Ballads for the Times (Now first collected,) Geraldine, A Modern Pyramid, Bartenus, A Thousand Lines, and other poems. By Martin F. Tupper. A new Edition, enlarged and revised |
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Threnos.
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 | Ballads for the Times |  |
Threnos.
Vanity, vanity! dead hopes and fears,
Dim flitting phantoms of departed years,
Unsatisfying shadows, vague and cold,
Of thoughts and things that made my joys of old,
Sad memories of the kindly words and ways
And looks and loves of friends in other days,—
Alas! all gone,—a dream, a very dream,
A dream is all you are, and all you seem!
Dim flitting phantoms of departed years,
Unsatisfying shadows, vague and cold,
Of thoughts and things that made my joys of old,
Sad memories of the kindly words and ways
And looks and loves of friends in other days,—
Alas! all gone,—a dream, a very dream,
A dream is all you are, and all you seem!
O life, I do forget thee: I look back,
And lo, the desert wind has swept my track:
I stand upon this bare and solid ground
And, strangely waken'd, wonder all around;
How came I here? and whence? and whither tend?
Speak, friend!—if death and time have spared a friend:
Behold, the place that knew me well of yore
Knoweth me not; and that familiar floor
Where all my kith and kin were wont to meet
Is now grown strange, and throng'd by other feet.
And lo, the desert wind has swept my track:
I stand upon this bare and solid ground
And, strangely waken'd, wonder all around;
How came I here? and whence? and whither tend?
Speak, friend!—if death and time have spared a friend:
Behold, the place that knew me well of yore
Knoweth me not; and that familiar floor
Where all my kith and kin were wont to meet
Is now grown strange, and throng'd by other feet.
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O soul, my soul, consider thou that spot,
Root there thy gratitude, and leave it not;
Still let remembrance, with a swimming eye,
Live in those rooms, nor pass them coldly by;
Still let affection cling to those old days,
And, yearning fondly, paint them bright with praise:
O once my home—with all thy blessings fled,
O forms and faces—gather'd to the dead,
O scenes of joy and sorrow—faded fast!
—How hollow sound thy footsteps, ghostlike past!
An aching emptiness is all thou art,
A famine hid within the cavern'd heart.
Root there thy gratitude, and leave it not;
Still let remembrance, with a swimming eye,
Live in those rooms, nor pass them coldly by;
Still let affection cling to those old days,
And, yearning fondly, paint them bright with praise:
O once my home—with all thy blessings fled,
O forms and faces—gather'd to the dead,
O scenes of joy and sorrow—faded fast!
—How hollow sound thy footsteps, ghostlike past!
An aching emptiness is all thou art,
A famine hid within the cavern'd heart.
Thou changeless One,—how blest to have no change,—
Only with Thee, my God, I feel not strange:
Thou art the same for ever and for aye,—
To-morrow and to-day as yesterday,
Thou art the same,—a tranquil Present still;
There I can hide, and bless Thy sovereign will:
Yea, bless Thee, O my Father, that Thy love
Call'd in an instant to the bliss above
From ills to come and grief and care and fear
Thy type to me, most honour'd and most dear!
O true and tender spirit, pure and good,
So vext on earth and little understood,
Thy gentle nature was not fit for strife,
But quail'd to meet the waking woes of life;
And therefore God Our Father kindly made
Thy sleep a death, lest thou shouldst feel afraid!
Only with Thee, my God, I feel not strange:
Thou art the same for ever and for aye,—
To-morrow and to-day as yesterday,
Thou art the same,—a tranquil Present still;
There I can hide, and bless Thy sovereign will:
Yea, bless Thee, O my Father, that Thy love
Call'd in an instant to the bliss above
From ills to come and grief and care and fear
Thy type to me, most honour'd and most dear!
O true and tender spirit, pure and good,
So vext on earth and little understood,
Thy gentle nature was not fit for strife,
But quail'd to meet the waking woes of life;
And therefore God Our Father kindly made
Thy sleep a death, lest thou shouldst feel afraid!
| Ballads for the Times | |