Outlines of Edinburgh, and Other Poems [by N. T. H. Bayly] |
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WRITTEN
WHEN ABSENT FROM ANNA. |
 | Outlines of Edinburgh, and Other Poems |  |
95
WRITTEN WHEN ABSENT FROM ANNA.
Whate'er our fate may be, 'tis sweet to think
We are not quite forgotten when we rove;
We cannot be quite wretched, if one link
Still binds us to a being we can love:
In town, or solitude, in camp or grove,
Who would not wish some lovely hand to trace
Our distant wanderings, where'er we move?
E'en home itself must be a distant place,
Till brighten'd by the smile of some familiar face.
We are not quite forgotten when we rove;
We cannot be quite wretched, if one link
Still binds us to a being we can love:
In town, or solitude, in camp or grove,
Who would not wish some lovely hand to trace
Our distant wanderings, where'er we move?
E'en home itself must be a distant place,
Till brighten'd by the smile of some familiar face.
96
He who has lov'd, must know too well how soon
A trifling circumstance may throw a shade
Upon his pleasure.—A remember'd tune
Recalls the image of some fav'rite maid,
Who danc'd it with him; then how quickly fade
The noise and bustle of the festive night!
The ball, the play, the lively serenade,
And ev'ry moment of their past delight,
In one swift glance of thought were brought before his sight.
A trifling circumstance may throw a shade
Upon his pleasure.—A remember'd tune
Recalls the image of some fav'rite maid,
Who danc'd it with him; then how quickly fade
The noise and bustle of the festive night!
The ball, the play, the lively serenade,
And ev'ry moment of their past delight,
In one swift glance of thought were brought before his sight.
He who has never lov'd, can never know
Feelings like these: his soul can ne'er aspire
Beyond realities of joy and woe;
Self is the aim and end of his desire:
But love's imagination soars far higher;
Its sorrows are more keen, but it o'erpays
All sense of sorrow with affection's fire:
Tempests and sun-beams mingle in his ways;
Who would not have his storms, to bask beneath his rays?
Feelings like these: his soul can ne'er aspire
Beyond realities of joy and woe;
Self is the aim and end of his desire:
But love's imagination soars far higher;
Its sorrows are more keen, but it o'erpays
All sense of sorrow with affection's fire:
Tempests and sun-beams mingle in his ways;
Who would not have his storms, to bask beneath his rays?
97
He who has flown with rapture to receive
A long expected letter; he can tell
What bliss a line from her he loves can give;
And though upon the page perhaps may dwell
The sad expressions of a fond farewell;
He finds in every accent of despair,
A fond assurance that she loves him well:
And while he reads the tokens of her care,
He almost views the form of her who plac'd them there.
A long expected letter; he can tell
What bliss a line from her he loves can give;
And though upon the page perhaps may dwell
The sad expressions of a fond farewell;
He finds in every accent of despair,
A fond assurance that she loves him well:
And while he reads the tokens of her care,
He almost views the form of her who plac'd them there.
Dear is the occupation which he heard
Her lips approve, and precious to him then
The volumes she perus'd, for every word
Which she has look'd upon, appears to gain
A magic force; as if it could retain
The lustre of her glances. Love has thrown
A spell o'er all she did, her songs remain
Sweetest to him; a sweetness not their own;
'Tis that her lips have left a charm on every tone.
Her lips approve, and precious to him then
The volumes she perus'd, for every word
Which she has look'd upon, appears to gain
A magic force; as if it could retain
The lustre of her glances. Love has thrown
A spell o'er all she did, her songs remain
Sweetest to him; a sweetness not their own;
'Tis that her lips have left a charm on every tone.
| Outlines of Edinburgh, and Other Poems | |