 | Lyrical and other poems |  |
ON MY BIRTH-DAY.
My nineteenth year! old Time has brought
At last, the hour so fondly sought,
Yet what have I to boast?
He comes, and where is glory's wreath
Ambition's goal and measured breath,
The pomp that rules us most!
At last, the hour so fondly sought,
Yet what have I to boast?
He comes, and where is glory's wreath
Ambition's goal and measured breath,
The pomp that rules us most!
What have I done, that I should dare,
Again invoke the circling year,
To give maturer flow'rs?
Or, what the joys of nineteen years,
Class'd with the sorrow, shame and tears,
Of all those by-gone hours?
Again invoke the circling year,
To give maturer flow'rs?
31
Class'd with the sorrow, shame and tears,
Of all those by-gone hours?
Tho' Love has lent its flow'ry wiles,
And gentle Beauty's tears and smiles
Alternate swayed to madness;
Yet the same Time that gave the joy
Has in his circle brought th' alloy,
And mingled life with sadness.
And gentle Beauty's tears and smiles
Alternate swayed to madness;
Yet the same Time that gave the joy
Has in his circle brought th' alloy,
And mingled life with sadness.
Visions of light! that like the bow
That clasps the aerial arch below,
So beautiful and fleeting;
Soft as the west-winds breath ye came
In balmy fondness o'er my frame,
That loved the tender greeting.
That clasps the aerial arch below,
So beautiful and fleeting;
Soft as the west-winds breath ye came
In balmy fondness o'er my frame,
That loved the tender greeting.
And like the harp which breathes soft words,
When young Eolus wooes the chords,
With many an amorous token;
He dares to breathe in ruder strain,
The madness of heart, soul and brain,
'Till ev'ry chord is broken!
When young Eolus wooes the chords,
With many an amorous token;
He dares to breathe in ruder strain,
The madness of heart, soul and brain,
'Till ev'ry chord is broken!
And so, when pleasure lent its charms,
And beauty trembled in my arms,
With furious rapture glowing,
I rudely dared to seize too much,
'Till pleasure sunk beneath the touch,
That passion was bestowing.
And beauty trembled in my arms,
With furious rapture glowing,
I rudely dared to seize too much,
'Till pleasure sunk beneath the touch,
That passion was bestowing.
32
My nineteenth year! and what a dream
The past presents; a varied gleam
Of parti-coloured folly:
Each year has brought its different feeling,
At twelve, Time came, young Love revealing—
At nineteen—melancholy!
The past presents; a varied gleam
Of parti-coloured folly:
Each year has brought its different feeling,
At twelve, Time came, young Love revealing—
At nineteen—melancholy!
| Lyrical and other poems | |