Songs, Ballads, and Other Poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

Tho' the summer may have roses
That outshine the buds of Spring,
Deeper shadows in the forest,
Blither birds upon the wing.
When I see a bright Spring morning,
After long, long days of gloom,
Summer seems to sport around me
In his infancy of bloom.

Oh! 'tis sad to see the splendour
Of the summer pass away,
When the night is always stealing
Precious moments from the day:
But in Spring each lengthened evening
Tempts us farther off from home,
And if summer has more beauty,
All that beauty is to come.

It is thus in manhood's summer,
That the heart too often grieves,
Over friends lost prematurely,
Like the fall of blighted leaves;

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But, life's spring-time is far sweeter,
When each green bud that appears
May expand into a blossom,
To enliven future years.

II. FASHION AND NATURE.

Cried Fashion once, that idle queen,
“The Spring I love, the balmy Spring!
When trees put on their palest green,
And feather'd songsters learn to sing!”
Dame Nature heard her, and replied
“If thus you speak, our quarrel ends,
Henceforth we'll wander side by side,
Fashion and Nature now are friends.”

So Fashion chose a flowing gown,
Her flimsy fancies to conceal;
And simple Nature went to town
To visit Fashion en famille.
She sought her in the gay saloon,
Where she had revelled all the night:
But Fashion did not rise at noon,
Her rouge looks best at candlelight.

Nature found nothing to her taste;
She pined with Fashion by her side;
Her own flowers in vases placed,
Like birds in cages, drooped and died.
To save her life she ran away,
And Fashion did not much regret
Her simple guest;—so since that day
Fashion and Nature have not met.

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III. FAIREST! WE HAIL THEE QUEEN OF THE MAY!

Queen of the May! how sweet is thy throne!
Nature herself hath lent thee her own.
Covet not gold and jewels of state;
Heed not their lustre; think of their weight!
Light are thy crown and regal array:
Fairest! we hail thee Queen of the May!

Queen of the May how gay is thy court,
Light-hearted beings thither resort;
Covet not halls that sparkle by night,
False are their garlands, false is their light!
Sunshine illumes thy festival day;
Fairest! we hail thee Queen of the May!

IV. COME OVER THE LAKE, LOVE!

Come over the lake, Love! come over the lake;
In yonder green island the Elves are awake,
Our bugles they'll hear—and their haunts they'll forsake:
Oh! blow the horn! oh! blow the horn!
Hark! fairies are replying!

Nay, laugh not at fairies, a dangerous jest;
They sport in these valleys when we are at rest;
I'll call them—you'll hear them—let this be the test:
Oh! blow the horn!—oh! blow the horn!
Hark! fairies are replying!

You say 'tis an echo—perhaps you can tell
What echoes are made of, and shew where they dwell?
If not—why my fairies at least do as well!
Oh! blow the horn!—oh! blow the horn!
Hark! fairies are replying!

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V. ALAS! YOUTH'S GAY SPRING MOMENTS PASS.

Alas!
Youth's gay Spring moments pass
Like sand through old Time's glass;
Where pleasure throws
Her sweetest rose,
To morrow comes a grief,
To spread the yellow leaf!
The fairest things
Have fleetest wings!
What then!—gay hearts to-night
May catch them in their flight.

Heigho!
How soon the step of woe
Mars beauty's sunlit snow!
E'en smiles are made
Old Time to aid,
For do not wrinkles tell
Where dimples used to dwell?
The fairest things
Have fleetest wings;
What then!—gay hearts to-night
May catch them in their flight.

VI. THE SPRING TIME OF THE YEAR.

Spring flowers are no longer
What spring flowers used to be;
Their fragrance and their beauty
Cannot give delight to me:

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The cowslip and the primrose
And the violet are here—
Ah! why am I dejected
In the Spring time of the year?

How well do I remember
When I chased dull sleep away,
To give an early welcome
To the merry month of May!
My footstep on the meadow
Was the first to rouse the deer,
Ah! then I hailed each blossom
In the Spring time of the year!

All seasons are delightful
In life's gay unclouded spring,
We sport among the flowers
Like wild birds upon the wing:
But when life's bloom is over,
And no friendly smile is near,
Oh! dreary as December
Is the Spring time of the year!

VII. UP! MARCH AWAY!

Shall the warrior rest, when so near him
The flag of the foe is unfurled?
No! the sweets of repose shall not cheer him,
'Till that flag from its station be hurled.
His night-cloak round him folding,
He will watch the dawn of day,
And the first sun's beam beholding,
He will cry—“Up! March away!”

In the night as his watch-path he paces,
He pauses and leans on his spear,
And he thinks of kind friends and loved places,
'Till down his pale cheek steals a tear!

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Awhile with deep devotion,
For the absent he will pray;
But how transient his emotion,
Hark! he cries—“Up! March away!”

VIII. THE FORWARD SPRING.

Spring once was impatient of schooling and nursing,
And grew very fine for a season so young;
Her playthings she scorned, artificially forcing
The charms of her person, the wit of her tongue.
Her snowdrops neglecting, her roses displaying,
And singing as summer birds only should sing;
She smiled, and the world her attractions surveying,
Declared it had ne'er seen so forward a Spring!

But soon this same world, which is never unwilling
To lower pretensions it sanctioned in haste,
Perceived that her mornings and evenings were chilling,
And all her forced fruit was found wanting in taste.
“Alas!” cried the young year, “the charms that I boasted
If lavished too early, too early decay,
I've lost the pure pleasure of Spring, and exhausted
The green leaves that might have made Summer look gay.”

And now I will venture to look for a moral,
In this little song, which so simple appears;
Go childhood and play with your bells and your coral,
And sigh not for pleasures unfit for your years:
Though infancy, tutored by art prematurely,
May imitate man in look, action, and tone;
Life's Summer will not be forestall'd, and, too surely,
The charm of life's Spring-time for ever is gone!

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SONGS FOR SUMMER DAYS.

I. EACH SEASON POSSESSES A PLEASURE FOR ME.

Each season possesses a pleasure for me,
I mark not time's progress when gazing on thee;
But if I must single out one from the rest,
I think that for lovers the Summer is best.
Spring mornings are pretty when zephyrs fly forth,
To scatter sweet blossoms all over the earth;
But Spring smiles too often with snow on her breast,
So I think that for lovers the Summer is best.

The Autumn is gay with the gold of her sheaves,
The blush of her fruit, and the tint of her leaves;
But her sun hastens daily more soon to the west,
So I think that for lovers the Summer is best,
The Winter is merry in festival hall,
But false are the garlands that hang on his walls;
And 'tis not in crowds that the heart is most blest,
So I think that for lovers the Summer is best.

II. THE OLDEN TIME.

In the olden time,
Young lovers roved in these gay bowers:
And these echoes oft
Have murmured vows as fond as ours.
Yes, the old who gaze on us
Once sported thus.
Eyes were bright,
Hearts were light,
In the summer days when they were young.

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Where are all the brave
Who won the laurels of those days?
Where are all the fair,
And poets, too, who sang their praise?
Oh! the harp—the smile—the plume—
Lie in the tomb.
Some remain
Who, in vain,
Mourn the Summer days when they were young.

III. SEE THE SUMMER LEAVES ARE COMING.

See the Summer leaves are coming
On the plants and on the trees,
And the birds that have been roaming
Under brighter skies than these.
Breezes breathe so soft, they only
Curl the surface of the sea;
But my heart feels sad and lonely,
Without thee, love! without thee.

Come, and I will weave you bowers,
Cool and shady all day long.
Ev'ry path is full of flowers,
Every grove is full of song.
Sunny, when we roved together,
E'en the winter seemed to me;
And how sad is summer weather,
Without thee, love! without thee.

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IV. THE OLD OAK TREE.

The old oak tree our shade shall be,
And there you shall sing gay songs to me;
Each sparkling glass that we fill to-night,
Reflecting a smile, shall beam more bright;
And we'll drink to those that we fain would see
Under the shade of the old oak tree.

Come Fashion and see our canopy!
The gay green leaves of the old oak tree.
The setting sun, and the rising moon,
Together shall light our sweet saloon.
We've the song of the bird and the hum of the bee,
Under the shade of the old oak tree.

Oh, let there not be a fire for me
Kindled against the old oak tree!
Too many, alas! will wound the stem
Of the tree that in kindness sheltered them.
No brand shall be lighted for you or for me
Under the shade of the old oak tree.

V. COME TO ME, LOVE, AND TELL ME ALL THAT GRIEVES THEE.

Come to me, love, and tell me all that grieves thee,
Come to me, love, more welcome than the gay;
Thy smiles were mine, and now that pleasure leaves thee,
Mine be the task to wipe thy tears away.

See yon fair rose,—how many triflers woo it,
When morning sheds her sunshine and perfume;
But like the bird that sings at midnight to it,
I'll be thy guard, dear love, in hours of gloom.

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VI. I'D BE YOUR SHADOW.

I'd be your shadow, my own dear love!
Your steps I'd follow where'er you rove:
Then I'd resemble the form you wear—
How cold a copy of one so fair!
But I'd not leave you when joy is gone,
Though there's no shadow when there's no sun.

I'd be your echo, my own dear love!
Unseen I'd follow where'er you rove.
Each word you utter, I would repeat,
How vain to rival a voice so sweet!
But I'd be with you when dark days come,
Though faithless echo in storms is dumb.

VII. OH! WHEN THE TIDE WAS OUT.

Oh when the tide was out last night,
In yonder bay we roved,
We gathered shells, and on the sand
We wrote the names we loved.

And now we wander forth, and find
No friendly records there.
The morning tide effaced the words
We traced with so much care.

'Tis thus with all whose glory rests
Upon the sands of earth;
As vain is all the pomps of pride,
As vain the smiles of mirth.

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The ceaseless tide at intervals
Will rush o'er all the scene;
'Twill pass—and not a record then
Will tell where they have been!

VIII. DEAREST INFANT, PURE AS FAIR.

Dearest infant, pure as fair,
Whilst I watch thy closing eye,
Thus my babe, thy mother's pray'r
Mingles with her lullaby:
Oh be content
And innocent!

When thy lip's uncertain sound
Ripens into words at length;
When thy foot upon the ground,
Steps relying on its strength:
Oh be content
And innocent!

When the tempting world shall come
With the garland that she waves,
Some without a thorn, but some
Hiding poison in their leaves:
Oh be content
And innocent!

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SONGS FOR AUTUMN EVENINGS.

I. NOT A SUMMER FRIEND WOULD STAY.

My garden once displayed
Each fair leaf'd summer flow'r,
And fragrant tendrils made
A curtain for my bow'r.
They are gone! they are gone!
It will never more be gay;
When I lost the bright sun,
Not a summer bud would stay!

My garden has been full
Of friends in former hours,
Who gaily came to cull
The fairest of my flow'rs.
They are gone! they are gone!
It will never more be gay,
When I lost the bright sun,
Not a summer friend would stay!

II. HARVEST HOME!

The last golden sheaf is borne off from the meadow,
The reaper is gone for his labour is done;
The harvest that grew where no cloud threw its shadow
Was gathered to-day in the smiles of the sun.
See! see! the tankard's foam!
Hark! hark! 'tis harvest home!

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Youth trips to the sound of the pipe and the tabor,
While innocent childhood looks on with his laugh,
And happy old age tells some listening neighbour
Of festivals past, as he leans on his staff.
See! see! the tankard's foam!
Hark! hark! 'tis harvest home!

III. THOUGH AT EACH STEP WE PRESS SOME WITHERED LEAF.

Though at each step we press some withered leaf,
Like a young joy, by time, turned to a grief.
Though all is dreary now, never forget
We may find sunshine and summer leaves yet!

Winter will yield up his sceptre to May;
She will weep o'er it and throw it away;
June will soon follow, his sunny hair drest
With the gay coronet summer loves best.

Oh! 'twill be thus with this sad time of ours:
May comes with weeping, but June comes with flow'rs;
Trees that around us seem withering now
Soon will wear blossoms on every bough.

IV. WAKE, DEAREST LOVE! THE MOON IS BRIGHT.

Wake, dearest love! the moon is bright;
Dream not away so sweet a night;
When clouds come on, repose at ease,
But do not waste nights fair as these:

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The very birds are all awake!
The swan is roused and skims the lake!
The world's so bright, the summer bee
Believes 'tis noon!—then come to me!

Oh! 'tis the time for serenades!
When the moon peeps thro' orange shades,
Guitars and voices gain a tone
Of sweet enchantment, not their own!
There's a wild cadence in the breeze!
A murmur in the trembling trees!
The silver ripple of the sea
Has music in it!—come to me!

And few such nights are left us now:
The yellow tint is on the bough;
The farewell whisper summer gives
Just curls the lake, just fans the leaves.
Too soon will wane the harvest moon,
The latest rose will fade too soon;
But in my heart there still will be
A summer—if you'll come to me.

V. SEE THE MONARCHS OF THE FOREST.

See the monarchs of the forest
Lose their summer beauty now,
And the yellow tints of autumn
Mingle on each waving bough.
Though these colours are more varied
Than their former green array,
Yet I love them not—they tell me
That all fair things pass away.

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Oh! I love the spring time better,
With her buds that promise bloom,
For she daily gives some token
That a summer soon will come.
And when she comes, I love her,
With her sunshine fair and gay,
But the winds of autumn tell me
That all fair things pass away.

VI. TAKE AGAIN ALL YOU GAVE.

Take again all you gave as the proofs of your love,
Take them back for their value is gone;
They were dear to me once, but with others you rove,
I am left to weep o'er them alone.
Since the heart you gave with them no longer is mine,
Since my tears and entreaties are vain,
Fare thee well! each remembrance I proudly resign,
They are worthless—receive them again.

Take the harp so long used to the songs of your choice
When your taste was content with my skill;
Take it back, since you now find no charm in my voice,
Though I sing your old favourites still.
Take the garlands you sportively taught me to twine,
Take the steed that you led by its rein;
Fare thee well! each remembrance I proudly resign,
They are worthless—receive them again.

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VII. ON THE HILLS I WANDERED EARLY.

On the hills I wandered early,
And I met a maiden there,
Who was twining wild flowers
With the tresses of her hair.
And I thought when I beheld her
In her simple garb array'd,
This is one of Nature's blossoms,
Form'd for solitude and shade.

To the dance I went at midnight,
And I saw a maiden there,
With a diadem of jewels
Round the tresses of her hair.
It was she I met so early,
But her simple garb was gone,
And she now seemed formed to revel
In the sunshine of a throne.

Oh! when youth and beauty mingle
In the mansions of the gay,
Let not the old condemn them,
Or turn scornfully away.
For in truth there may be many
Who, like my fair mountain maid,
Keep their brightness for the sunshine,
And their virtues for the shade.

VIII. TEACH ME TO FORGET!

Friends depart, and memory takes them
To her caverns pure and deep;
And a forced smile only wakes them
From the shadows where they sleep.

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Who shall school the heart's affection?
Who will banish its regret?
If you blame my deep dejection—
Teach, oh! teach me to forget!

Bear me not to festive bowers,
'Twas with them I sat there last!
Weave me not Spring's early flowers,
They'll remind me of the past!
Music seems like mournful wailing,
In the halls where we have met;
Mirth's gay call is unavailing—
Teach, oh! teach me to forget!

One who hopelessly remembers
Cannot bear a dawning light;
He would rather watch the embers
Of a love that once was bright.
Who shall school the heart's affection?
Who shall banish its regret?
If you blame my deep dejection—
Teach, oh! teach me to forget!

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SONGS FOR WINTER NIGHTS.

I. SIGH NOT FOR SUMMER FLOWERS.

Sigh not for summer flowers;
What, though the dark sky lowers,
Welcome ye wintry hours!
Our sunshine is within.
Though to the west retreating,
Daylight so soon is fleeting,
Now happy friends are meeting,
And now their sports begin.
Sigh not for summer flowers.

Leaves that our path once shaded
Now lie around us faded;
Groves where we serenaded
Are desolate and chill;
Nature awhile reposes,
Art his gay realm uncloses,
Beauty displays her roses,
And we are happy still!
Sigh not for summer flowers.

Round us 'tis deeply snowing;
Hark! the loud tempest blowing;
See! the dark torrent flowing;
How wild the skies appear!
But can the whirlwind move us?
No! with this roof above us,
Near to the friends that love us,
We still have sunshine here.
Sigh not for summer flowers.

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II. THE DARK WINTER TIME.

A goblet with gems may be shining,
Though bitter the poison within;
So gay wreaths are often entwining
The lure that entices to sin.
Oh! turn from the false tongues that flatter,
They cannot ennoble a crime.
Oh! think of the thorns they would scatter
O'er thy path, in the dark winter time.

The home of thy youth may be lonely,
The friends of thy youth may be cold;
The morals they teach may seem only
Fit chains for the feeble and old.
Yet, though they may fetter a spirit
That soars in the pride of its prime;
The friends of thy infancy merit
All thy love in the dark winter time.

The stranger in gems would array thee:
More pure are the braids thou hast worn;
Say—would not their lustre betray thee,
Attracting the finger of scorn?
Go—gaze once again on thy dwelling,
The porch where the wild flowers climb;
Go, pray while thy young heart is swelling,
Pray for peace in the dark winter time!

III. HO! HELM A-LEE.

Ho! helm a-lee! now homeward steer,
There'll be a storm to-night;
But never fear, the shore is near,
I see the beacon light.

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The white foam dances on the sea,
More dark and dark it grows!
Ho! helm a-lee! Ho! helm a-lee!
About—about she goes!

Another tack! and now again
We scud across the bay;
The sea-birds strain their wings in vain
To pass us on the way.
And now our mountain home we see,
How bright the taper glows!
Ho! helm a-lee! Ho! helm a-lee!
About—about she goes!

IV. EVERGREEN TREE.

I love thee, evergreen tree!
Thou art what friendship should be;
But friendship oft is as brief
As the rose's delicate leaf.
In winter, brambles will show
Where summer's fair blossoms grow;
And sorrow too often turns
Love's roses into love's thorns!

Oh, Winter! dearly I love
Thy own dark evergreen grove;
Thy laurel the warrior wears,
It twines round the banner he bears:
Thy cypress deepens the gloom
That shades a conqueror's tomb;
Thy holly wreathed on the wall,
At Christmas, is dearer than all.

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V. ARE THERE TIDINGS IN YON VESSEL.

Are there tidings in yon vessel
Proudly bounding o'er the wave?
Are there tidings for a mother
Who is mourning for the brave?
No, no, no!
She is freighted with fond tidings,
But no tidings from the grave.

Do not ask me why I hasten
To each vessel that appears;
Why I seem to cling so wildly
To one cherished hope for years;
No, no, no!
Though my search proves unvailing,
What have I to do with tears?

Do not blame me when I seek him,
With these wan and weary eyes;
Can you tell me where he perished?
Can you shew me where he lies?
No, no, no!
Yet there surely is some record,
When a brave young hero dies.

Had I watched beside his pillow,
Had I seen him on his bier;
Oh! I must have died of weeping,
But I cannot shed a tear!
No, no, no!
Let me still think I shall see him,
Let me still think he is near.

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VI. OH! WHERE DO FAIRIES HIDE THEIR HEADS.

Oh! where do fairies hide their heads,
When snow lies on the hills;
When frost has spoiled their mossy beds,
And chrystalized their rills?
Beneath the moon they cannot trip
In circles o'er the plain;
And draughts of dew they cannot sip,
Till green leaves come again.

Perhaps, in small blue diving bells,
They plunge beneath the wave;
Inhabiting the wreathed shells
That lie in coral caves.
Perhaps, in red Vesuvius,
Carousals they maintain;
And cheer their little spirits thus,
Till green leaves come again.

When they return, there will be mirth,
And music in the air;
And fairy wings upon the earth,
And mischief everywhere.
The maids, to keep the elves aloof,
Will bar the doors in vain;
No key-hole will be fairy-proof,
When green leaves come again.

VII. A WINTER'S NIGHT.

In fragrant Spring, the flowers of May
Throw all their sheltering folds away;
Reviving Nature waves her wand,
On every tree the leaves expand;
But mine be the hearth that blazes bright,
And a circle of friends on a winter's night.

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In Summer time, each little stem
Is deck'd with its leafy diadem;
Each rose holds fast, with a fond caress,
A captive bee in its sweet recess.
But mine be the hearth that blazes bright,
And a circle of friends on a winter's night.

VIII. THE MISLETOE BOUGH.

------The happiest of the happy,
When a spring-lock, that lay in ambush there,
Fasten'd her down for ever.
Rogers.

The misletoe hung in the castle hall,
The holly branch shone on the old oak wall;
And the baron's retainers were blithe and gay,
And keeping their Christmas holiday.
The baron beheld, with a father's pride;
His beautiful child, young Lovell's bride;
While she, with her bright eyes, seem'd to be
The star of the goodly company.

“I'm weary of dancing now;” she cried;
“Here tarry a moment—I'll hide—I'll hide!
“And, Lovell, be sure thou'rt first to trace
“The clue to my secret lurking place.”
Away she ran—and her friends began
Each tower to search, and each nook to scan;
And young Lovell cried, “Oh! where dost thou hide?
“I'm lonesome without thee, my own dear bride.”

They sought her that night! and they sought her next day!
And they sought her in vain, when a week pass'd away!
In the highest—the lowest—the loneliest spot,
Young Lovell sought wildly—but found her not.

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And years flew by, and their grief at last
Was told as a sorrowful tale long past;
And when Lovell appear'd the children cried,
“See! the old man weeps for his fairy bride.”

At length an oak chest, that had long lain hid
Was found in the castle—they raised the lid—
And a skeleton form lay mouldering there,
In the bridal wreath of that lady fair!
Oh! sad was her fate!—in sportive jest
She hid from her lord in the old oak chest.
It closed with a spring!—and, dreadful doom,
The bride lay clasp'd in her living tomb!