Madmoments: or First Verseattempts By a Bornnatural. Addressed to the Lightheaded of Society at Large, by Henry Ellison |
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 | Madmoments: or First Verseattempts |  |
LOVESCENE.
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She stood beside me, in the Shade,The starry Shade of Heavensblue,
Whose Lamps, like nuptial Torches, made
By Love eterne, their soft Light threw.
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She stood beside me, and my YouthWith all its Dreams of Harmony
Seemed in her Form to grow to Truth,
And pass in living Beauty by.
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As erst thro' my own Heart they passed,Stirring it like Firstlove's long kiss,
So on my Sense they shone at last,
And turned my Dreams to waking Bliss.
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She stood beside me like a FlowerBowed neath the dewy Eveningair,
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I thought she never looked so fair.
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I took her Hand, it trembled so,And yet no Thought of Wrong was there,
It trembled in its own deep Joy,
As trembles Love alone and Prayer!
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I gazed upon her pure, bright Face,Thro' which the Peace of Heaven shone,
And Earth seemed as a holy Place,
Which Angels themselves might dwell on.
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I could not speak—mine Eyes where dim,And like a Child, I knew not why,
I wept: for when Joy's Cup is brim,
The Heart must waste some Drops or die.
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Waste, do I say! it is not so,Love is no Miser of the Heart:
To him there is no future Woe,
He has no Self, no meaner Part.
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Yet were it well that Passion's BreathNe'er flared to Waste his holy Flame,
That burning calmly on 'till Death,
It lit us to an higher Aim.
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An higher Aim! and can there beAn higher Aim than thus to love,
Nought in the World to feel or see
Save our own Bliss and Him above?
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Of all Thanksgivings that are known,What for the God of Love so fit,
As thus to be but Love alone,
With his own Self made one by it!
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Aye, Wisdom comes with Afteryears,The Wisdom of the niggard Brain,
But the Heart too a Wisdom bears,
An Alchymy ne'er found again.
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Love becomes Calculation, growsA Miser—not poured from the Heart,
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No more our Being, but a Part.
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When I look back on that sweet HourOf Love and holy Tenderness,
I feel that all Man's idle Lore
Not like the Heart's least Beat can bless.
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I see again the wellknown Spot,I hear her light Step on the Ground,
Long Years have flown since then, yet what
Are they? the Echo of a Sound.
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Methinks I see her as she stood,Wrapped in a Veil of Beauty by
The calm Moonlight, which with a Flood
Of Glory clothed her to my Eye.
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She looked an Emanation ofThat holy Light, and her white Vest,
Like a Dovesplumage, seemed to move
Above her gentlyheaving Breast:
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Soft as a Star her blue Eye shone,Yet turned in Bashfulness away,
As if she feared to trust upon
My prying Glance its telltale Ray.
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Yet to her Hand a gentle ThrillTh' involuntary Heart conveyed,
For' mid his Artifice Love will
Forget his Part, the first Time played.
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Timid her Hand she half drew back,And blushed as tho' 't had been broadday,
But true Love is not wont to rack
Or fling the Heart it seeks away.
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She turned in Virginmajesty,In simple Dignity of Mien,
Nature alone shone in her Eye,
In Gest or Look no Art was seen.
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Meaning no Wrong, and fearing none,She rayed me with a Smile of Light,
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When Nature prompts unfeigned Delight.
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Some Underwords she murmured low,Like a still Summerbrook at Eve,
Their Sense!—I had no Ear to know:
But Love with them a Spell did weave.
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Modest, but frank and free, she came,Like Eve, and sought my throbbing Breast,
And there her Image, aye the same,
Lives by that first Embrace imprest.
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Thus was she wooed, and won, and wed,And Blessings to such Love are sent,
A Centralfire, it burns selffed,
And brightens on 'till Life be spent.
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Not the Volcano's fitful Flames,That waste within and scorch around
In their first Burst, and when Time tames,
Leave for Joy's Seeds fireploughëd Grround.
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But holy Warmth as of a Sun,Moulding a little World of Joys,
Flowers and Plants, whereof not one
Bears hidden Thorns, or Fruit that cloys.
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Blessings be on thee, holy Love!With thee it is indeed to live:
For Love is Life! by thee we prove
How most we have, when most we give.
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'Tis Love who earns the Gifts of Faith,'Tis he who still works Miracles,
And in his Might the Spirit hath
A Tongue that utters Oracles.
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He sces the sunny Side alone,And in the Autumnleaf he views
No Emblem of Decay, but one
Of Beauty in its brightening Hues!
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He shrinks not back from Grief or Pain,He has no Eyes or Ears for Doubt,
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From each Fall rises up more stout.
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His wiser Mind can mould its StateUnto the Shows of better Things,
From earthly Chrysalis create,
The perfect Form, the Angelswings!
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Blessed, then blessed be his Name,And thine, my Love, my Spirit's Guide,
Who taught his Worth, and still the same,
Tho' long a Wife, art yet a Bride!
| Madmoments: or First Verseattempts | |