 | Young Arthur |  |
LAMENT.
O, the blue eye of morning with cheerfulness beam'd,
And her soft cheek was tinted with health's purest hue;
Her breath like the spice gale of Araby seem'd,
Its poignancy check'd by the freshness of dew:
Such my morning of youth; I rov'd, buoyant as air;
'Twas the sweet dream of transport when chasten'd by truth;
'Tis past like a shadow — O, mem'ry, beware!
Recal not the dream of the days of my youth.
And her soft cheek was tinted with health's purest hue;
Her breath like the spice gale of Araby seem'd,
Its poignancy check'd by the freshness of dew:
Such my morning of youth; I rov'd, buoyant as air;
'Twas the sweet dream of transport when chasten'd by truth;
'Tis past like a shadow — O, mem'ry, beware!
Recal not the dream of the days of my youth.
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Yes — Recal me that morning while memory's warm'd;
On its fairy delusion I ever must dwell;
Like the bird by its beauteous destroyer when charm'd,
I fly to my fate, and to peace bid farewell!
Yes, recal me that morning, when Hope told a tale
Like the flatt'ry of fondness, I fancied all truth —
But 'tis gone, as the gossamer goes on the gale —
I wake from the dream of the days of my youth.
On its fairy delusion I ever must dwell;
Like the bird by its beauteous destroyer when charm'd,
I fly to my fate, and to peace bid farewell!
Yes, recal me that morning, when Hope told a tale
Like the flatt'ry of fondness, I fancied all truth —
But 'tis gone, as the gossamer goes on the gale —
I wake from the dream of the days of my youth.
O, the bloom of that morning for ever is gone!
But coeval with life will its mem'ry remain;
As the bright form of beauty lives carv'd in the stone
Shall mem'ry the form of that morning retain;
Yet by fancy alone the chaste sculpture is warm'd
With softness, with sweetness, taste, tenderness, truth; —
Like the genius who sighed for the statue he form'd,
I sigh for the dream of the days of my youth!
But coeval with life will its mem'ry remain;
As the bright form of beauty lives carv'd in the stone
Shall mem'ry the form of that morning retain;
Yet by fancy alone the chaste sculpture is warm'd
With softness, with sweetness, taste, tenderness, truth; —
Like the genius who sighed for the statue he form'd,
I sigh for the dream of the days of my youth!
O his locks they were grey,
And his temples were bare,
O'er his broad forehead lay
The deep furrows of care;
Yet his eye retain'd fire,
But was dimm'd by a tear;
'Twas a theme for the lyre
Both sacred and dear —
The sorrows of youth young hope may cheer,
As light mists fade in the golden ray;
But the sorrows of age are dark and drear,
As the black cloud frowns when the moon's away.
And his temples were bare,
O'er his broad forehead lay
The deep furrows of care;
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But was dimm'd by a tear;
'Twas a theme for the lyre
Both sacred and dear —
The sorrows of youth young hope may cheer,
As light mists fade in the golden ray;
But the sorrows of age are dark and drear,
As the black cloud frowns when the moon's away.
Yes, his locks they were grey, and he sorrow'd, in sooth,
Who sung of the dream of the days of his youth;
Aside him sat, earnestly list'ning, a boy,
Of Hubert and Ellen the pride and the joy;
Young Arthur the God-send; and goodly he grew,
As the evergreen, hope, in content's genial dew.
Who sung of the dream of the days of his youth;
Aside him sat, earnestly list'ning, a boy,
Of Hubert and Ellen the pride and the joy;
Young Arthur the God-send; and goodly he grew,
As the evergreen, hope, in content's genial dew.
A garden I had, and it chanc'd on a day,
When the flowers were all seeding, the pods open lay,
And many a seed with the breeze took its way;
On a spot one alighting, where wild flowers grew,
(The blue-bell, the dog-rose, the fox-glove, and more,)
By chance it took root, and when flow'ring all knew
Chance planted it there by the blossom it bore.
When the flowers were all seeding, the pods open lay,
And many a seed with the breeze took its way;
On a spot one alighting, where wild flowers grew,
(The blue-bell, the dog-rose, the fox-glove, and more,)
By chance it took root, and when flow'ring all knew
Chance planted it there by the blossom it bore.
| Young Arthur | |