 | Ximena ; or the battle of the Sierra Morena, and other poems |  |
63
MANHOOD.
Flow back! flow back! why rush ye o'er my soul,
Dreams of the future—visions wild and vain?
Why thrall my spirit with your strange control,
And waken thoughts of mingled joy and pain?
Yet since with me ye ever must remain,
Oh! give me strength to bear the world's rude strife,—
Let me the soul's first purity retain,
Unstained by cares with which the world is rife,
And bear a hero's part, upon the field of Life!
Dreams of the future—visions wild and vain?
Why thrall my spirit with your strange control,
And waken thoughts of mingled joy and pain?
Yet since with me ye ever must remain,
Oh! give me strength to bear the world's rude strife,—
Let me the soul's first purity retain,
Unstained by cares with which the world is rife,
And bear a hero's part, upon the field of Life!
Rudely across my spirit's quivering strings
Sweep the strong passions of a high, proud heart;
The pang that cold and heartless friendship brings,
Stills the sweet tones that Nature bids to start.
Oh! I have wandered from the throng apart,
E'en in my boyish hours, to muse alone;
To mourn, unseen, the cold, unfeeling art
That checked its gushing gladness. It is gone!
But still my spirit feels, with keenness all its own.
Sweep the strong passions of a high, proud heart;
The pang that cold and heartless friendship brings,
Stills the sweet tones that Nature bids to start.
Oh! I have wandered from the throng apart,
E'en in my boyish hours, to muse alone;
To mourn, unseen, the cold, unfeeling art
That checked its gushing gladness. It is gone!
But still my spirit feels, with keenness all its own.
64
Yet stronger, higher impulse prompts me now;
No more the sorrows of Life's early day
May cast their shade on boyhood's eager brow;
The dewy morn has ever passed away
And sterner duties prompt my earnest lay.
And weary by the wayside though I fall,
While bravely struggling in the glorious fray,
May not my lyre breathe out one thrilling call
And will my name and memory be forgot by all?
No more the sorrows of Life's early day
May cast their shade on boyhood's eager brow;
The dewy morn has ever passed away
And sterner duties prompt my earnest lay.
And weary by the wayside though I fall,
While bravely struggling in the glorious fray,
May not my lyre breathe out one thrilling call
And will my name and memory be forgot by all?
Like one who stands within a shadowy grove,
I gaze, afar, on Manhood's dusty plain—
The streams whose prattling murmur young hearts love,
Sweep troubled, dark, to meet the distant main.
May my Life's wave some woodland flower-seeds gain,
Some seeds of Love, from flowers by angels sown,
To bloom transplanted 'mid the golden grain
And with their fragrance cheer the spirit lone,
For such God gives in youth, when souls are all his own!
I gaze, afar, on Manhood's dusty plain—
The streams whose prattling murmur young hearts love,
Sweep troubled, dark, to meet the distant main.
May my Life's wave some woodland flower-seeds gain,
Some seeds of Love, from flowers by angels sown,
To bloom transplanted 'mid the golden grain
And with their fragrance cheer the spirit lone,
For such God gives in youth, when souls are all his own!
Emotions vague, that filled my childhood's heart,—
Wild wishes for a crown of earthly fame—
Forgotten dreams, that into life would start
From their cold ashes, like a quivering flame,
Lure me no more with Glory's empty name!
Oh! what avails to me her meteor-glare,
The poet's wreath—the hollow world's acclaim—
If not for me ascends the grateful prayer
From hearts I bless, to Heaven, and sues for mercy there!
Wild wishes for a crown of earthly fame—
Forgotten dreams, that into life would start
From their cold ashes, like a quivering flame,
Lure me no more with Glory's empty name!
Oh! what avails to me her meteor-glare,
The poet's wreath—the hollow world's acclaim—
If not for me ascends the grateful prayer
From hearts I bless, to Heaven, and sues for mercy there!
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Boyhood has nearly passed, I know my soul
Has trials waiting in the future's land;
I know that wild and dark the waves will roll
And foaming breakers thunder on the strand,
Yet I repine not—strengthened by His hand
Who placed me here, I'll raise my voice on high
To join the charging shout of that brave band
Who battle for the Right—nor coward fly,
But in the combat fall. 'Tis noble thus to die!
Has trials waiting in the future's land;
I know that wild and dark the waves will roll
And foaming breakers thunder on the strand,
Yet I repine not—strengthened by His hand
Who placed me here, I'll raise my voice on high
To join the charging shout of that brave band
Who battle for the Right—nor coward fly,
But in the combat fall. 'Tis noble thus to die!
| Ximena ; or the battle of the Sierra Morena, and other poems | |