 | Areytos or songs and ballads of the South |  |
CHAUNT OF LONELINESS.
Ah! Hours, how sad and lonely
Ye move, when from the breast
The first fresh glow of feeling
Is gone, that brought its wing to Thought,
While Rapture did the rest!
Ye move, when from the breast
The first fresh glow of feeling
Is gone, that brought its wing to Thought,
While Rapture did the rest!
Ah! Hopes, why mock ye ever,
The gleams that once ye cast;
And on the dark horizon,
Still linger lone—though all be gone—
Sad spectres of the past?
The gleams that once ye cast;
And on the dark horizon,
Still linger lone—though all be gone—
Sad spectres of the past?
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Why conjure memory ever,
When well ye know how vain
Would she recall the rapture,
That known too late, 'tis not in Fate,
Or Love, to warm again?
When well ye know how vain
Would she recall the rapture,
That known too late, 'tis not in Fate,
Or Love, to warm again?
Sweet swallow—wanton soaring!
Oh, for a wing like yours,
Not seeking hopes departed,
Nor one delight, but only flight,
From memory-haunted shores!
Oh, for a wing like yours,
Not seeking hopes departed,
Nor one delight, but only flight,
From memory-haunted shores!
Oh! for some powerful pinion,
That, with the speed of light,
My form may speed to regions
Which still, in dreams, of joyous gleams,
Bring blessings to my sight!
That, with the speed of light,
My form may speed to regions
Which still, in dreams, of joyous gleams,
Bring blessings to my sight!
Ah! thither, at the shutting,
At eve, of flowery eyes,
How blest to wander idly,
And lose the care, the pang, the tear,
When all but sorrow dies!
At eve, of flowery eyes,
How blest to wander idly,
And lose the care, the pang, the tear,
When all but sorrow dies!
No bird that skirrs the mountain,
No fish that darts the lake,
Would speed more gayly onward,
Just taught to sweep, through air or deep,
Its joy or prey to take!
No fish that darts the lake,
Would speed more gayly onward,
Just taught to sweep, through air or deep,
Its joy or prey to take!
Ah, me! how dread the morning
That ushers in the night!
How silent all of sweetness,
To spell with art, the thought or heart,
Or wing the soul in flight!
That ushers in the night!
How silent all of sweetness,
To spell with art, the thought or heart,
Or wing the soul in flight!
| Areytos or songs and ballads of the South | |