Poems By John Moultrie. New ed |
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STANZAS.
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 | Poems |  |
161
STANZAS.
TO THE SAME.
I
Some five and twenty years have past—(It may be more—it may be less—)
Since first we met—and parted last,—
A poet and a poetess.
II
That first and last and only timeDid we (whose hearts e'en then were swelling
With thoughts, ere long to bloom in rhyme)
Converse within one earthly dwelling.
III
A dark-hair'd girl—a stripling tall—(For then no lath than I was thinner)
We sat within thy Father's Hall,
Among sedater guests, at dinner.
IV
We talk'd, as youthful poets use,Of high imaginative matters;
Of Scott's and Moore's and Byron's Muse,—
Of Odes and Epics—Songs and Satires;—
V
Of Music and the sister arts,Save one—alas! denied to thee,
Though mostly dear to female hearts—
The art of gay Terpsichore.
162
VI
To Her, in that same festive Hall,Had I, in strange, fantastic motion,
Obedient to the fiddle's call,
Paid, oft ere then, my young devotion.
VII
And graceful forms and eyes of light,Before my raptured vision glancing,
Had held me through the livelong night,
In love's wild dreams my soul entrancing.
VIII
Each form—each face—each thrilling tone,Which charm'd me then, is now forgot;
One face remains,—one voice alone
From Memory's ear departeth not.
IX
A Presence of mysterious power(But dimly then discern'd by me)
Had through my spirit, in that hour,
Diffused itself insensibly.
X
And hence that hour of converse still,While years have faded, seemeth near;
Like some sun-gilded, distant hill
Seen through a rain-fraught atmosphere.
XI
And if no more we meet on Earth,'Twill be a pleasant thought to me,
That the same haunts which gave thee birth
Were mine from tenderest infancy.
163
XII
The bold Clee Hill—the winding Teme—The glorious woods of Mawley Hall—
The banks of Rea's romantic stream—
We both have known and loved them all.
XIII
Yes!—both have loved them;—thou no lessThan I (though thine no earthly strain)
Dost, from that region's loveliness,
Pure springs of inspiration drain.
XIV
Heaven speed thee, lady, in thy flightThrough worlds of song beyond my ken!
Heaven guide that wing of female might
Where few can soar of mightiest men!
XV
And though thou fall'st on evil daysFor daughters, as for sons, of Song,
Doubt not the echo of thy lays
In many a heart shall linger long.
XVI
Nor now this cordial praise repelFrom one who glories that, in thee,
Amidst the scenes he loves so well
Was born a nobler Bard than he.
1843.
| Poems | |