The Poetical Works of Robert Montgomery :: :: University of Virginia Library

Introduction—Female Charms in all Climes—England paramount—Home-Scenery—Ideal Picture—Rural Landscape at Morning-Hour—Scenes, and Sights, and Sounds—Village-Cottages—Parsonage—The Hamlet-Queen—Her beauty and worth—An Angel of Social Mercy—Her little Sister—How trained and watched—The Brother—How remembered at Home —Village-reverence for the Pastor's Daughter— Dawning Emotions—Virgin Love—Its Depth and Delicacy—Transforming Power of the Affections— Courtship and its Charms—Progressive Love— Hopes and Anticipations—Tremors and Joys— Marriage Bells—Social Preparations—Bridal Room —Wedding-Scene—Departure—Moral Effects—A Domestic Future—Farewell!

Angel of life! whose love hath been
The master-charm of time and scene,
Romance in her Elysian mood
Creating forms of fair and good,
Hath not outsoar'd thy virtue's height,
Nor imaged forth more purely bright
Those lineaments of perfect grace
Which yet adorn thy breathing race;
For Fiction, when her mould was cast,
On truth might gaze, and feel surpass'd.

But where is woman most array'd
With all that mind would see display'd?
O England! round thy chainless isle
How lavishly all blessings smile,
And crowd within thy little spot
A universe of glorious lot!
But never till the wind-rock'd sea
Have borne us far from home and thee,
Thy purer charms we learn to prize
And feel the patriot's glow arise.—
Though Nature with sublimer stress
Hath stamp'd her seal of loveliness
On climes of more colossal mould,
How much that travell'd eyes behold
Would sated wonder throw away
To take one look where England lay!—
To wander down some hawthorn-lane
And drink the lark's delightful strain;
Or floating from a pastured dell
To hear the sheep's romantic bell,
While valeward as the hills retire
Peeps greyly forth the hamlet-spire,
And all around it breathes a sense
Of weal, and worth, and competence.
But, far beyond all other dowers,
Thy daughters seem Earth's human flowers.—
The charm of young Castilian eyes
When lovingly their lashes rise,
And blended into one rich glance
The lightnings of the soul advance,—
Wild hearts may into wonder melt
And make expression's magic felt.
Or, girded by the dreams of old,
In Sappho's Lesbian isle behold
A shadow of primeval grace
Yet floating o'er some classic face:
But where, in what imperial land
Hath Nature with more faultless hand
Embodied all which Beauty shows
Than round us daily lives and glows?
Here, mingled with the featured might
Of charms that coldest gaze invite,
Th' enamel of the mind appears
Undimm'd by wo, unsoil'd by years!
To wedded hearts devoid of strife
Here Home becomes the heaven of life;
And household-virtues spring to birth
Beside the love-frequented hearth,
While feelings soft as angels know
Around them freshly twine and grow.

A landscape of domestic love
Which God's paternal eyes approve,
Reflected from a homely dream,
Shall form my lay's concluding theme:
If there one heart its home can see,
'Twill render more than fame to me!

A vale of beauty!—lo, the Morn
In clouds of crimson radiance born,
Hath risen from the couch of night
And fills the air with fresh delight;
While hues, like harmonies that range
The world of sound with lovely change,
In varied lustre o'er the sky
Awaken, mingle, melt, and die;
Till full-orb'd on his flaming throne
The sun-King is beheld alone!
And blue as Baltic waves asleep
Before him lies a dazzling sweep
Of azure,—in its deep excess
Of morn-created loveliness.

How exquisite this breathing hour!
As though awhile some choral bower
Where Cherubim partake repose,
Its crystal gates did half unclose,
Till fragments of delicious sound
Came wafted on the winds around,
And bloom and balm to nature given
Made earth a momentary heaven!
Hark! to the choir of yonder wood

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Where life exults in solitude;
On each unrifled bough is heard
The lay of some melodious bird,
And young-wing'd breezes as they float
From brook and meadow learn a note;
And streams like tides of gladness, flow
And in the earth there dwells a glow
Of elemental youth and joy
Unchill'd by one corrupt alloy.
How dazzlingly with rosy dyes
The fairies of the field arise!
And flutter on their insect-wings,
As each a song of matin sings;
And where around the glitt'ring blade
A liquid web of dew is laid,
As early peasants' footsteps pass,
How greenly shines the shaken grass!
While many a lark from out the ground
Is startled, like a magic sound
Which ere the sense be half aware
Comes trembling through the lyric air!

And list, from out yon village-dell,
Upon the breeze in broken swell,
The goings-on of life begin
To charm the ear with social din.
The creak of hill-ascending wain,
The shout of some exulting swain,
The watch-dog baying far behind,
The mill-sounds hoarse upon the wind,
With voices from the child or crone,
Are all in gay confusion thrown;
And murmur on the morning-breeze;
With notes whose human echoes please.
From the thatch'd chimney now have broke
The tinted wreaths of cottage smoke,
Ascending delicately bright,
And braided by a golden light,
Like air-wing'd hopes that glide away
Commingling with the boundless day.
And see! amid the straw-roof'd throng
Of homes that to yon dale belong,
As dwelt the patriarch on the plain
Surrounded by his pastoral train,
A mansion smiles; whose neater state
Though unallied to proud or great,
A central grace around it throws
And o'er each cot a charm bestows.
Embower'd in laurels, green and calm,
To view it yields the eye a balm:
But when at eve its garden hath
A lustre on each lilied path;
When bough, and branch, and grape-hung vine
In rays of pensive beauty shine,
While gladsome bee and quiring bird
And leafy song are faintly heard,
There often hath the worldling cast
A longing eye, ere on he past,
And while it wander'd o'er the scene,
Mused, Oh! that such my own had been!

But is it like gay hearts that hide
With sunny brow a bitter tide
Of anguish in their gloom below,
Which they who suffer only know?
Have venom'd passions, fierce or wild,
The pureness of its peace defiled,
While outwardly its walls declare
Life's inner-world most tranquil there?
No: war and famine, blood and crime
Have stain'd the ghastly scroll of time;
And tears, the rain of torture, flow'd,
And conscience borne its burning load
While twenty years o'er earth have roll'd,
The aged die, and youth grown old;
Yet still, in unalloy'd content
Remains yon blissful tenement!
And, save the shadows which o'ersteal
The brightest fate the good can feel,
Around its heaven-protected scene
A summer of the soul hath been!
And like a fount whose waters fling
A freshness with faint murmuring,
Perceived alone by desert-flowers
That bud beneath its nursing powers,
From thence hath Charity's sweet store
Been scatter'd for the sick and poor.
So noiseless were the feet that trod
Those lovely paths which led to God,
That Angels only heard their tread,
And track'd them to some dying bed.

But where the ivied gate expands,
Within it what a vision stands!
More exquisite in brow and limb
Than those aërial cherubim,
Which painting in some starry dress
Reveals on clouds of loveliness!
Around her like a viewless zone
A fascinating might is thrown:
Her brow is pure as thought can be
And whiter than the foam-clad sea,
Expanded with an arch of grace
Like heaven's above a heavenly face;
And on that polish'd cheek, behold
Her ringlets, by the breeze unroll'd,
In gleaming motion dance and shake
Like ripples on a restless lake.
Her years are on the verge of heaven,—
That period when to life is given
The freshness of elastic youth
Yet touch'd with woman's deeper truth,
Again, behold that virgin face!
'Tis beauty in the mould of grace;
Incarnate soul lies sculptured there;
A feeling so divinely fair

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Is dwelling in those dark-fringed eyes,
That when they front congenial skies
Pure spirits well might deem that Earth
Had copied some celestial birth,
Or beauty in the world had grown
All spirit-like, to match their own!

Yet innocence with homely seal
Hath stamp'd the power her looks reveal;
And should her form the rustic meet
Amid some pent and crowded street,
So artlessly each lovely hue
Would dawn on his delighted view,
At once his mental eye would roam
To scenery round a village-home,
Till breeze and brook were heard again
Exulting o'er his native plain.

Companion of the morning hours
To tend her own infantine flowers,
Which grow beneath her guardian eyes,
And let their lids of bloom arise,
The garden-haunt she loves to pace:
And oft is seen, with bending grace,
And hand that scarcely wounds the air,
To nurse each bud unfolding there;
Till Fancy where her touch presides
Might dream the soul of flowers abides,
And wafts abroad their sweetest sigh
To greet her, as she glideth by.
Before her nought is forced to flee:
All undisturb'd, the rifling bee
When hived in bloom, may hum and sip
A banquet off the rose's lip:
The butterflies, bright gems of air!—
Can hover round her silken hair;
And not a bird that quells its song,
Or flutters when she moves along,
But sings as though a sunbeam came
Athwart the boughs with brighter aim.

'Twas here amid this haunt of dreams
Her childhood roved, and still it seems
Alive with voices heard of yore,
And breathes of them who breathe no more!
From out her casement's vine-clad height
She views it, when the veil of night
Lies dimly woven over all,
Or glitters like a dewy pall:
And here, when starry magic reigns
Amid the sky's nocturnal plains,
And moonlight with mysterious power
Hath mantled yonder grey church-tower;
The pensive maiden loves to stand
And let her night-born dreams expand.—
Nor is the scene bereft of charm:
The dusky roof of distant farm,
The meadows in their dim array,
The frowning coppice far away,
And cot that shows its twinkling pane
Adown the lone and green-bough'd lane,
While yonder where the cloven hill
Seems parted by a Tempest's will,
The billows wreathed with moonshine play
And warble forth an occan-lay,—
To hearts that feel the hush of night
Enchanting is their mingled sight!

A daughter, beautiful and good,
On the fair brink of womanhood,
When all the debt of love-watch'd years,
Of buried pangs and bosom'd fears,
By filial worth can be repaid,
Is more than words have yet portray'd.
What links, which time nor death can part,
Have bound her to a parent's heart!
Oh, deep beyond description lies,
Pure as the ray of seraph-eyes,
The love within parental souls!
Whatever tide of anguish rolls,
Whatever wreck the world can make,
Till God himself the good forsake
Affection is the life of life,
A power with more than feeling rife
Above all base dominion free,
A passion for eternity!

O, blest! unutterably blest,
The visions to their fancy prest,
When sire and mother blend a prayer
For thee, young spirit! fond as fair.
Thy being sways their mortal breath,
And shouldst thou die,—'twere more than death:
For in thy tomb their thoughts would dwell,
And darkness be their brightest spell.
To think on all thine artless ways
Since childhood reap'd its golden days;
From year to year delighted trace
The magic dawn of mind and face;
To watch thee in Life's daily round
With every trait of heaven abound;
And when some friend, whom time endears,
Hath warbled in their trancèd ears
Of noble acts in secret done,
And wreaths by silent virtue won,
Oh, then around their hearts to feel
A glow of admiration steal!—
Or haply, with prophetic truth
To picture for thy wedded youth
A Soul that shall be worthy thine,
With feelings from as pure a mine;
And when the church-yard yews shall wave
And darken o'er their cherish'd grave,
To feel, whatever time decree,
One Heaven their final home will be,
A bliss so pure no words unfold,
A joy so deep no eyes behold;

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That language must be taught Above
Whose power reveals a parent's love!

And thou art worthy, on whose brow
The stainless mind lies mirror'd now,
Around their guardian hearts to twine
Those feelings that are so divine!
No wish, or want, or hope, or joy,
No dreams of time thy youth employ,
But blended with their meaning lies
Approval shed from parent eyes.
And as a ray from out the sun
Reveals its birth where'er it run,
Thy virgin thoughts, howe'er they stroll,
Retain the brightness of the soul.
And often in thy sleep is heard
The fragment of some duteous word,
When lips of imaged parents seem
To bless thee in thy girlish dream.
How winning are those myriad ways
By which a child fond homage pays,
Those ministries of heart and hand
Which none but parents understand!
When Morning reigns in dewy power,
To hie and cull the choicest flower;
Or pluck the fruit whose bloom appears
Bedeck'd with Night's refreshing tears;
Or else with magic pencil take
The likeness of some hill or lake,
Some haunted spot, whose beauty hung
Rich praises on her feeling tongue,
And these to place in proud surprise
Before a mother's greeting eyes!—
Affection, let thy voice declare
How tender-sweet such trifles are!
For what is kindness, but the heart
In action, without guile or art,
Imparting by some nameless power
A bloom to each attractive hour?

But when bleak winter bares the earth
And Comfort hails the wonted hearth,
Then, child of beauty! thou art found
The central star of bliss around.
Some book divine, or antique tale,
Or shipwreck, where the savage gale
Swells howling o'er the black-waved sea,
Perchance, the chosen page may be:
Or Bard eterne with visions bright
Shall charm the soul of taste to-night;
Or haply, Music's heaven-born spell
Whose spirit thou canst wake so well,
Shall melt fond memory into tears
Or votive sighs, for vanish'd years:
And then, adown the tides of song
While thou enrapt art borne along,
The throbbing chamber seems to glow
With Melody's rich overflow!
And full before his bick'ring fire,
Delighted sits a dreaming sire;
Nor blame the mother, if her gaze
Be fill'd with more than fondest praise,
And Nature whisper through the heart,
“My child, how exquisite thou art!”

But, 'tis not in the noon of joy
When Life endures no stern alloy,
A daughter from her mind can pour
The fulness of affection's store:
For let but once a pang prevail,
A limb be rack'd, or cheek grow pale;
Let the wild torture of disease
Deny to heart and hand their ease;
Let sorrow once her frown impress
On Earth's uncertain happiness,—
Then, scorner of the sex! advance,
And learn the power of Pity's glance,
The tender might of woman's gaze
Unweaken'd by tormented days.
Through hours of blackness, when the mind
Seems prostrate, wreck'd, and unresign'd,
What pathos in her pleading eye!
How gentle her devoted sigh!
One look speaks more than man could say,
And each word wafts a pang away.

And there are ties whose thrilling truth
Pervade her uncorrupted youth
With energies that breathe and move
In daily acts of duteous love.
Behold yon sister!—fairy thing
Whose forehead, like the brow of spring,
Is ever-bright and ever-young,
And with the glow of gladness hung;
So light in form, a breeze of life
Secure from earth's contagious strife,
Round her own orb of home and glee
On wing'd delight she seems to flee!
Each pulse within her fine-wrought frame
Is tuned to joy's unsleeping claim;
Whether a cloud-isle richly drest
Her wonder-beaming eye arrest,
Or magic from some household-word
Young laughter into life hath stirr'd.
And dear as Nature's dearest tie
She grows beneath a sister-eye,
Who watches with a star-like gaze
Around her pure but perill'd days.
And rather than the air might press
Too bleakly on her loveliness,
Or pain one fleeting pang awake,
Would let the blood her heart forsake,
And drop by drop dissolve away
To win her life one pangless day!

And what, though years now intervene
To veil her own from childhood's scene,

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To robe an infant's face with smiles
And summon forth its mimic wiles,
As playmate she can stoop to be
Transform'd to frolic infancy!
Will echo back the bird-like sound
Of tiny laughs in merry round,
Nor coldly shun the meanest toy
That wings a moment's flight with joy.
And well those cherub-features play
In answer to her sister's sway,
Delighted, calm, or grief-array'd,
According as her words display'd
The tones which govern smiles and tears!
And often when some cloud appears,
By pain, or temper's gloom begot,
To shadow her infantine lot,
That sister can alone restore
The sunshine as it play'd before!
And duly as the car of Night
Returns, she bends with soft delight
Enamour'd o'er the precious sleep
Of lids too beautiful to weep!
No, never is the pillow prest
Before a parting gaze hath blest
That winning face!—so brightly warm,
So tinted with the rosy charm
Of slumber, that its beauty seems
The bloom of amaranthine dreams.

But ah! there is a dearer task
Whose toils a patient wisdom ask;
And who beyond a sister knows
Where best the germ of knowledge grows,
When Infancy begins to look
Abroad o'er Earth's unwritten book,
To read the world with curious eye,
And question truths beyond the Sky!
Fondly to aid the budding mind
When thought springs faint and undefined;
To teach her lips a word to frame
And prattle with some homely name;
Then day by day, as reason wakes
And mental twilight dimly breaks,
A delicate enchantment throw
Round each young truth the heart would know,
Thus nursing with a sweet control
The childhood of a cherish'd soul,—
O none but she can paint the joy
Of such divine and dear employ!
In wing'd delight thus years will speed,
And still in language, look, and deed,
Will sisterly affection be
A power of guardian purity,
And gently thus its magic wind
Around an infant's growing mind.

A brother!—oh, that thrilling name,
It vibrates through thy very frame
Thou queen of Boyhood's cloudless day!
In studious bower though far away,
Thy heart is haunted with a sense
Of all a brother's charms dispense.
His picture on thy bedroom-wall,
How frequently its lines recal
Th' imperial face, the manly brow,
The eyes which dared the soul avow
And smile that knew no mean eclipse
But ever round those graceful lips
In brightest welcome play'd for thee
In moods of unaffected glee!—
What tales of prowess, feats of mind
Around thy memory intertwined,
'Tis pure delight to oft unroll
In tones that touch parental soul!
Beside thee like a felt unseen
The shadow of his shape hath been,
Whene'er along some favour'd walk
Thy spirit dreams him smile and talk;
His voice is woven in the breeze
That carols round the garden-trees;
And fancy, when the moon gleams bright,
Can often on its mirror write
Emotions 'twas divine to share,
When both had fix'd their glances there!
Through weal and wo, through cloud and change,
Whatever clime or shore he range,
Till nature can itself deny
Undimm'd will shine affection's eye,
And stainless those deep waters prove
That well from out a sister's love!

And think'st thou, though thy smile afar
Hath vanish'd like a fairy star,
Companion of her girlish lot!
That thou art in thy home forgot,
Where memories like pulses play
Within the heart of each new day?
So long our early feelings last,
Affection owns no faded past!
For aye the glow of what was dear
Surrounds it like an atmosphere;
Eternal is the youth of thought,
Whatever outward change hath wrought,
And distance, though like death it seems,
Is conquer'd by creative dreams
Of fondness, acting o'er again
The brother in his spirit-reign!
For, all he fancied, felt, or did,
Her memory in fond silence hid,
And nought is trivial, wreck'd, or gone,
He cherish'd, loved, or gazed upon!
Like gems of earth his flowers abide,
With dew and tender rain supplied;
The birds are fed with fostering care,
His dog beneath the wonted chair

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In unalarm'd repose may lie
And fawn to win her playful eye;
The glossy steed, whose bounding limb
O'er hill and mead had toil'd for him,
Beside it she will often stand
With greeting voice and gentle hand;
The page he read grows doubly sweet,
For there communing thoughts can meet:
Each melody whose magic sway
Could best dissolve his soul away,—
Delightful 'tis again to pour
Around the room its richest store
Of melting sounds, which ere they die
Seem blended with a brother's sigh!—
But holier far is memory made,
And deeper is its might display'd
Whene'er the poor he loved to feed,
The hearts he caused no more to bleed,
She welcomes in some rustic cot,
And finds his goodness unforgot!
And ye, whose locks with hoary truth
Betray the flight of faded youth;
Whose hands have rock'd the cradled boy,
Or ere he lisp'd his little joy,
Full proudly may your tongues prevail!
For dear is each domestic tale
The homely past untreasures now
To brighten on a sister's brow!
But when arrives his well-known seal,
What ecstacy young eyes reveal!
Warm on the page her lips impress
A kiss of perfect happiness;
And well in that entrancing hour
When feelings claim prophetic power,
Since all unworn his heart appears,
A sister may outwing the years,
And vision round a brother's head
The rays of future glory spread!

And wouldst thou trace her secret tide
Of goodness to the poor supplied,
Winding unknown its village-course
From charity's divinest source?
Angelic woman! if to be
On earth a child of Deity,
Surpasseth all we deem renown,
How peerless thine immortal crown!
For shipwreck'd hearts, sole haven thou;
With pity on thy pensive brow,
And mercy in thy healing hand,
And voice beyond all music bland,
From cot to cell, oh! thou hast been
Life's angel in its blackest scene,
And often with the dying good
On the bright verge of Heaven hast stood!

And such thou art; and many a dame
Delights to hear thy darling name;
And many a tatter'd widow glows
To bless the hand that heal'd her woes:
While orphan babes in lane and street
With bright'ning face thy welcome meet:
And many a tale of mercy lives
The life which grateful Memory gives,
When Feeling round a cottage-fire
Can pay the debt thy deeds inspire!
And they are such as cannot die
Though honour'd by no human eye;
Unchronicled in rolls of worth,
Ungreeted by applauding earth,
Silent and secret though they be,
Their tablet is eternity!
Where graven by the Hand Divine
The glories of the good will shine.

And thus in virgin solitude,
Unbroken by the waters rude
Of that rough world, whose waves afar
Billow with life's tempestuous war,
Queen of the hamlet! years have flown,
And still thou art unwoo'd and lone:
Yet time with magic unconfess'd
Has moulded feelings in thy breast,
Which now like buried music float
With soft and secret under-note;
So delicate, they scarce appear
To haunt thy spirit's maiden sphere,
But waken'd once,—and they shall be
A soul within a soul to thee!
Emotions, of themselves afraid,
A temple in thy heart have made,
Wherein they flutter, like a bird
That trembles when a voice is heard!
And fancy loves a Being now
Whom shaping words cannot avow;
A Form of fine imaginings
To which attracted nature clings.
At length he comes! that nameless one
The eye of Dreams had gazed upon;
The magic and the mystery
Of life have now begun for thee,
And thou the type of heaven wilt prove
In primal, deep, and deathless love!

Emotion that is most sublime
Of all which hallows earth and time;
That Principle from whence we draw
The light of each celestial law;
Pervading Sense, victorious Power
Whom death nor darkness can devour;
An omnipresent might and spell
Wherein all mind and matter dwell,
Is Love!—by that bright word alone
We vision forth The vast Unknown,
The Ruler of the seraphim,
Whose glory makes the glorious dim!

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And not an element that glows
But breathes the life which love bestows.
So magical its wide command,
The sternest rock, the bleakest strand
Around an exiled wretch hath thrown
A charm that paradise might own!
And who, when form and face depart
Which seldom touch'd his deeper heart,
Or e'en in hours of marring strife
Disturb'd the pure serene of life,
That feels not, while he says, “Farewell!”
A love-born sense within him dwell?
A touch of heart, whose tenderness
Provokes him with a thrilling stress?
And hence the captive, when the light
Of freedom daunts his reeling sight,
With something of a mute regret
His gaze on dungeon-walls hath set,
Though Misery's hand had graven there
The words and weakness of despair!
There is but One who cannot love,
The Anarch of the thrones above;
Apostate, in whose sleepless eyes
A hell of burning hatred lies;
Whose torture is th' undying sense
Of unadored Omnipotence;
A wither'd, dark, defeated Mind,
That curses Heaven, and scorns mankind!

And will the loveless, stern, or grave,
Think human fancies wildly rave,
When young affection's meteors play
In dazzling falsehood round their way?
Oh! take him to some towering mind
Whose Orphic words entrance mankind,
And, when the mask is laid aside,
And backward rolls the blood-warm tide
Of feelings, rich with early truth,
And vital with the flush of youth,
How wither'd, wan, and leafless, grows
The laurel which Renown bestows,
To that bright wreath affection wove
Round the fair brow of youthful love!
That love, whose faintest impulse wrings
The bosom's agonised strings,
And even in its mildest reign
O'erpowers him with a yearning pain,
A feeling that is unforgot,
Which seems the core of life to rot
And deaden it with slow decay,
As water frets the rock away!—
Thus passion forms the bane or bliss
Of being, in a world like this;
The day or night of inward joy,
Which years may dim, but not destroy;
Love reigns but once, yet that will be
Affection's true eternity!
All future love mere echo seems
Of vanish'd hope's melodious dreams;
A dying tone of lost delight,
A fragment of those feelings bright
That once when youth and heart were whole
Excited, charm'd—and crush'd the soul!

But, maiden! in thy vernal bloom,
On thee attends a calmer doom;
No clouds along thy placid heaven
With heraldry of gloom are driven;
No! all is open, bright, and blest:
And hopes may wander unreprest,
Like birds of beauty when they fly
And wanton in their genial sky.
And not for thee are voiceless fears,
The rack of unrelieving tears,
The agonies which coil and wind
In secret round a wasted mind
Like vipers with envenom'd tooth,
To canker all the spirit's youth;
Nor Circumstance, with eye averse,
For thee hath framed a fearful curse!
That long as life's dull waters roll,
With broken heart and blighted soul
Thy feelings, on the rack of fate,
Shall live to mourn thy wedded state!
Serene as thy soft brow appears
The countenance of coming Years;
Consenting parents' blended voice
Hath sanction'd Love's ingenuous choice;
And nought descends from dreams above
More exquisite than woman's love,
When passion in its virgin morn
Within a soul like thine is born!
Thy love by self is undefiled
And foster'd like a spirit-child,
Revered and watch'd with heart and eyes;
To whom each thought would sacrifice,
Each hour devote its deepest care,
Each feeling give its fondest share;
And earth, and time, and joy, and youth
From hence derive their only truth.
Let one deceive, and dead would lie
The living world before thine eye!
And thus, when withered years depart,
They leave no wreck like woman's heart!
The ruin of her mind remains
Haunted by dim and dreary pains;
And pining thoughts each chamber throng
Where once arose the breath of song,
Till Sadness, link'd with cold Despair,
Unites to fix its dwelling there.

With man's compare her feelings fine,
How delicate, how half divine!
Torn by the slightest breeze of life
And shatter'd by each varied strife,
When wrong, or wo, or accident
Perturbs the spirit's element,

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In fragile bloom they seem to be
Like leaves on some majestic tree,
That often when the boughs are still
Regardless of the breeze's will,
Are shaken by a touch or tone,
And perish, ere the blast hath blown!

But thou art loved, and unbetray'd;
And who can paint, enamour'd maid!
The paradise where dream and rove
Those moments dedicate to love?
For One there is, whose eye repays
The fervour of thy fondest gaze,
Whose language with its melting tone
Of tenderness can match thy own;
Whose visions of the beautiful
When most his yielded heart they rule,
Are woven out of thoughts of thee
Like rainbows from a lovely sea!

Has the world changed, more heavenly grown,
And every taint of darkness flown?
That brightness is the sudden birth
Of feelings which ennoble earth,
Of passion in its stainless prime
Just risen on the brink of time!
By these transform'd, creation glows
With each warm tint the mind bestows;
A deeper verdure decks the grass;
The clouds with richer glory pass,
The winds a sweeter welcome chant,
And wheresoe'er her footsteps plant
Their printless beauty, smile and sound
Of new enchantment hover round!
To her 'tis mystery;—but the mind
Grown exquisite and o'er-refined,
Can veil the universe with light
Till all is heaven that meets the sight,
And outward nature wears the dress
Of mind's internal loveliness.

Commingled souls! 'twere vain to tell,
Around them as rich evening fell
And clouds of calmest beauty lay
Like dreams of air along the way
Where wan and far th' horizon wound,
While nought but ocean breathed a sound,
How often on the placid shore
They rambled, till the light was o'er,
What rapture on each radiant cheek,
While softer than the billows speak
Responsive to the pleading wind,
The murmurs of each happy mind!
The waves beneath, the skies above,
All sights and sounds were born of love!
So all unstain'd by earth's alloy
Their very blood grew liquid joy;
So full their hearts, they fain would reel,
And make delight too deep to feel!
Th' aroma of all mortal bliss
Enrich'd an hour so charm'd as this;
Till soul-enrapt, they seem'd to be
Attracted nearer Deity;
While each to each immortal grew,
And saw the spirit beaming through
A glowing face, where Love had given
The features that were form'd for Heaven!

All hours are sweet, when love is there
A loveliness to make and share;
All scenes delight, when eyes adored
The magic of their gaze afford;
No rock is bleak, no desert rude,
When Beauty walks the solitude:
But moonlight charms the outward eye
Like music heard by memory;
And temptingly the moonbeams play
Around young lovers' lonely way,
As though fond Nature glow'd to meet
The pressure of their timing feet.
Belated, like a starry train
When loth to quit the azure plain,
Yon vision'd pair, behold them now
While Dian bares her crested brow,
And clouds of alabaster white
Float on the soundless breath of night.
How beautiful Creation's sleep!
So innocent, so calm, and deep:
The air is rock'd to voiceless rest;
The bird within his woven nest;
The dew upon unshaken leaves
A web of filmy lustre weaves;
And onward as the lovers steal,
You'd deem the fairy ground could feel
Their shadows o'er its silence fall,
So rapt a stillness veileth all!

But they have reach'd a woodland-shore,
Where billows, now the breeze is o'er,
Are blended into one broad mass
Of heaving glory,—like a glass
Reflecting forth with twinkling change
The heaven-lights, in their lofty range.
Magnificent, and mute, and bright,
To feel it, is to worship night!
And there they stand, absorb'd and blest,
In adoration unexprest;
Yet drinking in with eye and soul
Earth's beautiful and boundless whole.
And when that tranced delight is o'er,
They glide along yon glittering shore;
Where tones of whisper'd feeling take
The heart from each! as lips awake
In words which Love design'd to be
The heart's revealing masonry.

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A past, in its undying truth
Still vocal with the vows of youth:
A future, with each promise rife
Of tranquil home and wedded life,
Of these they talk, and plan, and scheme,
Indulging hope's oracular dream:
So soft the hour, the future rolls
Obedient to prophetic souls
By banks of bliss, and meads of flowers,
As though from wishes came the hours!
But night hath deepen'd: now they roam
Enchanted to expecting home;
And see! where downward hills retire,
In dim repose the village-spire!
Around it smiles a yellow moon
Gilding the leafy flush of June.
But home is reach'd, the room is gain'd,
With many a blush the walk explain'd,
Whose length 'twas not for time to meet,
For what can weary lovers' feet!
And smiles on each parental face
Have risen with forgiving grace;
And on the mother's brow is read
A tale which truth might thus have said,
“How often when my age was thine,
Were walks as long and lonely mine!”

And say, can aught but death unbind
Affections round her soul entwined?
Though distance may bereave the eye
And o'er him hang a stranger sky,
The sun that brings her spirit's day
Is born of his illuming sway.
The ground he trod a glory wears;
The twilight-walk his step declares;
No melody so sweetly heard
As fancy's love-repeated word;
His picture on her heart portray'd,
(Soft mem'ry asks no other aid)
Bright o'er her face she oft can feel
His vision'd gaze of fondness steal!
The breathings of his soul begin
To thrill her echoing soul within;
And then, ere mind is half aware,
Her lips address the tongueless air
In words of unregarded tone,
As sunlight on a rock is thrown
Where flower nor herbage, fruit nor stream,
Exult to drink the offer'd beam.
Against him raise a slanderous breath,—
And blooming looks the cheek of Death,
Compared with that appall'd distress
That blights her features' loveliness!
Applaud him, and the heart will rise
Dissolved within her dewy eyes!
Lustrous, and fill'd with tearful light
Like rain-beads when the moon is bright.
Voiceless her tongue, but what a glow
Of spirit's grateful overflow,
In eloquent excess appears
To glitter through those dawning tears!
And ah! forgive, if fondly weak
Too soft of one her soul will speak;
And faintly interweave his name
With hours when love should hide its claim.
For thus chance-words will oft betray
How secret thoughts roam far away;
And hence by soft and sudden tone
The dreamings of the mind are shown,
Like rays of beauty when they dart
From out a cloud's divided heart,
And dazzle into gay surprise
The lids of unexpecting eyes.

Too much of pomp and aim is seen
Where'er the pen of man hath been;
But, lovely one! how sweet for thee
Within thy trellis'd room to be,
And there to language yield thy mind
As bends a flower before the wind!
And, aimless save the soul to show,
What magic will thy words bestow,
As bright they rush with fondest speed
To visit eyes which yearn to read
Each syllable that love can frame,
When hallow'd by so dear a name!
Between its banks as roams the stream
And murmurs like a liquid dream,
Surrender'd to the guiding force
Of nature in its beauteous course,—
So artlessly is woman's mind
To tones of untaught grace resign'd,
And wanders down the fairy tide
Of words whose sweetness love supplied!

Bells on the wind! hark! peal on peal
Comes wafted with melodious zeal,
Making the morn so bright and clear
To thrill like joy's own atmosphere!
A bird-song from each holly flows;
The bee hums loudly in the rose;
And like a soaring dew-drop seems
The butterfly to shed its gleams
Of hue and lustre, in wild play
Of rapture round its wingèd way.—
Creation, like a human soul,
Feels gladness through each fibre roll!

And mark ye, where yon churchyard shows
The tombs' and turfs' sepulchral rows,
And sunbeams o'er the graves advance
To touch them with as bright a glance
As once around each living head
The beauty of their joyance spread,—
A crowd of village forms attends;
Their lip with lip loud welcome blends;

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And homeward by a rose-strewn track
The gay-eyed young are wending back,
To drink around a festive board
Such health as loving hearts afford.

But whence the joy?—behold yon room,
And there in hymeneal bloom
Array'd like clouds of fleecy mould
When round the moon their grace is roll'd,
And bending like a human flower,
With beauty for her matchless dower,—
The bride, the daughter, and the queen
Whose virtues crown our vision'd scene!

Poet and painter, each may bring,
Fresh from the spirit's fountain-spring
Full many a truth and many a tone
Which Nature shall confess her own.
But there, in yon bright room are met
Feelings which ne'er were mirror'd yet,
Save by the features when they start
To life from out the living heart!—
The old, the tried, whose years retain
The light of early friendship's reign,
From childhood holding firm and deep
The faith unworldly bosoms keep;
A sire, upon whose honour'd head
A silvery grace of time is spread,
Beholding like a priest of joy
The smiles which every face employ,
(Though mellow'd is the meeker smile
That slumbers on his own the while)
Again unite:—and she is there,
Whose heart becomes one voiceless prayer,
That life may round a daughter pour
Exhaustless mercy's heavenly store!

And thou! 'mid all the bridal star,
Thy bosom is one tender war
'Tween fond regret for faded hours,
And love whose fulness overpowers!
Deep tears within thy heart arise
Though scarcely yet they dim thine eyes,
Lest shades of grief should haply fall
Upon thy wedding-carnival,
And eyes parental catch from thee
A tear thy soul would shake to see!
But when the sad adieus are sigh'd
Thy spirit to its core is tried,
As garden, ground, and village-mead
From the wing'd chariot fast recede:
One look! so long it seems to cling
Around the spot of Life's dead spring!
One rapid glance at paths of yore,
Where roam'd the Days which breathe no more!
And nature, wrung beyond control,
In tears will then express thy soul!
And let them fall! for tears like thine
Might hang on eyelids half divine;
And love in their excess can see
How soft a woman's soul can be.

And she is gone! the wedded maid
Whose loveliness a home array'd
With lustre caught from every gaze,
Her look, her laugh, her winning ways,
How are they felt as unforgot
In each young scene and household-spot!
Dismal the once glad room appears;
And eyes are charged with coming tears,
When haply to their pensive sight
Some little gift is brought to light,
Some token of departed hours
For memory left, like waning flowers!
The fairy harp her fingers loved
In tomb-like calm stands unremoved;
And o'er her pictured face is sigh'd
A deeper thought than words supplied,
When silent, sad, unwatch'd, and lone,
A mother lets her grief be shown!
Yon garden, too, now reft and lorn,
Methinks its alter'd features mourn,
So droopingly the flowerets bend,
So dyingly their leaves depend,
To what they were, when dew-bright Dawn
Beheld her on the breathing lawn
The goddess of the matin hour,
Arraying each expectant flower
With life and beauty; while the bird
Sang in the laurel-boughs unstirr'd,
And each coy breeze which caught her hair
Enamour'd hung, and nestled there!
Her sister, she whose tiny feet
Were wing'd when one was there to meet,
Now prattles in her dream and walk,
As though the lisping mind could talk
Of nothing, save that dearest one
Her bosom yearns to rest upon!
And many a Home her hand relieved
For one so pure hath pined and grieved;
Whose presence to the cottage grew
Like heaven before a martyr's view,—
So bright the change her blessing made
When sorrow had the soul betray'd.

But what remains for Minstrel-art?
Aught further can his page impart
Of feelings whose domestic sway
Conducts the hours of life away?
Then picture for thy pensive mood
A tranquil home in solitude;
And there, behold! the maid we drew
In Nature's soft but sterling hue.
Those budding traits, when girlhood smiled,
Of heart and mind, which all beguiled,

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Expanded now to full-blown grace,
Have alter'd not with time and place:
Each added year has hail'd the birth
Of some new charm and noble worth;
And, save that on her brow appears
A mellow tinge of matron years,
And in her eye serenely glows
The magic of the mind's repose,
A girl in spirit still is left
Without one ray of youth bereft.

She is a mother! what a bliss
Celestial fills a name like this
With meaning, whose concentred might
Is mock'd by that mean word—delight!
For sooner may cold earth describe
The glories of th' angelic tribe,
Than any save a mother tell
What mysteries in her being dwell.
How spirit-fill'd her loving face!
How beautiful! thereon to trace
The imagery of rising thought
By feeling's hidden sculpture wrought!
When infant-voices round her roll
Like echoes of maternal soul;
And words like shatter'd music rise
Faint on her ear, in fond replies
From lips that quiver lisp and play
Like blossoms on a breezy day.
But, ah! should malady destroy
Each fairy bud of infant joy,
And broken cries but half reveal
The buried pangs dark moments feel,
What wrung Despair in tragic stone,
What Misery in marble shown,
In eloquence of grief can vie
With all that speaks her loving eye!—
When bending o'er a tortured child
By fits 'tis fervent, sad, or wild,
And prompt, if pain might thus be quell'd,
To drink the anguish she beheld
Into her soul, with one deep gaze,
And bear it with immortal praise!

Home of my fancy, fare thee well!
Unbroken be thy guardian spell;
Though not unmarr'd may be thy fate,
Since darkness girds our brightest state,
And Life along each path of hours
With thorns hath intertwined the flowers:
Yet hearts where home and love unite
Share more than bleakest years can blight;
The sky may frown, the tempest fall,
But Woman can o'ercome them all,
While calm within affection's eyes
Endures that beaming paradise,
Where sorrow seeks a bright repose
And basks beyond the reach of woes.

Land of my soul! maternal Isle
Array'd by Freedom's holy smile;
Whose throne is founded on the cause
Of native worth and noble laws;
Oh, long may Private Life be found
The glory of our British ground,
And Woman on her stainless brow
Wear the bright soul we honour now!
For though thy fleets o'erawed the main
Till every billow felt thy reign;
And captive Empires drew the car
Of victory from triumphant war,
Thy strength is canker'd, if the core
Of private life be sound no more.
Consumption on the cheek can bloom,
When Beauty but declares a tomb;
And eyes their brightest meaning shed
While every ray foretells the dead;
And thus may fatal glory be
An Empire's garb of infamy,
If once that spring of manly pride,
True gallantry, be stain'd or dried:
Or Woman from her high domain
Must dwindle into meaner reign.

The touching grace, the tender glow
Of what our fondest moods bestow;
The hopes which keep the heart awake
And self from out the selfish take;
The softness and the spell of all
That bridal dreams elysium call,
Born of her magic, blend their sway
To charm the clouds of time away:
And if there be a home on earth
Where nature most unveils its worth
And earth and heaven can intertwine,
Angel of Life! that home is thine.