 | The Poetical Works of Laman Blanchard |  |
157
PLEASURES OF PROMISE.
Things may be well to seem that are not well to be,
And thus hath fancy's dream been realised to me.
We deem the distant tide a blue and solid ground;
We seek the green hill's side, and thorns are only found.
And thus hath fancy's dream been realised to me.
We deem the distant tide a blue and solid ground;
We seek the green hill's side, and thorns are only found.
Is hope then ever so?—or is it as a tree,
Whereon fresh blossoms grow for those that faded be?
Oh, who may think to sail from peril and from snare
When rocks beneath us fail, and bolts are in the air!
Whereon fresh blossoms grow for those that faded be?
Oh, who may think to sail from peril and from snare
When rocks beneath us fail, and bolts are in the air!
Yet hope the storm can quell with a soft and happy tune,
Or hang December's cell with figures caught from June.
And even unto me there cometh, less forlorn,
An impulse from the sea, a promise from the morn.
Or hang December's cell with figures caught from June.
And even unto me there cometh, less forlorn,
An impulse from the sea, a promise from the morn.
When summer shadows break, and gentle winds rejoice,
On mountain or on lake ascends a constant voice;
With a hope and with a pride its music woke of old,
And every pulse replied in tales as fondly told.
On mountain or on lake ascends a constant voice;
With a hope and with a pride its music woke of old,
And every pulse replied in tales as fondly told.
Though illusion aids no more the poetry of youth,
Its fabled sweetness o'er it leaves a pensive truth;
That tears the sight obscure, that sounds the ear betray,
That nothing can allure the heart to go astray.
Its fabled sweetness o'er it leaves a pensive truth;
That tears the sight obscure, that sounds the ear betray,
That nothing can allure the heart to go astray.
| The Poetical Works of Laman Blanchard | |