 | Areytos or songs and ballads of the South |  |
AH! DREAMS, YOU SAY!
I.
Oh! not for sleep in such a night!
'Tis now, while earth and heaven are bright,
That blessing spirits speed in flight,
And, as they tell,
Glad, on green slope and starry height,
Weave magic spell.
'Tis now, while earth and heaven are bright,
That blessing spirits speed in flight,
And, as they tell,
Glad, on green slope and starry height,
Weave magic spell.
Glide to the well-known walks and homes,
Steal softly through the midnight rooms,
Breathe, o'er the sleeper, gracious blooms
From happier spheres,
While sweetest dream the eye relumes,
Late fill'd with tears.
Steal softly through the midnight rooms,
Breathe, o'er the sleeper, gracious blooms
From happier spheres,
While sweetest dream the eye relumes,
Late fill'd with tears.
Could we but see—were but our eyes
Purged by befitting sacrifice
Of lowly thought, and for the skies
Made pure by prayer,
Methinks dear forms should quickly rise,
Our hearts to cheer.
Purged by befitting sacrifice
Of lowly thought, and for the skies
Made pure by prayer,
Methinks dear forms should quickly rise,
Our hearts to cheer.
205
So bright, so calm, so soft the close
Of day—so holy the repose
Which now the blesséd scene o'erflows,
That, in the soul,
Faith at each airy whisper glows
Beyond control.
Of day—so holy the repose
Which now the blesséd scene o'erflows,
That, in the soul,
Faith at each airy whisper glows
Beyond control.
She asks to see!—once more retrace
The once bright eye and vanish'd grace,
The happy smile, the glowing face
Of youthful hours,
That left their light on many a place,
Yet left no flowers.
The once bright eye and vanish'd grace,
The happy smile, the glowing face
Of youthful hours,
That left their light on many a place,
Yet left no flowers.
II.
Ah! dreams, you say! Well, call them dreams
And what are all your precious schemes,
Your daily arts, your midnight themes,
Well conn'd, that show
How substances are wrought from gleams
As fires from snow:
And what are all your precious schemes,
Your daily arts, your midnight themes,
Well conn'd, that show
How substances are wrought from gleams
As fires from snow:
How half the world—the veriest child,
With all its reason, dreaming wild—
May, by the cunning, be beguil'd,
And you, more wise,
Work subtle plans, which, unreviled,
Bear off the prize!
With all its reason, dreaming wild—
May, by the cunning, be beguil'd,
And you, more wise,
Work subtle plans, which, unreviled,
Bear off the prize!
Win from the simple, plan the snare,
Take in the flies—the spiders spare,
Achieve success, and—rest you there—
What the success?
An erring, simple brother's share—
An Esau's mess!
Take in the flies—the spiders spare,
Achieve success, and—rest you there—
What the success?
An erring, simple brother's share—
An Esau's mess!
206
Your's, too, a dream!—a sorry toil
Of goodly wits, for lowly spoil;
How long you strive, how basely moil,
In what low arts;
And what your care, which in its coil
Mocks heads and hearts!
Of goodly wits, for lowly spoil;
How long you strive, how basely moil,
In what low arts;
And what your care, which in its coil
Mocks heads and hearts!
III.
Dreams all!—But what is all the bliss
That Heaven to life accords in this?
A flower upon the precipice,
That, as we take,
Our senses swim, our footsteps miss,
And we—awake!
That Heaven to life accords in this?
A flower upon the precipice,
That, as we take,
Our senses swim, our footsteps miss,
And we—awake!
What's Passion's triumph, but the wild
Delirium of the feverish child,
With fancies fed, by dreams beguiled—
The sudden light,
When skies have for a moment smiled,
To burst and blight?
Delirium of the feverish child,
With fancies fed, by dreams beguiled—
The sudden light,
When skies have for a moment smiled,
To burst and blight?
What's Love? Hast loved?—Then such the flower,
New blown, and fresh with morning's shower,
Sweet, pure, as if some heavenly dower,
By seraph given:
Place it within thy breast an hour,
And where thy heaven?
New blown, and fresh with morning's shower,
Sweet, pure, as if some heavenly dower,
By seraph given:
Place it within thy breast an hour,
And where thy heaven?
Fame!—Ask the echoes of the past,
The exulting shout, the trumpet blast:
Would'st deem that Fate its shroud shall cast
Such fortunes o'er—
Such echoes die away at last,
Heard never more!
The exulting shout, the trumpet blast:
Would'st deem that Fate its shroud shall cast
Such fortunes o'er—
Such echoes die away at last,
Heard never more!
207
Yet where the hero? where the acclaim,
The myriad shouts that promised fame,
The imperial column to his name?
Another ear
Wins shout and trump and tower, the same,
And he is—where?
The myriad shouts that promised fame,
The imperial column to his name?
Another ear
Wins shout and trump and tower, the same,
And he is—where?
IV.
Dreams all! The fame, the love, the gush
Of passion, from its virgin blush,
To the wild fever of its flush,
That, soon or late,
Will lose their bloom, their voices hush,
And yield to fate!
Of passion, from its virgin blush,
To the wild fever of its flush,
That, soon or late,
Will lose their bloom, their voices hush,
And yield to fate!
Not less delicious that they die
While yet the fire is in the eye,
The sweetness in the shout or sigh,
That love, or fame,
Brings, with delusive ministry,
Our souls to claim.
While yet the fire is in the eye,
The sweetness in the shout or sigh,
That love, or fame,
Brings, with delusive ministry,
Our souls to claim.
Dear spectres, that, from dream or heart,
Thus cherish'd, never quite depart;
Still on our sight their phantoms dart,
And still they woo,
As from the shroud, at night, they start,
To smile and sue!
Thus cherish'd, never quite depart;
Still on our sight their phantoms dart,
And still they woo,
As from the shroud, at night, they start,
To smile and sue!
V.
We may not lose them all: the bloom
Still breathes from where the flowers found doom;
Their memories lighten up the gloom
Their parting brought—
Still hang sad chaplets o'er the tomb
To solace thought!
Still breathes from where the flowers found doom;
Their memories lighten up the gloom
Their parting brought—
Still hang sad chaplets o'er the tomb
To solace thought!
208
Still come by night, when all is still,
Persuade us to the grove, the hill,
Speak through the leaflet, through the rill,
And all the breast
With happiest, sweetest instincts fill
That make it blest!
Persuade us to the grove, the hill,
Speak through the leaflet, through the rill,
And all the breast
With happiest, sweetest instincts fill
That make it blest!
Survive the wreck of common things,
Bring Hope its eye, and Faith its wings,
Conduct where flow the eternal springs,
While, o'er the sight,
A sacred moonlight memory flings,
Eternal bright!
Bring Hope its eye, and Faith its wings,
Conduct where flow the eternal springs,
While, o'er the sight,
A sacred moonlight memory flings,
Eternal bright!
| Areytos or songs and ballads of the South | |