 | Poems of Paul Hamilton Hayne |  |
THE REALM OF REST.
In the realm that Nature boundeth
Are there balmy shores of peace,
Where no passion-torrent soundeth,
And no storm-wind seeks release?
Rest they 'mid the waters golden,
Of some strange untravelled sea,
Where low, halcyon airs have stolen,
Lingering round them slumbrously?
Are there balmy shores of peace,
Where no passion-torrent soundeth,
And no storm-wind seeks release?
Rest they 'mid the waters golden,
Of some strange untravelled sea,
Where low, halcyon airs have stolen,
Lingering round them slumbrously?
Shores begirt with purple hazes.
Mellowed by gray twilight's beams,
Whose weird curtains shroud the mazes,
Wandering through a realm of dreams;
Shores, where Silence wooes Devotion,
Action faints, and echo dies,
And each peace-entranced emotion
Feeds on quiet mysteries.
Mellowed by gray twilight's beams,
Whose weird curtains shroud the mazes,
Wandering through a realm of dreams;
Shores, where Silence wooes Devotion,
Action faints, and echo dies,
And each peace-entranced emotion
Feeds on quiet mysteries.
If there be, O guardian Master,
Genius of my life and fate,
Bear me from the world's disaster,
Through that kingdom's shadowy gate;
Let me lie beneath its willows,
On the fragrant, flowering strand,
Lulled to rest by breezeless billows,
Thrilled with airs of Elfin-land.
Genius of my life and fate,
Bear me from the world's disaster,
Through that kingdom's shadowy gate;
Let me lie beneath its willows,
On the fragrant, flowering strand,
Lulled to rest by breezeless billows,
Thrilled with airs of Elfin-land.
Slumber, flushed with faintest dreamings;
Deep that knows no answering deep,
Unprofaned by phantom-seemings,
—Mockeries of Protéan sleep;—
Noiseless, timeless, half forgetting,
May that sleep Elysian be,
While serener tides are setting,
Inward, from the roseate sea.
Deep that knows no answering deep,
Unprofaned by phantom-seemings,
—Mockeries of Protéan sleep;—
Noiseless, timeless, half forgetting,
May that sleep Elysian be,
While serener tides are setting,
Inward, from the roseate sea.
Hark! to mine a voice is calling,
Sweet as tropic winds at night,
Gently dying, faintly falling
From some marvellous mystic height,
Troubled Thought's unhallowed riot
By its wandering glamour kissed,
Feels a charm of sacred quiet
Fold it, like enchanted mist.
Sweet as tropic winds at night,
Gently dying, faintly falling
From some marvellous mystic height,
7
By its wandering glamour kissed,
Feels a charm of sacred quiet
Fold it, like enchanted mist.
“There's a realm, thy footsteps nearing,”
[Thus the voice to mine replies,]
“Where the heavy heart despairing,
Breathes no more its life in sighs;
'Tis a realm, imperial, stately,
Refuge of dethronèd Years,
Calm as midnight, towering greatly,
Through a moonlit veil of tears.
[Thus the voice to mine replies,]
“Where the heavy heart despairing,
Breathes no more its life in sighs;
'Tis a realm, imperial, stately,
Refuge of dethronèd Years,
Calm as midnight, towering greatly,
Through a moonlit veil of tears.
“Though an empire, freedom reigneth,
Kingly brow, and subject knee,
Each with what to each pertaineth,
Slumbering in equality;
'Tis a sleep, divorced from dreamings,
Deep that knows no answering deep,
Unprofaned by phantom-seemings—
Noiseless, wondrous, timeless sleep.
Kingly brow, and subject knee,
Each with what to each pertaineth,
Slumbering in equality;
'Tis a sleep, divorced from dreamings,
Deep that knows no answering deep,
Unprofaned by phantom-seemings—
Noiseless, wondrous, timeless sleep.
“On its shores are weeping willows,
Action faints, and Echo dies,
And the languid dirge of billows,
Lulls with opiate symphonies;
But beside that murmurous ocean
All who rest, repose in sooth,
And no more the stilled emotion
Stirs to joy, or wakens ruth.
Action faints, and Echo dies,
And the languid dirge of billows,
Lulls with opiate symphonies;
But beside that murmurous ocean
All who rest, repose in sooth,
And no more the stilled emotion
Stirs to joy, or wakens ruth.
“Thou shalt gain these blest dominions,
Thou shalt find this peaceful ground,
Shaded by Oblivion's pinions,
Startled by no mortal sound;
Noiseless, timeless, ALL forgetting,
Shall thy sleep Elysian be,
While eternal tides are setting
Inward from that mystic sea.”
Thou shalt find this peaceful ground,
Shaded by Oblivion's pinions,
Startled by no mortal sound;
Noiseless, timeless, ALL forgetting,
Shall thy sleep Elysian be,
While eternal tides are setting
Inward from that mystic sea.”
| Poems of Paul Hamilton Hayne | |