Songs, Ballads, and Other Poems by the late Thomas Haynes Bayly; Edited by his Widow. With A Memoir of the Author. In Two Volumes |
 | I. |
|
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| SONGS FOR AUTUMN EVENINGS. |
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
|
|
| II. |
|
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
|
|
|
| I. |
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
 | Songs, Ballads, and Other Poems |  |
221
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!
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!
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!
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!
222
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!
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!
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.
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.
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:
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!
Dream not away so sweet a night;
When clouds come on, repose at ease,
But do not waste nights fair as these:
223
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!
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.
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.
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.
224
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.
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 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.
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.
225
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.
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.
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.
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.
Who shall school the heart's affection?
Who will banish its regret?
If you blame my deep dejection—
Teach, oh! teach me to forget!
To her caverns pure and deep;
And a forced smile only wakes them
From the shadows where they sleep.
226
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!
'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!
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!
| Songs, Ballads, and Other Poems | |