wild,
That the firmest heart at the sound would quail,
And the hero become a child.
And though but the half of my secrets were
Inscribed on one vast scroll;
The record would fill both earth and air,
And stretch to either pole.
Ere gay creation sprang to light,
Was heard my rolling sound;
In the realms where chaos spread gloomy night,
My proud waves knew no bound.
And still, since the glorious world had birth,
By time's stern hand unchanged,
I have circled the bounds of the blooming earth,
And from pole to pole have ranged.
Boundless and fathomless I roam,
And free as the chainless wind;
And oft have my dark waves' wrathful foam
Left a track of death behind.
Vast fleets on my bounding breast I've borne,
In gallant and trim array;
And the ships that have been my pride at morn,
At night were my helpless prey.
I have hurled my billowy foam on high,
With reckless, furious swell;
Whilst the wild winds howled thro' the stormy sky,
Of thousands the funeral knell.
I have rolled my death-fraught surges o'er
The loftiest, noblest deck;
And the cries of the drowning have swelled my roar,
As I swept them from the wreck.
I have smiled in the sparkling summer ray,
And danced to the zephyr's song;
While barks, with music and streamers gay,
My blue waves glanced along.
Then the scene was changed—and the fair, the brave,
In the pride of life and bloom,
Mid death shrieks wild, and the mad wind's rave,
Have sunk to their ocean tomb.
Whole cities I've gulphed in my unknown deep,
Nations lie slumbering there;
And thousands have wept, and thousands weep,
For my work of dark despair.
And more terrible yet had been my wrath
Had no power controlled my sway;
Had I rushed unchecked on my gloomy path,
All nature had been my prey.
But there spoke a mightier voice than mine—
A voice of resistless force—
And the merciful hand of a Power divine,
Restrained my furious course.
Yet, though in the solemn tempest's reign,
Such a fearful thing am I;
How beautiful—when like an azure plain
In the bright summer-beam I lie;
When quiet and loneliness reign around,
And my clear waves placidly sleep;
And nought is heard but their murmuring sound,
As they lave the tide-worn steep.
And though dark and dismal thou mayest deem
My measureless ocean caves;
There coral glows bright, and sea-shells gleam,
And calm are the crystal waves.
There the lucid gold of the amber shines,
And the hardy sea-plant flowers,
O'er the adamant rocks, as it darkly twines
In green and beautiful bowers.
In the depths of my vast abyss I hold
Treasures of countless worth;
Jewels and gems of price untold;
That would shame the hoards of earth.
The spoils of India's golden heaps,
And the wealth of the sunny west;
In each far recess of my glittering deeps
Gleam—and unheeded rest.
And myriads of bright and sparkling things,
Gems that I boast my own;
The rare and precious merchandise
Of many an age gone by;
Riches that monarchs well might prize,
In my spacious coffers lie.
And a terrible tale, too, could I tell
Of frightful and hideous things,
More strange than the ghastliest shapes that dwell
In thy wildest imaginings;—
Of monsters that fiercely urge their way,
Swift through my yielding flood;
And on livid and mangled corses prey,
And gorge on their horrible food.
And many a fearful and dismal sight,
But of these I will not speak;
For the tale would chill thee with wild affright,
And with horror would blanch thy cheek.
Mortal! well mayest thou trembling own,
My terror and mystery;—
But turn in thine homage to Him alone,
Who in wisdom created me.
Let thine incense of grateful praise ascend
To that glorious throne above;
Whence God o'er his creatures deigns to bend
With a father's tender love.
Enough! in darkness and silent gloom,
Let my awful deeps repose;
Till the last and solemn day of doom
Shall all secret things disclose.
Then, when sun and stars from their sphere are hurled,
At the trumpet's thunder dread;
Midst the wreck and crash of a blazing world,
Shall the sea give up her dead!
How mournfully—how mournfully
The wind is wailing now;
As sweeping through yon lonely tree
It shakes each naked bough.
The last wan, withered leaf is whirled
High in the dark'ning air;
And wintry showers are wildly hurled
From scowling storm clouds there.
How pleasantly—how pleasantly,
A little while ago,
The roving wind sang through that tree,
In merry summer's glow;
Then birds were warbling woodnotes gay,
Amid the foliage green;
And not a cloud obscured the ray
Of azure skies serene.
And thus it is—and thus it is,
In chequered human life;
Radiant awhile with hope and bliss,
Then dark with care and strife;
As the murk hour of wintry gloom
Fair summer's gladness quells,
So sorrow blights youth's joyous bloom,
And age its hopes dispels.
Yet soon again—yet soon again,
Shall spring reviving bloom;
And brighter seem her vernal reign
For those dark hours of gloom.
So, freed from mortal pain and woe,
The christian shall arise,
And renovated youth shall know
Eternal in the skies!
OH! lovely is the blooming earth,
When radiant spring, with voice of mirth,
Calls forth her train of leaves and flowers,
And bids them gem her fairy bowers;
When all above—around—below,
With vernal life and beauty glow;
And form to man's enraptured eyes
A bright, terrestial paradise.
Oh! beauteous is the spacious sky,
When mounts the radiant sun on high;
Or when the moon's refulgent light,
Gilds the vast throne of peaceful night;
And countless stars, a glittering train,
Blaze through the blue, ethereal plain.
What pageantry on earth is there
Can with a scene like this compare?
Oh! glorious is the summer sea,
Stretched out in deep tranquillity;
When beneath heaven's own sovereign beam
The clear, cerulean waters gleam;
And scarce a whispering zephyr rude,
Dares on the azure calm intrude.
Who would not deem a world so bright
The home of pure, unmixed delight?
And can it be, that scenes so fair,
As transient as delightful are?
Oh, yes! the loveliest flower of spring
May perish in its blossoming;
The brightest skies, may in an hour
Change to the wrathful tempest's lour;
And yonder placid, slumbering sea,
Howl in the wild storm furiously,
And thus it is with all on earth—
The fairest hopes of mortal birth;
They bloom, they flourish, then decay,
Swept by life's withering blasts away.
There's not on earth a single joy,
But has some mournful, dark alloy;
Some chilling blight, some wintry storm,
Hope's loveliest blossoms to deform.
Yet this decree from heaven above
Was sent in wisdom, and in love;
To wean our hearts from earth's vain dreams,
And fix them on sublimer themes:
To teach us that from nought below
Can pure, abiding pleasure flow;
And waken in each mortal breast,
Bright hopes of an immortal rest.
There is a land beyond the tomb,
Where peace and joy eternal bloom;
Oh! be it wisdom's better part,
To seek that heaven within the heart;
The holy peace—the tranquil joy,
Which nothing earthly can destroy;
Whose source in pure religion dwells;
Whose hope all gloomy fear dispels;
And points with steady aim on high,
Where never wasting treasures lie.
THOU sleep'st, our sweet sister, thou sleep'st with the dead,
The glance from thy dark eyes for ever hath fled;
A stillness all sad and unearthly rests now
On thy motionless form, and thy pale marble brow;
There are hearts round thy death-bed, whose sorrow too deep
For words of lament, can but gaze there and weep;
But vain are the sad tears that over thee fall,
They cannot the light to those dim eyes recall;
And vain are their sighs—for they cannot impart
One throb to thy still pulse, one breath to thy heart;
They cannot awaken the slumbering tone
Of a voice that from this world for ever is gone.
Thou sleep'st, gentle sufferer; oh! 'tis the long sleep
Of death that thus holds thee, unbroken and deep;
Thy pure soul hath fled, and thy tenantless clay
Is left to the grave and corruption a prey.
Ah! little we thought, when so lately we gazed
On thy features, where hope had her sunny throne raised,
In that farewell, to joy more than sorrow allied,
When we saw thee departing—a gay, happy bride;
Ah, little we thought that the grave's dark repose,
Would soon o'er thy brief wedded happiness close;
That the shroud should succeed to thy bridal array,
And thy beauty be given to early decay.
Brief, indeed, was thy bliss; as the lapse of a dream,
Which morning dispels with its wakening beam;
Farewell! thou loved lost one! oh, can it thus be,
That so mournful a sound must be breathed over thee;
That the glad household circle, unbroken before
By death's ruthless hand, shall be gathered no more;
That thou, the first-born, shouldst be first called away,
From the love that would blindly have asked for thy stay:
Yes, blindly; for thou in a far better land
Art one of a purer and happier band!
Far far from the reach of all suffering and pain;
Where death may not enter,—where time breathes no stain;
Where thine ear never more shall be saddened by sighs,
And the Lord God shall wipe away tears from thy eyes.
Thou art there; in that fadelessly glorious abode,
With the holy in heart thou beholdest thy God!
For thy spirit's calm faith, e'en in death undismayed,
On the unchanging love of thy Saviour was stayed.
Blest shade! oh forgive us these sorrowful tears,
We would not recall thee from those happy spheres;
Unbidden they spring; oh, unchecked let them flow,
For we still inhabit this bleak world of woe!
There is sweetness—there almost is joy in our grief—
And strong human feeling demands the relief;
Many hearts are bereaved, that with undying love
Are blending their sorrows thy low tomb above.
But woe above all for that sad widowed breast,
With keenest—with mightiest anguish opprest;
The dearest tie severed which linked him to earth,
Who may picture his grief by his desolate hearth?
One comfort alone to the mourner is given,
The hope of a future reunion in heaven!
We will not forget thee, though mournful the thought
To our hearts by that saddening memory brought;
Tho' change may come o'er us, and years roll away,
The remembrance of thee but with life can decay;
In the quiet home circle thy dear cherished name,
A place in calm thought and sweet converse shall claim;
We will think of thee, when on thy early bier laid,
With death's pallid hue on thy features portrayed;
Thy cold form consigned to the shadowy tomb—
And then shall the memory be tinctured with gloom.
But holiest and brightest our visions of thee,
In the beauty and glory of heaven will be;
And surely no sadness can blend with the view
Of bliss ever flowing, and yet ever new!
Sweet sister, farewell! be it our lot to tread
In the path which thy footsteps to heaven hath led;
For soon must the grave's dreary portals unclose,
And summon us too to its solemn repose.
But oh! if, like thee, in our Saviour we trust,
We shall greet thee again in the home of the just;
And, with thee, to His love shall eternally raise
Hallelujahs of glad, inexhaustible praise!
FAIREST of all the stars that gem
The dusky brow of silent night
Amid that radiant diadem,
So softly, tremulously bright.
I love to watch thy lucid ray,
Dim gleaming in the crimson west;
When o'er the dazzling glare of day,
Evening hath flung her solemn vest.
When the last streaks of fading light,
Blending with twilight's shadows gray;
In liquid lustre, soft yet bright,
Upon the tranquil ocean play.
When silence reigns in earth and air,
And hushed is breeze, and bird, and bee;
Then sweet thy beam, so purely fair,
Shines mid heaven's azure canopy.
At that dim, tranquil hour, I love,
Led by thy pale and silvery light,
Along the lone, still shore to rove,
And watch the gradual spread of night.
Fair star! in silence thy mild ray
Speaks to the heart of realms above;
To holier themes directs the way,
And Sweetly whispers—"God is love!"
Yes, love eternal—infinite,
Encircling space,—creation,—time;
Wondrous, beyond the loftiest flight
Of thought, which mortals deem sublime.
Oh, who on those bright orbs can gaze
That mid heaven's darkening ether shine,
And dare an impious doubt to raise
Of wisdom, power, and love divine?
Each sceptic heart must feel and own
The truth creation's works proclaim;
Though silent, yet with thrilling tone
Hymning their mighty maker's name.
SWEET Devon, mid thy dark and graceful woods
Once more it is my happy lot to stray,
And from their deep, romantic solitudes,
To hail the bright uprise of blushing day.
Gladly awhile I leave the ceaseless roar
Of stormy waves on Cambria's rocky coast,
The wilder throne of nature—to explore
The softer beauties it is thine to boast.
Hail to your peaceful calm, beloved shades!
Endeared by memory's retrospective power;
Whose soothing spell my pensive heart pervades,
And leads me back to many a vanished hour;
When in the days of earlier youth, I strayed,
With wild delight, these lovely valleys through;
And glowing fancy future years portrayed
In her own cloudless tint of heavenly blue.
And though those days of young romance are o'er,
And life no more that vivid colouring wears,
While I again your sweet retreats explore
My heart again those ardent feelings shares.
Can painter's skill, can poet's glowing fire
Your beauties, dear enchanting scenes, portray?
Sweet is the theme; oh! let some sweeter lyre,
Some loftier muse awake the aspiring lay.
Could but my feeble tongue in numbers sing
The breathing thoughts that glow within my breast,
Then to your praise should your wild echoes ring,
And all my heart's deep homage be expressed.
Ye old sequestered woods; through which the stream
Winds its cool mazy course along the vale,
Unscorched by fervid summer's noonday beam,
And warbling ever its unvaried tale.
Ye tall primeval trees, that shadowy spread,
Waving majestic in the summer gale,
That rustles through the dark leaves over-head,
And with refreshing coolness fills the vale.
Beneath yon aged oak, with moss o'ergrown,
Whose breezy canopy of whispering boughs
And trunk gigantic o'er the streamlet thrown,
Invite to shade and undisturbed repose;
There would I sit, in pensive mood reclined,
Soothed by the murmurs of the wood and stream,
That blend their gentle music in the wind,
And yield me up to fancy's airy dream.
Deep in this verdant and sequestered shade,
The lone, uncultured haunt of nature's reign,
Imagination needs and asks no aid,
Her empire o'er the spirit to maintain.
Though now no more the embattled castle towers
In frowning grandeur o'er the solemn scene;
And mid the dark, secluded forest bowers,
The ancient convent is no longer seen;—
Though mid its deep recesses now we stray,
Once the lone haunt of dreaded outlaw bold,
And issuing from the shade, in green array,
No more the sturdy forester behold;—
Yet nature, in her solitary reign,
Preserves unchanged her never-wearying charms;
Nor can we wish those feudal times again
That filled our blood-stained land with war's alarms.
Still fancy loves amid those days to dwell,
And with the witchery of romance invests
Scenes, upon which, without that bright-robed spell,
The gloom of terror and oppression rests.
And oh! unchecked let youthful fancy soar,
Enthusiastic source of many a joy;
Ere age, with chilling hand and aspect hoar,
The bright illusive dream for aye destroy.
Is there who ne'er hath felt and owned her sway?
Alas! how cold and rugged is that heart;
To him no rapture nature's charms convey,
No joyous thrill her loveliest scenes impart.
Oh, while life's feeblest spark illumes my breast,
Tho' hope—imagination—joy—expire;
Still may I cherish the ardent zest
For nature's charms that wakes my youthful fire.
And wheresoe'er my wandering steps may turn,
Though many a spot as lovely I may see,
My bosom mid the fairest scenes shall burn—
Sweet Devon! with unchanging love to thee.
Farewell! no longer must I linger here!
Reluctant from your shades I must away;
And to this sad adieu a hallowed tear,
The tribute which it claims, I pensive pay.
Long tedious years, perhaps, may intervene,
Ere ye again shall greet my gladdened sight;
But memory on each fondly cherished scene
Shall dwell with frequent unsubdued delight.
Yes! fancy's brightest flame may be represt,
Gay hope may vanish—fading love retire;
But this pure, sacred feeling in the breast
Shall glow unquenched till life itself expire.
SWEET flowers! though withered now your bloom,
Your freshness, life, and beauty fled;
A lingering and mild perfume
Ye still around you shed.
Dear shall your faded blossoms be,
While that soft fragrance to them clings;
For to my heart fond memory
Of other days it brings.
How like the odour ye possess,
Is soothing memory's magic power!
Endearing the lost loveliness
Of many a by-gone hour!
And tho' her witching spells, I know,
Have oft a saddening influence;
I would not such sweet grief forego,
Or wish its thrillings hence.
Then, gentle flowers, though fled your bloom,
I will not cast ye yet away;
But cherish still the wan perfume,
That breathes from your decay.
'TIS eve; and the cool, fresh breezes play,
O'er the blue and sparkling sea;
Where countless ships, on their destined way
Are sailing cheerily;
And tears in many an eyelid swell
Among that gallant band,
As they turn to gaze a long farewell
To the shores of their native land.
But, mid the rest, one stately bark
Is proudly steering home;
And swifter than mounts the morning lark,