Madmoments: or First Verseattempts By a Bornnatural. Addressed to the Lightheaded of Society at Large, by Henry Ellison |
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A SONG. |
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 | Madmoments: or First Verseattempts |  |
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A SONG.
The Greenwood with songs is ringing loud,The stream, 'neath the wing of a passing cloud,
Is eddying fretful, like child at play,
When chided, and then it hurries away
In the bright sunshine, gleesome and glad,
Like Joy, when calm Wisdom has touched the sad
And darkling thoughts into Pleasure's hue,
Turning our Fancies to channels new;
Ye Greenwoodbirds, ye Greenwoodbirds,
Oh tell me what sweet mystery
Lurks in your notes, that thus, like words
Of bygone days, they sound to me?
Is it that in the heart of man,
The feelings which with life began,
Tho' gone, still leave their echos there,
And when ye sing, they from their lair
Start into life once more?
Oh give me of your gentle lore
But just so much that I may sing,
And charm you on the stirless wing
As you charm me:
A touch of your own holy glee,
Where selfdisturbance dwelleth not,
Nor shadows of past faults to blot
The stainless page of Memory!
The Evening oalls ye to the nest,
And bids her star watch o'er your rest,
Twinkling so softly thro'
The dewleaves, where your gleesome eyes
Are closed, and hushed the harmonies,
That from your bosoms flow.
And when the sun's cloudgilding ray
Falls on ye, up ye start, and away,
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Thus is your life, from day to day,
A joy and a beauty, a charm for aye,
With not a shadow of pain!
What silent Wisdom do ye teach
To us, who, in our Pride, still preach
Of God's high Word and Grace;
We mouthe the blessed Truth, yet ne'er
The seed within our hearts can bear
Its fruit, or leave a trace.
For oh! a fretful, stiffnecked Will,
Is quicker than the thorns to kill,
And choke the wholesome seed,
But ye are wise, ye learn, not teach,
And practice, while we idly preach,
Of rules ye have no need!
Ye find a bed 'neath every leaf,
Your joy is long, your toil is brief,
Ye live much in short time!
Ye bring me sweet, sweet memories,
Of times when I was e'en
As ye are, with your gladsome eyes,
Tho' no more what I've been!
Farewell, farewell, ye happy things,
Oh that I had a pair of wings
With ye to fly in bliss,
From this vain scene of cares and fears,
Where Joy faintsmiles thro' Sorrow's tears,
And all but seems, not is!
| Madmoments: or First Verseattempts | |