The Poems of J. J. Callanan A New Edition, with Biographical Introduction and Notes |
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THE LAMENT OF KIRKE WHITE. |
 | The Poems of J. J. Callanan |  |
127
THE LAMENT OF KIRKE WHITE.
'Twas evening, and the sun's last golden beam
On that sad chamber cast its farewell gleam,
Then sunk, to him for ever. Yet one streak
Of lingering radiance lit his faded cheek.
His hand was prest to his pale clouded brow,
Where sat a spirit that might break, not bow,
And the cold starry lustre of his eye,
Than inspiration's scarce less purely high,
Seemed, through the mist of one o'ermastering tear,
The herald of the minstrel's loftier sphere.
On a small table by the sufferer's bed
The sybil leaves of song were rudely spread.
His sad eye wandered with a dark delight
O'er scattered gleams of many a thought of light;
And pride could not suppress one low deep sigh,
To think when he was gone they too must die.
On that sad chamber cast its farewell gleam,
Then sunk, to him for ever. Yet one streak
Of lingering radiance lit his faded cheek.
His hand was prest to his pale clouded brow,
Where sat a spirit that might break, not bow,
And the cold starry lustre of his eye,
Than inspiration's scarce less purely high,
Seemed, through the mist of one o'ermastering tear,
The herald of the minstrel's loftier sphere.
On a small table by the sufferer's bed
The sybil leaves of song were rudely spread.
His sad eye wandered with a dark delight
O'er scattered gleams of many a thought of light;
And pride could not suppress one low deep sigh,
To think when he was gone they too must die.
Fame long had wooed him with her sunny smile
To tread her paths of glory and of toil.
His was the wreath that many vainly seek;
His the proud temple on the mountain peak—
But the vile shaft from some ignoble string
Brought down to earth the minstrel's soaring wing.
They little knew, who dealt the dastard stroke,
The mind they clouded and the heart they broke.
To tread her paths of glory and of toil.
His was the wreath that many vainly seek;
His the proud temple on the mountain peak—
But the vile shaft from some ignoble string
Brought down to earth the minstrel's soaring wing.
128
The mind they clouded and the heart they broke.
He thought of home and mother—dearer far,
He thought of her, his far-off, beauteous star.
He loved, it may be madly, but too well,
One whom he may not breathe, and dare not tell.
He could not boast the line of which he came,
Of lofty title, honour, wealth, or fame.
Hemmed in by adverse fate his fiery soul
Like prisoned eagle felt its dark control—
Give but his spirit scope—to win that hand
His pilgrim foot had trod earth's farthest land.
He would have courted danger on the deep,
Or 'mid the battle's desolating sweep—
All, all endured, unblenching gaged even life
For one sweet word, to call that dear one wife.
He thought of her, his far-off, beauteous star.
He loved, it may be madly, but too well,
One whom he may not breathe, and dare not tell.
He could not boast the line of which he came,
Of lofty title, honour, wealth, or fame.
Hemmed in by adverse fate his fiery soul
Like prisoned eagle felt its dark control—
Give but his spirit scope—to win that hand
His pilgrim foot had trod earth's farthest land.
He would have courted danger on the deep,
Or 'mid the battle's desolating sweep—
All, all endured, unblenching gaged even life
For one sweet word, to call that dear one wife.
What now had woman left to gaze upon?
Himself a wreck, his bright hopes quenched and gone—
Some thus would live, the lightning of his mind
Shivered his frame, and left him with mankind
Scathed and lone, yet stood he fearlessly
On the last wave-mark of eternity,
And as above its shoreless waste he hung,
Thus to his harp's low tone the minstrel sung:—
Himself a wreck, his bright hopes quenched and gone—
Some thus would live, the lightning of his mind
Shivered his frame, and left him with mankind
Scathed and lone, yet stood he fearlessly
On the last wave-mark of eternity,
And as above its shoreless waste he hung,
Thus to his harp's low tone the minstrel sung:—
| The Poems of J. J. Callanan | |