 | Forest buds, from the woods of Maine |  |
41
WINTER.
'T is the bright and joyous season,
Ever fraught with glee and mirth,
Bringing happiness and plenty
To the glad and grateful earth,
And a ring of loving faces round the warm and sparkling hearth.
Ever fraught with glee and mirth,
Bringing happiness and plenty
To the glad and grateful earth,
And a ring of loving faces round the warm and sparkling hearth.
And the long bright winter evening
Passes merrily away,
While the quaint and varying shadows
On the ceiling dance and play,
And each radiant face grows brighter in the fire-light's rosy ray.
Passes merrily away,
While the quaint and varying shadows
On the ceiling dance and play,
And each radiant face grows brighter in the fire-light's rosy ray.
But my heart hath known no gladness
Since the autumn's breezy hours,
With their chill resistless breathing,
Swept the bloom from summer's bowers,
And the frost as coldly gathered on my heart as on the flowers.
Since the autumn's breezy hours,
With their chill resistless breathing,
Swept the bloom from summer's bowers,
And the frost as coldly gathered on my heart as on the flowers.
42
For my spirit sadly muses
On the loved and early lost,
On the many hopes and wishes
By despair all coldly crossed,
Vanished now, alas! forever,—nipt like blossoms in a frost!
On the loved and early lost,
On the many hopes and wishes
By despair all coldly crossed,
Vanished now, alas! forever,—nipt like blossoms in a frost!
And the shrine where first and freshest
Were my wrecked affections strown,
Is a lone deserted grave-yard,
Where, when autumn leaves were brown,
She, the star of my existence, from my heart went coldly down!
Were my wrecked affections strown,
Is a lone deserted grave-yard,
Where, when autumn leaves were brown,
She, the star of my existence, from my heart went coldly down!
Griefs that bind no more her spirit,
Closely still my own enslave,—
Wilder storms than beat above her
In my bosom darkly rave,
And the chilling snow-drifts deepen on my heart as on her grave.
Closely still my own enslave,—
Wilder storms than beat above her
In my bosom darkly rave,
And the chilling snow-drifts deepen on my heart as on her grave.
For alas! the flowerless summer
Of my blighted life is o'er,
And though spring to earth's cold bosom
Will the bud and bloom restore,
Well I know the spring will brighten in my frozen heart no more.
Of my blighted life is o'er,
And though spring to earth's cold bosom
Will the bud and bloom restore,
Well I know the spring will brighten in my frozen heart no more.
43
As the lone and weary watcher
Counts the minutes' lingering flight,
With a patient, hopeful spirit
Waiting for the tarrying light,
Cheating thus the dreary hours of the long and lonesome night,—
Counts the minutes' lingering flight,
With a patient, hopeful spirit
Waiting for the tarrying light,
Cheating thus the dreary hours of the long and lonesome night,—
So do I look gladly forward
Through the darkness of my way,
To where griefs and cares and trials
All, shall vanish in the ray
Of the spirit's heavenly dawning,—of the soul's unclouded day!
Through the darkness of my way,
To where griefs and cares and trials
All, shall vanish in the ray
Of the spirit's heavenly dawning,—of the soul's unclouded day!
| Forest buds, from the woods of Maine | |