Poems By the Rev. James Hurdis ... In Three Volumes |
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| XIII. | XIII. SECOND ADDRESS TO THE MOON. |
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XIII. SECOND ADDRESS TO THE MOON.
Moon that so fairly risest from the crown
Of yon high oak, and wast so fondly pray'd
To fill thy orb with light, ah me! how cold,
How little welcome is thy cheerless beam!
Methought it would have found me full of hope,
And at the side of one whose winning smiles
My soul devoutly honours. But it comes
To see me languishing in discontent,
To see me pining with a brimful eye,
Soliciting in vain the buried dart
Which festers in my bosom. Gentle moon,
How did I blame thee that thy phasy lamp
So tardily increas'd! For now methought
I should again my charmer's eye engage,
And touch the hand which her own welcome word,
Her own spontaneous promise had decreed
Should at this moment have been link'd in mine.
Of yon high oak, and wast so fondly pray'd
To fill thy orb with light, ah me! how cold,
How little welcome is thy cheerless beam!
Methought it would have found me full of hope,
And at the side of one whose winning smiles
My soul devoutly honours. But it comes
To see me languishing in discontent,
To see me pining with a brimful eye,
Soliciting in vain the buried dart
Which festers in my bosom. Gentle moon,
How did I blame thee that thy phasy lamp
194
I should again my charmer's eye engage,
And touch the hand which her own welcome word,
Her own spontaneous promise had decreed
Should at this moment have been link'd in mine.
O happiness, thou fair delusive flower,
How painfully had I thy puny bud
Taught to unfold its slow reluctant leaf!
How had I cherish'd thee, with little doubt
Ere this thy grateful blossom would have grac'd
The glowing bosom of rewarded love!
But ah! a cruel worm has kill'd my hopes,
Nor can I decorate a wounded heart
With that sweet blossom which it surely needs.
An exile let me wander, far from hope,
Far from the haven of content and ease,
Far from that Paradise my doting heart
Fondly suppos'd its own. Such was the pain
Desponding Adam felt when from his hand
The gracious Angel parted, and he saw
Before him barren earth's unbounded plain,
Behind him God's high-blazing fiery sword.
Such anguish felt he when the golden gate
Clos'd on the blooming garden, which his hand
Had with affection nurtur'd. And such too
Were the few natural drops he shed apart,
And wip'd them soon. So did he overlook
And bury in her tears the bitter smart
Eve's indiscretion rais'd, concealing half
And all forgiving the vast woe he felt.
How painfully had I thy puny bud
Taught to unfold its slow reluctant leaf!
How had I cherish'd thee, with little doubt
Ere this thy grateful blossom would have grac'd
The glowing bosom of rewarded love!
But ah! a cruel worm has kill'd my hopes,
Nor can I decorate a wounded heart
With that sweet blossom which it surely needs.
An exile let me wander, far from hope,
Far from the haven of content and ease,
Far from that Paradise my doting heart
Fondly suppos'd its own. Such was the pain
Desponding Adam felt when from his hand
The gracious Angel parted, and he saw
Before him barren earth's unbounded plain,
195
Such anguish felt he when the golden gate
Clos'd on the blooming garden, which his hand
Had with affection nurtur'd. And such too
Were the few natural drops he shed apart,
And wip'd them soon. So did he overlook
And bury in her tears the bitter smart
Eve's indiscretion rais'd, concealing half
And all forgiving the vast woe he felt.
Poor discontented heart! when shalt thou taste
Of the pure spring of happiness again!
Wide is the moon from the life-shedding sun,
Wide are the spangled heavens from the earth,
Wide is the east from the day-drowning west;
Yet are not all these distances so wide
As the wide distance between thee and peace.
Thou restless tenant of an aching breast,
Why dost thou labour at the forge of life
With such impetuous stroke? 'Tis not disease
Which comes thy little kingdom to disturb:
'Tis not the fever which alarms my blood,
Or brain delirious, which in ugly dream
Sees bony death with his potential bar
Heaving the lid of the unwholesome vault,
To give my relics room. No, 'tis the loss
Of only one sweet jewel dearly priz'd,
Whose absence may be some day not perceiv'd,
Tho' never recompens'd. Then be at ease;
The darkest night is follow'd by a dawn;
The gloomiest cavern has a distant mouth,
Which opens to the sun. Anguish and pain
Are changeable and waning as the moon.
The weeping mother of an only child
Can place him in the bowels of the earth,
And feel content again. His blooming bride
The husband buries, and forgets his loss.
Then may thy quick tumultuous throb be still'd
By the slow lapse of moments, months, and years.
Be patient then, and let my wakeful eye
Meet its accustom'd slumbers. One pang more
Shall be allow'd thee, when the die is cast,
And she's for ever and for ever gone.
Then to thy peace return, nor waste a sigh,
Convinc'd that Heaven in the cup of life
Mingles prevention for the good of man.
Of the pure spring of happiness again!
Wide is the moon from the life-shedding sun,
Wide are the spangled heavens from the earth,
Wide is the east from the day-drowning west;
Yet are not all these distances so wide
As the wide distance between thee and peace.
Thou restless tenant of an aching breast,
Why dost thou labour at the forge of life
With such impetuous stroke? 'Tis not disease
Which comes thy little kingdom to disturb:
'Tis not the fever which alarms my blood,
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Sees bony death with his potential bar
Heaving the lid of the unwholesome vault,
To give my relics room. No, 'tis the loss
Of only one sweet jewel dearly priz'd,
Whose absence may be some day not perceiv'd,
Tho' never recompens'd. Then be at ease;
The darkest night is follow'd by a dawn;
The gloomiest cavern has a distant mouth,
Which opens to the sun. Anguish and pain
Are changeable and waning as the moon.
The weeping mother of an only child
Can place him in the bowels of the earth,
And feel content again. His blooming bride
The husband buries, and forgets his loss.
Then may thy quick tumultuous throb be still'd
By the slow lapse of moments, months, and years.
Be patient then, and let my wakeful eye
Meet its accustom'd slumbers. One pang more
Shall be allow'd thee, when the die is cast,
And she's for ever and for ever gone.
Then to thy peace return, nor waste a sigh,
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Mingles prevention for the good of man.
| Poems | |