 | Lyrical and other poems |  |
MY NATAL STAR.
Awake, my lyre, tho' sad the recollection,
That now gives fervor to thy trembling strings,
Yet, may thy strain, still soothe the deep dejection,
That, to my lonely bosom, coldly cling.
That now gives fervor to thy trembling strings,
Yet, may thy strain, still soothe the deep dejection,
That, to my lonely bosom, coldly cling.
Perchance some note, renew'd, of other hours,
May fail to jar upon my care-worn breast,
And Time may strew, for once, his path with flow'rs,
And mercy bid the hapless mourner rest.
May fail to jar upon my care-worn breast,
And Time may strew, for once, his path with flow'rs,
And mercy bid the hapless mourner rest.
Here shall my form recline beneath the willow
So loved in life, perchance in death 'twill rise
Above my grave; its roots, my head shall pillow,
Whilst its long shoots, my bosom canopies.
So loved in life, perchance in death 'twill rise
Above my grave; its roots, my head shall pillow,
Whilst its long shoots, my bosom canopies.
78
My hand upon thy woe-worn chords shall wander,
And I will beg, from fancy's wreath to gain
One bud, from out the many she will squander,
To deck my lyre and consecrate its strain.
And I will beg, from fancy's wreath to gain
One bud, from out the many she will squander,
To deck my lyre and consecrate its strain.
Some wilding rose, may bless my sleep, reposing,
Unknowing that it blooms above the form
Of one, the tissue of whose life disclosing,
Were gleams of moonlight, thro' an endless storm.
Unknowing that it blooms above the form
Of one, the tissue of whose life disclosing,
Were gleams of moonlight, thro' an endless storm.
But will it bloom, o'er one, whose life has blighted
All that it clung to? For my Upas-breath,
Has wither'd every bud that once delighted,
Chill and pervading as the grasp of death.
All that it clung to? For my Upas-breath,
Has wither'd every bud that once delighted,
Chill and pervading as the grasp of death.
Awake, my lyre, the moments that are fleeting
Command thee, quickly all thy strains prolong;
And, whilst life's last throbs in my heart are beating,
We'll meet death's form, with blandishment and song.
Command thee, quickly all thy strains prolong;
And, whilst life's last throbs in my heart are beating,
We'll meet death's form, with blandishment and song.
And thou shalt half destroy his chilling power,
And blunt the dart of venom he would send;
Wing, with a fancied joy, each weary hour,
And make me dream such visions cannot end.
And blunt the dart of venom he would send;
Wing, with a fancied joy, each weary hour,
And make me dream such visions cannot end.
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And I will listen 'till the coming Even,
And half forget the tyrant-conq'ror's blow;
Ah! would it were, that with such dreams of Heaven,
My heart had never been deciev'd 'till now!
And half forget the tyrant-conq'ror's blow;
Ah! would it were, that with such dreams of Heaven,
My heart had never been deciev'd 'till now!
There's not a ruder breath than stirs the flow'rs,
The stars are brightning up, the moon is pale,
And shines with equal light on wilds and bowers,
Sleeps on the mountain, nor forgets the vale.
The stars are brightning up, the moon is pale,
And shines with equal light on wilds and bowers,
Sleeps on the mountain, nor forgets the vale.
There is a star, that seems to wander o'er me,
Now bright it beams, now dimly seems to fly,
In paler lustre, as it moves before me,
As if 'twas link'd with my mortality.
Now bright it beams, now dimly seems to fly,
In paler lustre, as it moves before me,
As if 'twas link'd with my mortality.
Now gath'ring in deep lustre—how it kindles
In a rich flame, and brighter, deeper swell;
And now, behold, its magic brightness dwindles,
My Natal Star—'tis gone—my lyre, farewell!
In a rich flame, and brighter, deeper swell;
And now, behold, its magic brightness dwindles,
My Natal Star—'tis gone—my lyre, farewell!
| Lyrical and other poems | |