 | The genius of oblivion ; and Other Original Poems |  |
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THE RAINY DAY.
I.
When a robe of pure purple is thrown o'er Aurora,A rose tissued vesture, or mantle of gold,
And her smiles are soft sunbeams that promise Sol's glory—
What heart but will hail her, what eye but behold!
And yet, my poor muse, (may we venture to own it,)
Thou dost not delight in this gaudy display;
But the morn most propitious for hymn, song or sonnet,
A Niobe ushers the wan, rainy day.
II.
How soothing to hear, half aroused from our slumbers,The soft, patt'ring sound of the rain on the wall;
It steals on the senses like low, murmured numbers,
That seem of some genius the whispering call;
Nor joyless is nature, though gloomy the showers,
They brighten her beauties in purer array
They kiss the young buds and the half-opened flowers,
And fresher they'll smile for the long rainy day.
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III.
Then the burstling of business, the lounging of leisureDisturb not the thought, and divert not the gaze;
And hushed are the gay flutt'ring insects of pleasure,
That sport but in sunshine, and bask but in blaze;
And the soul with herself may commune, while the stillness,
So solemn, yet softened, aids fancy's wild way;
And she soars o'er the storm, all undamn'd by the chillness.
In the newness of nature, the long rainy day.
IV.
And throbs there a heart that is cold to the muses,A pulse but their tone gives a livelier thrill;
Or a mind that the witching enchantment refuses,
When they touch the deep chords with their tenderest skill;
Then mourn! If the day from Parnassus be beaming,
Nor vapors, nor ennui venture to stay;
O'er the past, and the future its mellow light streaming,
Shews visions that cheat e'en the dull rainy day:
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V.
Let them mourn who sit watching the clouds, while the treasuresOf wisdom and science unopened remain;
All blank as the skies are their plans and their pleasures,
Whose only resource is to talk of the rain;
Let fashion delight to her parties to rattle,
And sport a new shawl, or a bonnet display;
Oh, give me my muse, and my children to prattle—
My home then how happy the long rainy day!
August, 1822.
| The genius of oblivion ; and Other Original Poems | |