 | Lays of Leisure Hours |  |
THE FAREWELL TO EARTH.
Must, must I die?-leave all I've loved or known,
Possessed or cherished—called and dreamed mine own?—
This glad bright world, this laughing air and sky,
This blessed home of love—must, must I die?
Oh! beautiful hath life seemed unto me,
Death—hence! away! thou ghastly Mystery!
Possessed or cherished—called and dreamed mine own?—
This glad bright world, this laughing air and sky,
This blessed home of love—must, must I die?
Oh! beautiful hath life seemed unto me,
Death—hence! away! thou ghastly Mystery!
Youth's flushing characters o'erpaint my cheek,
Round my bright path the glitt'ring moments break
In sudden star-showers, or soft vernal dews!—
Till life but wears the rose's sumptuous hues;—
My heart is borne on gusts of quivering joy,
Must Fate its fervid happiness destroy?
Round my bright path the glitt'ring moments break
In sudden star-showers, or soft vernal dews!—
Till life but wears the rose's sumptuous hues;—
My heart is borne on gusts of quivering joy,
Must Fate its fervid happiness destroy?
434
A power is given to wood and breezy hill,
My Soul with gushing tenderness to fill;
As magic poured through clouds, and leaves, and streams,
Mantling with glory all my gladsome dreams;
The very breeze is murmuring, “Stay! Oh! stay!”—
A chain winds round me with each morning ray!
My Soul with gushing tenderness to fill;
As magic poured through clouds, and leaves, and streams,
Mantling with glory all my gladsome dreams;
The very breeze is murmuring, “Stay! Oh! stay!”—
A chain winds round me with each morning ray!
How can I, poor, reluctant trembler, part
From the beloved ones of my yearning heart?—
How turn my lingering, aching sight away
From the familiar glories of the day—
Whilst Summer's breathings float so sweetly round,
And morning's unisons of gladness sound?
From the beloved ones of my yearning heart?—
How turn my lingering, aching sight away
From the familiar glories of the day—
Whilst Summer's breathings float so sweetly round,
And morning's unisons of gladness sound?
Even now warm Southern winds are faintly flowing
Through answering leaves and flowers of June's bestowing;
And Death is in the world, and on his way,
Rushing like midnight in its haughty sway—
Unpitying 'mongst all gentle loving things,
O'ersweeping all with his vast shadowy Wings!
Through answering leaves and flowers of June's bestowing;
And Death is in the world, and on his way,
Rushing like midnight in its haughty sway—
Unpitying 'mongst all gentle loving things,
O'ersweeping all with his vast shadowy Wings!
435
And thou, my home! thy dim and antique bowers,
Must they no more, while glow noon's conquering hours,
Shade me with woven veil of scented boughs,
Through which no dazzling beam its pathway ploughs?
Thy singing birds shall yet haunt each loved gloom,
While I am in the dark unwhispering tomb!
Must they no more, while glow noon's conquering hours,
Shade me with woven veil of scented boughs,
Through which no dazzling beam its pathway ploughs?
Thy singing birds shall yet haunt each loved gloom,
While I am in the dark unwhispering tomb!
Even now their full victorious joy is swelling
Through the green leafy precincts of my dwelling,
Their glimmering colours glance along the air
Like rainbow-fragments, quivering restless there;
Far have ye journeyed, birds of Summer's sky,
O'er Waste and Deep to bring rich melody.
Through the green leafy precincts of my dwelling,
Their glimmering colours glance along the air
Like rainbow-fragments, quivering restless there;
Far have ye journeyed, birds of Summer's sky,
O'er Waste and Deep to bring rich melody.
Far have ye journeyed! but my journeyings lone
May not like yours, with starry joys be strown,
To my green native Earth no hurrying back,
On the Spring's glorious and exulting track;
Alas! 'tis therefore with dejected eyes
I mark the Queenly Morning's dawn and rise.
May not like yours, with starry joys be strown,
To my green native Earth no hurrying back,
On the Spring's glorious and exulting track;
Alas! 'tis therefore with dejected eyes
I mark the Queenly Morning's dawn and rise.
436
Yet doth it haste towards cloudy vapourous Eve,
No brilliant record, no bright trace to leave,
Of all it hath been, so to mournful Eld
My life will float if doom be now withheld;
'Tis o'er the grave the undying Mornings glow—
Triumphantly, though mournfully—I go!
No brilliant record, no bright trace to leave,
Of all it hath been, so to mournful Eld
My life will float if doom be now withheld;
'Tis o'er the grave the undying Mornings glow—
Triumphantly, though mournfully—I go!
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