 | American poems, selected and original |  |
TO ELLA.
Hark! while I sound my trembling shell,
And bid the nymph, sweet Echo tell;
Where on her velvet couch she lies,
Hid from the gairish burning skies;
How the soul-enlivening sound
Of thy enchanting lyre,
Was borne on Ether's waves around,
From each soft-speaking wire.
'Twas when beside the wizard stream,
I saw the sun's last golden beam,
With yellow tip the aspiring heads,
Of time-contending oaks, the king of shades!
I saw the night flies buzzing round,
I heard the beetle's humming sound:
My soul to sober thought inclin'd,
Thus ran the current of my mind.
And bid the nymph, sweet Echo tell;
Where on her velvet couch she lies,
Hid from the gairish burning skies;
How the soul-enlivening sound
Of thy enchanting lyre,
Was borne on Ether's waves around,
From each soft-speaking wire.
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I saw the sun's last golden beam,
With yellow tip the aspiring heads,
Of time-contending oaks, the king of shades!
I saw the night flies buzzing round,
I heard the beetle's humming sound:
My soul to sober thought inclin'd,
Thus ran the current of my mind.
No longer now my cheeks disclose,
The beauty of the budding rose;
No longer, as in former days,
I joy, the sprightly laugh to raise.
O! then each lovely, summer's night,
'Twas my enraptured soul's delight,
To tread the lonely silent vale,
And “drink the spirit of the gale:”
The beauty of the budding rose;
No longer, as in former days,
I joy, the sprightly laugh to raise.
O! then each lovely, summer's night,
'Twas my enraptured soul's delight,
To tread the lonely silent vale,
And “drink the spirit of the gale:”
Or when the cloudless moon on high,
Beam'd forth her radiance from the sky:
To wander o'er the airy hill,
Where pattering falls the lucid rill;
And see the wild flow'rs shining bright,
Crown'd with the tears of weeping night.
Beam'd forth her radiance from the sky:
To wander o'er the airy hill,
Where pattering falls the lucid rill;
And see the wild flow'rs shining bright,
Crown'd with the tears of weeping night.
But O! the wondrous change!
Now, it delights me not to range,
The fields and vallies, bright and gay,
With beauties of the laughing May.
Now, it delights me not to range,
The fields and vallies, bright and gay,
With beauties of the laughing May.
When the shrill spirits of the coming storm,
Their shrieks of terror pour along the wind;
And fiercer raging all the grove deform,
The branches tear, and shatter down the rind:
When heaven's bright fires descending from on high,
Flash awful day along the gloomy sky;
And from their dwellings the hoarse thunders roar,
And dusky torrents down the vallies pour:
'Tis then my soul enjoys the dreadful hour,
And bows, my God! in rev'rence to thy power.
'Twas thus I mus'd, when borne along the air,
Thy heavenly notes came trembling on my ear;
Sweet as the gentlest showers
Of spring, descending on the flowers,
When murmuring Zephyr sinks to rest,
Soft-sighing on the lily's breast.
Their shrieks of terror pour along the wind;
And fiercer raging all the grove deform,
The branches tear, and shatter down the rind:
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Flash awful day along the gloomy sky;
And from their dwellings the hoarse thunders roar,
And dusky torrents down the vallies pour:
'Tis then my soul enjoys the dreadful hour,
And bows, my God! in rev'rence to thy power.
'Twas thus I mus'd, when borne along the air,
Thy heavenly notes came trembling on my ear;
Sweet as the gentlest showers
Of spring, descending on the flowers,
When murmuring Zephyr sinks to rest,
Soft-sighing on the lily's breast.
Ah! would thou with thy arm sustain
My wearied form, and soothe my pain?
And wouldst thou all the lingering Eve,
With thy soft sounds my soul relieve?
And hast thou learn'd the healing charm,
The power to bid the tyrant Sickness fly?
O! hither come, extend thy potent arm,
And bid the beam of Hope stand sparkling in my eye!
My wearied form, and soothe my pain?
And wouldst thou all the lingering Eve,
With thy soft sounds my soul relieve?
And hast thou learn'd the healing charm,
The power to bid the tyrant Sickness fly?
O! hither come, extend thy potent arm,
And bid the beam of Hope stand sparkling in my eye!
Ah! now, ev'n now, this very hour,
I confess thy magic power!
Charm'd with thy notes divine,
No more my troubled soul,
O'er scenes of horror loves to brood,
No more my freezing blood,
In lazy tides doth roll,
Bright in my eye the tears of rapture shine,
Thro' all my nerves I feel a tremor run,
Now cold as Zembla's snow, now fervid as the sun.
O! may thy generous sympathising heart,
Ne'er feel the anguish of affliction's dart;
May streams of earthly treasure on thee flow,
That thou, the pure celestial joy may'st know,
To bid the beggar smile, and cheer his house of woe.
I confess thy magic power!
Charm'd with thy notes divine,
No more my troubled soul,
O'er scenes of horror loves to brood,
No more my freezing blood,
In lazy tides doth roll,
Bright in my eye the tears of rapture shine,
Thro' all my nerves I feel a tremor run,
Now cold as Zembla's snow, now fervid as the sun.
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Ne'er feel the anguish of affliction's dart;
May streams of earthly treasure on thee flow,
That thou, the pure celestial joy may'st know,
To bid the beggar smile, and cheer his house of woe.
BIRTHA.
June 4, 1791.
| American poems, selected and original | |