 | The poetical writings of the late Willis Gaylord Clark |  |
129
OLD SONGS.
Give me the songs I loved to hear,
In sweet and sunny days of yore;
Which came in gushes to my ear
From lips that breathe them now no more;
From lips, alas! on which the worm,
In coiled and dusty silence lies,
Where many a loved, lamented form
Is hid from Sorrow's filling eyes!
In sweet and sunny days of yore;
Which came in gushes to my ear
From lips that breathe them now no more;
From lips, alas! on which the worm,
In coiled and dusty silence lies,
Where many a loved, lamented form
Is hid from Sorrow's filling eyes!
Yes! when those unforgotten lays,
Come trembling with a spirit-voice,
I mind me of those early days,
When to respire was to rejoice:
When gladsome flowers and fruitage shone
Where'er my willing footstep fell;
When Hope's bright realm was all mine own,
And Fancy whispered, “All is well.”
Come trembling with a spirit-voice,
I mind me of those early days,
When to respire was to rejoice:
When gladsome flowers and fruitage shone
Where'er my willing footstep fell;
When Hope's bright realm was all mine own,
And Fancy whispered, “All is well.”
Give me old songs! They stir my heart
As with some glorious trumpet-tone:
Beyond the reach of modern art,
They rule its thrilling cords alone,
Till, on the wings of thought, I fly
Back to that boundary of bliss,
Which once beneath my childhood's sky
Embraced a scene of loveliness!
As with some glorious trumpet-tone:
Beyond the reach of modern art,
They rule its thrilling cords alone,
130
Back to that boundary of bliss,
Which once beneath my childhood's sky
Embraced a scene of loveliness!
Thus, when the portals of mine ear
Those long-remembered lays receive,
They seem like guests, whose voices cheer
My breast, and bid it not to grieve:
They ring in cadences of love,
They tell of dreams now vanished all;
Dreams, that descended from above—
Visions, 't is rapture to recall!
Those long-remembered lays receive,
They seem like guests, whose voices cheer
My breast, and bid it not to grieve:
They ring in cadences of love,
They tell of dreams now vanished all;
Dreams, that descended from above—
Visions, 't is rapture to recall!
Give me old songs! I know not why,
But every tone they breathe to me
Is fraught with pleasures pure and high,
With honest love or honest glee:
They move me, when by chance I hear,
They rouse each slumbering pulse anew
Till every scene to memory dear
Is pictured brightly to my view.
But every tone they breathe to me
Is fraught with pleasures pure and high,
With honest love or honest glee:
They move me, when by chance I hear,
They rouse each slumbering pulse anew
Till every scene to memory dear
Is pictured brightly to my view.
I do not ask those sickly lays
O'er which affected maidens bend;
Which scented fops are bound to praise,
To which dull crowds their homage lend:
Give me some simple Scottish song,
Or lays, from Erin's distant isle:
Lays that to love and truth belong,
And cause the saddest lip to smile!
O'er which affected maidens bend;
Which scented fops are bound to praise,
To which dull crowds their homage lend:
Give me some simple Scottish song,
Or lays, from Erin's distant isle:
Lays that to love and truth belong,
And cause the saddest lip to smile!
| The poetical writings of the late Willis Gaylord Clark | |