The poetical remains of William Sidney Walker :: :: University of Virginia Library

It is the depth of night: far, far on high
The still white moon insensibly is stealing
Along the fleecy clouds and dim blue sky,
From out her silver cup to mortals dealing
The invisible dews of rest and slumbrous feeling;
And human griefs, and weariness, and pain,
Are hush'd beneath that eye so soft and healing,
As wintry winds, that all day long complain
Through some deserted hall, at night go rest again

II

Thou too belike, my gentle Theocrine,
Art laid in slumber cahn and innocent,
Lull'd by sweet thoughts, (such rest be ever thine!)
Fit close of day in happy duties spent
And tendances of love, with converse blent
And kindly household smiles. So liest thou dreaming,
Like infancy serene and confident,
While the meek moonlight, thro' the casement streaming
Upon thy sleeping face, makes sweeter its sweet seeming.

III

But not to me, fair love! but not to me
Comes genial rest, though oft entreated dear:
But anxious thoughts, that nightly watchers be
Beside my lonely chair, the servants drear
Of restless Grief, and heart-oppressing Fear,
True to their penal ministry, repel
Soft-footed Sleep, with looks and tones severe,
And words, whose import deep I may not tell
In this rude song, but guard like an unntter'd spell.

IV

Ah! woe is me, that I am forced to wrong
With my vain griefs, and moans importunate,
The beauty of fair silence! All too long
Has this sad strife endured, this wild debate
'Twixt feeble will and adamantine fate:
When will it end? What new and vital power,
Forth walking 'mid the spirit's desolate
And ruined places, there shall plant the flower
Of hope and natural joy, and build for peace a bower?

V

O Theocrine! the Spring returns again,
The heavenly Spring, and joy is over all:
The deep thick grass is wet with sunny rain,
Whose pattering drops like low soft music fall
On the wood-wanderer's ear: the wild-bird's call
Thrills the young listener's heart like aery wine:
On sloping banks, and under hedgerows tall,
The primrose lights her star:—one spirit divine
Fills heaven, and earth, and sea, gladdening all hearts but mine.

VI

—Of this no more: a voice, as of the tomb,
Is heard,—a long slow knell from yonder tower,
Telling of One cut off by sudden doom
In womanhood's full morn, and beauty's flower,
Even on the verge of the glad nuptial hour;
Leaving no record, save a portraiture
By artist memory hung in Friendship's bower,
And hauntings of remembrance, deep and pure,
In a few faithful hearts, scatter'd o'er earth's obscure.

VII

Thou walkest yet on earth, fair Theocrine,
And earth's mysterious influences convey
Nurture to thy soft frame, and spirit fine;
But She, for whom they grieve, hath cast away
Her fleshly robes, the dress of her brief day,
And laid her down in an eternal bed:
She hath no portion in life's work or play,
Its changes or its cares; her doom is said.
The lily blooms on earth; the rose is gathered.

VIII

She hath o'erpast the world-dividing bar;
Walks, without fear or wonder, that strange land,
Which when in dreams of thought we view afar,
Our hearts beat, and our struggling minds expand
Their wildest wings, or sink, with fear unmann'd
And soul-deep awe. No foot, of earthly mould,
Can trace her pathless course; no human hand
Uplift the cloudy veil, that hangs of old
Before the gates of death its undissolving fold.

IX

But ye, who knew her well,—for what ye knew,
Weep ye, and spare not! for the feelings high,
The heavenward thoughts, the heart in friendship true;
For dear hopes crush'd, and many a broken tie;—
Yea, for the glory of her deep dark eye,
Her star-white brow, her cheek's incarnate morn,—
Weep even for these! we grieve when roses die,
When evening's painted clouds to air return;
What God not scorn'd to make, why should we blush to mourn?

X

O Stella! golden star of youth and love!
In thy soft name the voice of other years
Seems sounding; each green court, and arched grove,
Where hand in hand we walked, again appears,
Called by the spell: the very clouds and tears,
O'er which thy dawning lamp its splendour darted,
Gleam bright: and they are there, my youthful peers,
The lofty-minded, and the gentle-hearted:
The beauty of the earth,—the light of days departed,—

XI

All, all return: and with them comes a throng
Of wither'd hopes, and loves made desolate;
And high resolves, cherish'd in silence long,
Yea, struggling still beneath the incumbent weight
Of spirit-quelling Time, and adverse fate:
These only live; all else have past away
To Memory's spectre-land: and She, who sate
'Mid that bright choir so bright, is now as they,—
A morning-dream of life, dissolving with the day.

XII

A dream,— no more.—And art thou more to me,
My living, but estranged Theocrine?—
As from this trance of thought I turn to thee,
Thou too art changed; thy earthly charms refine
Into a shadow of light,—a form divine,—
Most like that heavenly maid, who spake rebuke
And comfort to the visioned Florentine:
Like her,—but oh! less awful; for thy look
Is mild as evening heaven, thy voice like evening brook.

XIII

Thou speakest,—but thy words may not be told;
Too dreadful is the laugh of worldly scorn,
And censure, showering barbed shafts and cold
On noblest things:—but to my travel-worn
And darkling spirit, like an inward morn,
Thy mystic song hath risen, a guiding light,
To point my path through this dim maze forlorn;
Till borne aloof, beyond the cope of night,
I tread the spirit's home, the land of Truth and Right!