 | Fifty lyrical ballads |  |
TO THE EARL OF STAMFORD AND WARRINGTON
[_]
These Songs are all published with Music, but being the Property of various Persons, the Author has not the power of publishing them collectively. This Volume has therefore been printed for private circulation.
1
MY HARP OF SIGHS.
Alas I am not what I was
When last I sang to thee,
The playful song that won thy smile,
Is not the song for me:
My harp of smiles upon the earth
Unstrung, and broken lies;
And well I know that one so young
Will scorn my harp of sighs.
When last I sang to thee,
The playful song that won thy smile,
Is not the song for me:
My harp of smiles upon the earth
Unstrung, and broken lies;
And well I know that one so young
Will scorn my harp of sighs.
2
I have no song of youth and hope
That does not close in care,
I have no tale of woman's love
That ends not in despair;
I only breathe the name of joy
To tell how soon it dies,
I only sing the songs that suit
My dear—dear harp of sighs.
That does not close in care,
I have no tale of woman's love
That ends not in despair;
I only breathe the name of joy
To tell how soon it dies,
I only sing the songs that suit
My dear—dear harp of sighs.
I could not—if I would—be gay,
For when I touch the chords
I throw a shade of sadness o'er
The melody, and words:
Grief thro' her darkened glass, discerns
No sunshine in the skies,
The voice must mourn that mingles with
Thy notes, my harp of sighs!
For when I touch the chords
I throw a shade of sadness o'er
The melody, and words:
Grief thro' her darkened glass, discerns
No sunshine in the skies,
The voice must mourn that mingles with
Thy notes, my harp of sighs!
7
I HAVE LOVED THEE.
I have loved thee in the brightness of thy beauty and thy bloom,
I have loved thee in the shadow of thy sickness and thy gloom;
I have loved thee for thy sweet smile, when thy heart was light and gay;
Yet I loved thee even better when the smile had pass'd away:
I have loved thee in the shadow of thy sickness and thy gloom;
I have loved thee for thy sweet smile, when thy heart was light and gay;
Yet I loved thee even better when the smile had pass'd away:
Alas! I never loved thee with the common love of earth,
The love that boasts it's proud success in revelry and mirth;
My love was nursed in secret, like a blossom that has furl'd
All it's sweet leaves from the notice and the sunshine of the world.
The love that boasts it's proud success in revelry and mirth;
My love was nursed in secret, like a blossom that has furl'd
All it's sweet leaves from the notice and the sunshine of the world.
8
THE HEART OF A SOLDIER.
The heart of a soldier
Surrenders to thee;
The Champion of Freedom
No longer is free:
He decks with his laurels
Thy sylvan retreat,
And the spoils of the conquer'd,
He lays at thy feet.
Surrenders to thee;
The Champion of Freedom
No longer is free:
He decks with his laurels
Thy sylvan retreat,
And the spoils of the conquer'd,
He lays at thy feet.
But say, were I summon'd
Again to the field,
Would'st thou bring my helmet,
My sword and my shield?
And scorning the softness
Of tearful delay,
Would'st thou urge me forward,
To horse, and away?
Again to the field,
Would'st thou bring my helmet,
My sword and my shield?
And scorning the softness
Of tearful delay,
Would'st thou urge me forward,
To horse, and away?
9
Yes! such is the duty,
And such is the pride,
Of her whom a Soldier
Hath chosen his bride:
She shares and she sweetens
His peaceful repose,
And she smiles when to battle
And glory he goes.
And such is the pride,
Of her whom a Soldier
Hath chosen his bride:
She shares and she sweetens
His peaceful repose,
And she smiles when to battle
And glory he goes.
HAND IN HAND, LOVE.
Who would snatch from anxious lovers
Hopes, though they be link'd with fears?
Who would raise the mist that hovers
O'er our fate in future years?
Oh! not I! though clouds hang o'er us,
Sunbeams dwell beyond them still;
We'll pass o'er the path before us,
Hand in hand, Love, come what will.
Hopes, though they be link'd with fears?
Who would raise the mist that hovers
O'er our fate in future years?
Oh! not I! though clouds hang o'er us,
Sunbeams dwell beyond them still;
We'll pass o'er the path before us,
Hand in hand, Love, come what will.
No magician's art I covet,
To unfold my future lot;
Dark or light, no spell can move it,
Then 'tis best to know it not.
In the noon of summer weather,
I'll not dread December's chill;
Through the world we'll rove together,
Hand in hand, Love, come what will.
To unfold my future lot;
Dark or light, no spell can move it,
Then 'tis best to know it not.
In the noon of summer weather,
I'll not dread December's chill;
Through the world we'll rove together,
Hand in hand, Love, come what will.
12
E'en the gloomy now and then shall
Own our smiling system right;
Joy, when shared, grows more substantial,
Grief, when shared, becomes more light.
While from Nature's purest flowers
Nought but poison some distil,
We'll seek honey in her bowers,
Hand, in hand, Love, come what will.
Own our smiling system right;
Joy, when shared, grows more substantial,
Grief, when shared, becomes more light.
While from Nature's purest flowers
Nought but poison some distil,
We'll seek honey in her bowers,
Hand, in hand, Love, come what will.
14
'TWAS A FRIEND OF MY EARLY YOUTH.
'Twas a Friend of my early youth
That I met in a foreign land,
I knew him not—but thought I touch'd
A passing stranger's hand!
But the spell of the voice can never end;
He spoke—and I knew my early friend.
That I met in a foreign land,
I knew him not—but thought I touch'd
A passing stranger's hand!
But the spell of the voice can never end;
He spoke—and I knew my early friend.
Oh! that voice did revive again
All the feelings of other years,
The smile of welcome died away—
The word—was lost in tears;
He spoke—'twas a voice from my home I hear'd,
And it struck my heart's most sensitive chord.
All the feelings of other years,
The smile of welcome died away—
The word—was lost in tears;
He spoke—'twas a voice from my home I hear'd,
And it struck my heart's most sensitive chord.
18
THE BEACON LIGHT.
Why nightly burns a Beacon light
In yon secluded bay?
Who keeps the little taper bright
Until the dawn of day?
Oh it hath been for many years
A lonely woman's care;
Her form is chang'd by time and tears,
Yet still the light is there!
In yon secluded bay?
Who keeps the little taper bright
Until the dawn of day?
Oh it hath been for many years
A lonely woman's care;
Her form is chang'd by time and tears,
Yet still the light is there!
20
'Twas kindled by an anxious Bride,
One evening wild and dark;
She hoped to guide across the tide
Her sailor's fragile bark:
At sunset it was just in sight—
But storm-clouds fill'd the air!
And all that long, long dreadful night,
The Beacon light was there.
One evening wild and dark;
She hoped to guide across the tide
Her sailor's fragile bark:
At sunset it was just in sight—
But storm-clouds fill'd the air!
And all that long, long dreadful night,
The Beacon light was there.
Morn came at last,—the sail was gone!
She never saw it more!
Year after year she lives alone
Upon that fatal shore:
Unconscious of her faded form,
She braids her snow-white hair;
To guide her bridegroom thro' the storm,
The Beacon light is there!
She never saw it more!
Year after year she lives alone
Upon that fatal shore:
Unconscious of her faded form,
She braids her snow-white hair;
To guide her bridegroom thro' the storm,
The Beacon light is there!
25
FLAG OF THE WRECK.
Under the white cliff
Moulders the wreck,
See, the huge top-mast
Lies on the deck;
Ne'er shall its white wings
Hover again,
Like a wild sea-bird
Over the main.
Moulders the wreck,
See, the huge top-mast
Lies on the deck;
Ne'er shall its white wings
Hover again,
Like a wild sea-bird
Over the main.
26
Torn is the banner
Blood-red and blue;—
Where is the captain?
Where are the crew?
Hush'd are their passions,
Calm is their sleep,
Under the billows
Five fathom deep.
Blood-red and blue;—
Where is the captain?
Where are the crew?
Hush'd are their passions,
Calm is their sleep,
Under the billows
Five fathom deep.
Desperate beings,
Reckless as brave!
Ocean—your war-field,
Now is your grave!
Tempests have riven
Topmast and deck,
Sea-weed flaunts o'er them,
Flag of the Wreck!
Reckless as brave!
Ocean—your war-field,
Now is your grave!
Tempests have riven
Topmast and deck,
Sea-weed flaunts o'er them,
Flag of the Wreck!
27
BE A BUTTERFLY THEN.
Be a Butterfly then!—be the wildest, the worst,
Of the Insects that flutter Life's summer away;
Fly from bower to bower, as if thou wer't nurst
For no end upon Earth but to trifle and play;
Leave the labour of life to the Ant and the Bee,
While the world is so bright, what is labour to thee?
Of the Insects that flutter Life's summer away;
Fly from bower to bower, as if thou wer't nurst
For no end upon Earth but to trifle and play;
Leave the labour of life to the Ant and the Bee,
While the world is so bright, what is labour to thee?
30
Be a Butterfly then!—a mere summer day's toy,
To and fro flitting ever from smiles to repose;
Turn away from all shadows, and fancy it joy
To ramble in sunshine, or sleep in a rose:
Leave the labour of life to the Ant and the Bee,
While the world is so bright, what is labour to thee?
To and fro flitting ever from smiles to repose;
Turn away from all shadows, and fancy it joy
To ramble in sunshine, or sleep in a rose:
Leave the labour of life to the Ant and the Bee,
While the world is so bright, what is labour to thee?
Be a Butterfly then!—but the summer is brief,
And a season of tempest too soon will arrive;
When the garden has lost every blossom and leaf,
Thou wilt sigh for the sweets of the sheltering hive:
Though the winter has joy for the Ant and the Bee,
When the world is so cold, what is pleasure to thee?
And a season of tempest too soon will arrive;
When the garden has lost every blossom and leaf,
Thou wilt sigh for the sweets of the sheltering hive:
Though the winter has joy for the Ant and the Bee,
When the world is so cold, what is pleasure to thee?
31
THOUGH THE SUMMER MAY HAVE ROSES.
Though 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!
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!
44
Oh 'tis sad to see the splendor
Of the Summer pass away;
When the night is always stealing
Precious moments from the day:
But in Spring each lengthen'd evening
Tempts us farther off from home;
And if Summer has more beauty,
All that beauty is to come!
Of the Summer pass away;
When the night is always stealing
Precious moments from the day:
But in Spring each lengthen'd evening
Tempts us farther off from home;
And if Summer has more beauty,
All that beauty is to come!
OH! LEAVE ME TO MY SORROW.
Oh! leave me to my sorrow,
For my heart is oppress'd to-day;
Oh! leave me,—and to-morrow
Dark shadows may pass away:
There's a time when all that grieves us
Is felt with a deeper gloom;
There's a time when Hope deceives us,
And we dream of bright days to come.
For my heart is oppress'd to-day;
Oh! leave me,—and to-morrow
Dark shadows may pass away:
There's a time when all that grieves us
Is felt with a deeper gloom;
There's a time when Hope deceives us,
And we dream of bright days to come.
45
In winter, from the mountain
The stream in a torrent flows;
In summer, the same fountain
Is calm as a child's repose:
Thus, in grief, the first pangs wound us,
And tears of despair gush on;
Time brings forth new flowers around us,
And the tide of our grief is gone!
The stream in a torrent flows;
In summer, the same fountain
Is calm as a child's repose:
Thus, in grief, the first pangs wound us,
And tears of despair gush on;
Time brings forth new flowers around us,
And the tide of our grief is gone!
Then heed not my pensive hours,
Nor bid me be cheerful now;
Can sunshine raise the flowers
That droop on a blighted bough?
The lake in the tempest wears not
The brightness it's slumber wore;
The heart of the mourner cares not
For joys that were dear before.
Nor bid me be cheerful now;
Can sunshine raise the flowers
That droop on a blighted bough?
The lake in the tempest wears not
The brightness it's slumber wore;
The heart of the mourner cares not
For joys that were dear before.
49
BENEDICITE DAUGHTER.
The Lady Abbess was gone to her rest,
And the Nuns in their cells were sleeping,
Save one who sick of so dull a nest,
Was over the battlement peeping;
And under the convent wall she spied,
A boat on the dimpling water,
And in it a youth who fondly cried—
“Come down—Benedicite Daughter!”
And the Nuns in their cells were sleeping,
Save one who sick of so dull a nest,
Was over the battlement peeping;
And under the convent wall she spied,
A boat on the dimpling water,
And in it a youth who fondly cried—
“Come down—Benedicite Daughter!”
56
She threw him one end of a silken thread,
And she kept fast hold of the other,
“Be silent—be silent”—she trembling said,
“Or you'll wake our Lady Mother!”
She drew up a ladder of ropes, and soon
The youth in his stout arms caught her;
“Away!” he cried, “by the light of the moon,
“Away! Benedicite Daughter!”
And she kept fast hold of the other,
“Be silent—be silent”—she trembling said,
“Or you'll wake our Lady Mother!”
She drew up a ladder of ropes, and soon
The youth in his stout arms caught her;
“Away!” he cried, “by the light of the moon,
“Away! Benedicite Daughter!”
The Lady Abbess awoke—and she heard
A noise at the midnight hour;
She counted her brood, and missing a Bird,
She sought it in hall and tower:
The ladder she spied—and down it she hied—
—But she tumbled into the water!
The boat sail'd off, and the Lovers cried
“Farewell! Benedicite Daughter!”
A noise at the midnight hour;
She counted her brood, and missing a Bird,
She sought it in hall and tower:
The ladder she spied—and down it she hied—
—But she tumbled into the water!
The boat sail'd off, and the Lovers cried
“Farewell! Benedicite Daughter!”
72
I'VE SONGS TO SELL.
I've songs to sell, I've songs to sell,
Will you buy? will you buy?
Come cash my notes, I never yet
Have pitch'd my price too high.
Come, Lovers, I have lays for you,
All sentiment, and sighs;
And similes—not over new,
And vows—not over wise:
I've Serenades that ought to move
The most obdurate Fair;
I've transports for triumphant Love,
And dolefuls for Despair.
Will you buy? will you buy?
Come cash my notes, I never yet
Have pitch'd my price too high.
Come, Lovers, I have lays for you,
All sentiment, and sighs;
And similes—not over new,
And vows—not over wise:
I've Serenades that ought to move
The most obdurate Fair;
I've transports for triumphant Love,
And dolefuls for Despair.
I've Ballads, Lady, if you make
Such simple things your choice;
Oh sing, and let my verse partake
The sweetness of your voice:
While They who simple lays despise,
Preferring flights sublime,
Will find that I can sacrifice
My reason to my rhyme!
Such simple things your choice;
Oh sing, and let my verse partake
The sweetness of your voice:
73
Preferring flights sublime,
Will find that I can sacrifice
My reason to my rhyme!
I've songs for those with spirits high,
Who mingle laugh and jest;
For Mothers I've a lullaby
To soothe a Babe to rest:
Come one and all and buy my lays,
Let none refuse to sing,
For I have loyal songs, in praise
Of England, and her King!
I've songs to sell, I've songs to sell,
Will you buy? will you buy?
Come cash my notes, I never yet
Have pitch'd my price too high.
Who mingle laugh and jest;
For Mothers I've a lullaby
To soothe a Babe to rest:
Come one and all and buy my lays,
Let none refuse to sing,
For I have loyal songs, in praise
Of England, and her King!
I've songs to sell, I've songs to sell,
Will you buy? will you buy?
Come cash my notes, I never yet
Have pitch'd my price too high.
| Fifty lyrical ballads | |