 | Ximena ; or the battle of the Sierra Morena, and other poems |  |
70
THE LAND OF DREAMS.
Oh, Land! with flowers of fadeless beauty beaming,
I seek thy blissful shore;
How the glad rays, from out thy portals streaming,
Welcome my steps once more!
I seek thy blissful shore;
How the glad rays, from out thy portals streaming,
Welcome my steps once more!
Aerial shapes and forms of fancy's painting
Float through the misty air;
Pilgrim, upon Life's rugged pathway fainting,
Enter and slumber there!
Float through the misty air;
Pilgrim, upon Life's rugged pathway fainting,
Enter and slumber there!
Enter—the rest that toil and wo denied thee
Dwells in that pleasant land;
There friends of other days will sit beside thee
And clasp, in love, thy hand.
Dwells in that pleasant land;
There friends of other days will sit beside thee
And clasp, in love, thy hand.
Those, who to thee were kind and gentle-hearted,
Meet thee with wild delight,
And cluster 'round, the lost ones, the departed—
With brows of angel-light.
Meet thee with wild delight,
And cluster 'round, the lost ones, the departed—
With brows of angel-light.
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Strains soft and low, will soothe thee like the flowing
Of Childhood's loved streams—
All things with mild and gentle light are glowing
Within the Land of Dreams.
Of Childhood's loved streams—
All things with mild and gentle light are glowing
Within the Land of Dreams.
Sorrow with gloomy brow ne'er enters thither,
Hushed is the sound of strife;
But Hope's fair blossoms in their springtime wither,
In the dull road of Life.
Hushed is the sound of strife;
But Hope's fair blossoms in their springtime wither,
In the dull road of Life.
Friends, doomed by Fate's decrees to part forever,
Meet as in times of old;
There nought their tried and trusting faith can sever,
Nor Love's pure flame grow cold.
Meet as in times of old;
There nought their tried and trusting faith can sever,
Nor Love's pure flame grow cold.
The free, glad hearts of childhood's cloudless morning
Beat in our breasts again;
The thoughts come back, that lit our spirit's dawning,
Like some remembered strain.
Beat in our breasts again;
The thoughts come back, that lit our spirit's dawning,
Like some remembered strain.
How through its valleys swells the glorious sounding
Of some young Poet's lyre!
How the glad strains, within its domes resounding,
Kindle the spirit's fire.
Of some young Poet's lyre!
How the glad strains, within its domes resounding,
Kindle the spirit's fire.
Oh would, when sorrow palls my weary vision—
When Life delights no more,
I might, within its groves and bowers Elysian,
Dream on, and wake no more!
When Life delights no more,
I might, within its groves and bowers Elysian,
Dream on, and wake no more!
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Yet there's a land, where ne'er the spirit slumbers,
But lives in waking bliss;
Where Life's dull bond no more its flight encumbers—
A brighter land than this;
But lives in waking bliss;
Where Life's dull bond no more its flight encumbers—
A brighter land than this;
More lasting love than gladdens our ideal
With fair, yet fleeting beams—
A purer bliss, a higher and more real
Than e'en we feel in dreams.
With fair, yet fleeting beams—
A purer bliss, a higher and more real
Than e'en we feel in dreams.
| Ximena ; or the battle of the Sierra Morena, and other poems | |