The Poetical Works of John Payne :: :: University of Virginia Library

I SAID, “The time of grief is overpast:
The mists of morning hold the plains no more;
The flowers of Spring are dead; the woods that wore
The silver suits of Summer o'er them cast
Are stripped and bare before the wintry blast.
Is it for thee to weary and implore
The ruthless Gods, to beat against their door
For ever and for ever to the last?
Rise and be strong; yonder the new life lies.
Who knows but haply, past the sand-hills traced
Bounding the prospect, Destiny have placed
A sunny land of flowers and sapphire skies,
For balm of hearts and cure of loves laid waste?
Up, and leave weeping to a woman's eyes!”

Then turned I sadly to the olden signs
By which I had so long lived lingering;
The faded woods, the birds long ceased to sing,
The withered grapes dried on the withered vines
And the thin rill that through the time-worn lines
Of grey-leaved herbs fled, faintly murmuring
Its ghostly memories of the songs of Spring,
Weird whispers of the wind among the pines.
Farewell I bade them all, with heart as sad
Well-nigh as when Love left me long ago,
And turned into the distance. Long I had
Their murmur in my ears, as long and slow
The melancholy way did spread and wind
That left the memories of youth behind.

At last a new land opened on my view:
No phantom of the dear dead Spring of old
It was, but a fair land of Autumn gold
And corn-fields sloping to a sea of blue:

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And I looked down upon its face and knew
The Autumn land of which my heart had told,
The land where Love at last should be consoled
And balm flower forth among Life's leaves of rue.
A sunset-land it was; and long and sweet,
The shadows of the setting lay on it:
And through the long fair valleys there did flit
Strange birds with pale gold wings, that did repeat
The loveliest songs whereof men aye had wit;
And over all the legend “Peace” was writ.

And as I gazed on it, my heart was filled
With rapture of the sudden cease of pain:
And in my spirit, ever and again,
There rang the golden legend, sweet and stilled
With speech of birds; and in the pauses rilled
Fair fountains through the green peace of the plain,
That with the tinkle of their golden rain
Made carol to the songs the linnets trilled;
Whilst, over all, the waves upon the shore
Throbbed with a music, sad but very sweet,
That had in it the melodies of yore,
Softened, as when the angels do repeat,
In heaven, to souls in rapture of new birth,
The names that they have sadly borne on earth.