Nugae Canorae Poems by Charles Lloyd ... Third Edition, with Additions |
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LINES
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 | Nugae Canorae |  |
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LINES
Written on a Friday, the Day in each Week formerly devoted by the Author and his Brothers and Sisters to the Society of their Grandmother.
This is the day we children wont to go
In best attire, with gay high-swelling hearts,
And infant pride, to the belov'd repast
Of her, our reverenc'd Grandmother! the time
By us, delighted infants, still was call'd
An holiday! E'en ere the shadowy morn
Peep'd dimly thro' our half-drawn curtains, we
Would tell each other of the day, and hail
With one accord, and interchange of soul,
The heartsome festival of home-born love!
In best attire, with gay high-swelling hearts,
And infant pride, to the belov'd repast
Of her, our reverenc'd Grandmother! the time
By us, delighted infants, still was call'd
An holiday! E'en ere the shadowy morn
Peep'd dimly thro' our half-drawn curtains, we
Would tell each other of the day, and hail
With one accord, and interchange of soul,
The heartsome festival of home-born love!
Our matin task, with o'ercharg'd restless souls
That wearily suppress'd joy's giddiness,
How ill perform'd! Learning's dull mockery o'er,
How did we shout, and rend the air with cries
Of glad deliverance! For the hour was come,
The hour of Joy! Faint-heard, the rumbling wheels
Proclaim the kind conveyance sent by her,
The watchful Friend, to bear the feeble ones:
Perchance some babe that still in helplessness
Clings to its Mother's breast, or one that left
But now its Nurse's lap, another yet
That scarcely lisps its benefactress' name,
Yet calls itself, in pride of infancy,
Woman or Man!—Ah, enviable state!
When, in simplicity of heart, we're pleased
With misery-meaning names! The mother still
With kisses fond, or smiles of anxious hope,
Tended affection's tott'ring troop: while we,
By pedant watch'd, hurried along with step
Measuring back half its way, all anxious now
To reach the lov'd abode, yet oft repress'd
By him, the surly Tyrant of those years,
When freedom seems most precious. But the tree
First seen, that screen'd that spot, how eagerly
We hail'd it, beat our hearts, our froward steps
Now quicken'd, now untractable, in spite
Of threaten'd durance, bore us on, till soon,
A happy train! athwart the lawn we rush'd,
Mounted the steps, burst swiftly thro' each door
In vain our course impeding, and at last
Threw our fond arms around the much-lov'd form
That smil'd our welcome, bright'ning every face
With kind reflection of propitious Love!
Oh! 'twas a scene that fill'd the happy heart!
A scene, which when my musing memory feigns,
Starts a warm tear unwittingly, a sigh
Rises within, for it will ne'er return!
That wearily suppress'd joy's giddiness,
How ill perform'd! Learning's dull mockery o'er,
How did we shout, and rend the air with cries
Of glad deliverance! For the hour was come,
161
Proclaim the kind conveyance sent by her,
The watchful Friend, to bear the feeble ones:
Perchance some babe that still in helplessness
Clings to its Mother's breast, or one that left
But now its Nurse's lap, another yet
That scarcely lisps its benefactress' name,
Yet calls itself, in pride of infancy,
Woman or Man!—Ah, enviable state!
When, in simplicity of heart, we're pleased
With misery-meaning names! The mother still
With kisses fond, or smiles of anxious hope,
Tended affection's tott'ring troop: while we,
By pedant watch'd, hurried along with step
Measuring back half its way, all anxious now
To reach the lov'd abode, yet oft repress'd
By him, the surly Tyrant of those years,
When freedom seems most precious. But the tree
First seen, that screen'd that spot, how eagerly
We hail'd it, beat our hearts, our froward steps
Now quicken'd, now untractable, in spite
Of threaten'd durance, bore us on, till soon,
A happy train! athwart the lawn we rush'd,
Mounted the steps, burst swiftly thro' each door
In vain our course impeding, and at last
162
That smil'd our welcome, bright'ning every face
With kind reflection of propitious Love!
Oh! 'twas a scene that fill'd the happy heart!
A scene, which when my musing memory feigns,
Starts a warm tear unwittingly, a sigh
Rises within, for it will ne'er return!
The welcome o'er, and intercourse of looks
Anxiously smiling, interrupted oft
By quaint inquiry, and meek playfulness,
Each hastens to his sport. This to a spot
Trimly defended from the intruding step,
Hight by the busy urchin, who had there
Exhausted all his little store of taste,
A Garden!—There he weekly brought some flower,
Primrose or violet, or, of costlier kind,
The rose tree, or the tulip's gaudy gloss:
For all his scanty hoard unsparingly
This tiny scene engross'd, the well-earn'd gift
Was here expended, and he oft would gaze
With big-swoln heart, exulting at the thought
That he might call the spot belov'd his own!
Anxiously smiling, interrupted oft
By quaint inquiry, and meek playfulness,
Each hastens to his sport. This to a spot
Trimly defended from the intruding step,
Hight by the busy urchin, who had there
Exhausted all his little store of taste,
A Garden!—There he weekly brought some flower,
Primrose or violet, or, of costlier kind,
The rose tree, or the tulip's gaudy gloss:
For all his scanty hoard unsparingly
This tiny scene engross'd, the well-earn'd gift
Was here expended, and he oft would gaze
With big-swoln heart, exulting at the thought
That he might call the spot belov'd his own!
It was a fairy scene! the utmost range
Of some soft sylph that guards infantine bliss,
And prompts its nascent dreams! Aloft in air
Some tempt th' adventurous swing, while others waft
The shapely kite. Thus pleasing still and pleas'd
The day pass'd on: the hospitable meal
(Where circulated looks affectionate)
Employ'd no tedious hour, for all around
Was childish mirth, and warm solicitude;
So fled, 'twixt cares of friendliness and joys
Heartfelt and unrestrain'd, all cheerily,
In sanctity of bliss, the simple day!
'Twere not misnam'd if call'd a little Sabbath!
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And prompts its nascent dreams! Aloft in air
Some tempt th' adventurous swing, while others waft
The shapely kite. Thus pleasing still and pleas'd
The day pass'd on: the hospitable meal
(Where circulated looks affectionate)
Employ'd no tedious hour, for all around
Was childish mirth, and warm solicitude;
So fled, 'twixt cares of friendliness and joys
Heartfelt and unrestrain'd, all cheerily,
In sanctity of bliss, the simple day!
'Twere not misnam'd if call'd a little Sabbath!
To me, when frisking in the sports which now
Memory tenacious dwells on, 'twas I ween
A prodigality of bliss! but, ah!
I elder than the train that gather'd there
Joy's infant buds, earlier their blight deplor'd!
When ran the urchins to their sports, for me
Ere youth to manhood all reluctantly
Resign'd its sway; or evanescent, ere
The tremulous dimple to the rigid line,
The woe-fix'd character of countenance,
Had yielded quite; how oft unblest and restless,
Slow, and with ling'ring gaze reverted still,
I've wander'd from the scene, the simple scene
That once engross'd me wholly; and would pine
Troubled with wishes, and perplex'd desires,
Then all mysterious. Often would I weep
Still wond'ring at my tears, and sigh, and sigh—
Yet could my fancy feign no rapt'ring object
Apt for my hopes. Nor seldom would I brood
On vision'd bliss seen dimly. Thus consum'd
My days inactive: thus my infant powers
Fed on imagination's airy stores,
Till all reality was anguish! Now
Manhood advanc'd, bringing the unsumm'd ills
Of Life, and bleak disaster claim'd my tear
While yet I wept o'er fancy-pictur'd woe.
Memory tenacious dwells on, 'twas I ween
A prodigality of bliss! but, ah!
I elder than the train that gather'd there
Joy's infant buds, earlier their blight deplor'd!
When ran the urchins to their sports, for me
Ere youth to manhood all reluctantly
Resign'd its sway; or evanescent, ere
The tremulous dimple to the rigid line,
The woe-fix'd character of countenance,
Had yielded quite; how oft unblest and restless,
Slow, and with ling'ring gaze reverted still,
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That once engross'd me wholly; and would pine
Troubled with wishes, and perplex'd desires,
Then all mysterious. Often would I weep
Still wond'ring at my tears, and sigh, and sigh—
Yet could my fancy feign no rapt'ring object
Apt for my hopes. Nor seldom would I brood
On vision'd bliss seen dimly. Thus consum'd
My days inactive: thus my infant powers
Fed on imagination's airy stores,
Till all reality was anguish! Now
Manhood advanc'd, bringing the unsumm'd ills
Of Life, and bleak disaster claim'd my tear
While yet I wept o'er fancy-pictur'd woe.
For She, the Friend, departed! died, and left
Her child but half matur'd! (for manly years
Produc'd not manly thought)—I can no more!
Farewell, best friend! ah, holy Friend farewell!
This day was once with thee enjoy'd, 'tis now
In sad remembrance more than ever thine!
Her child but half matur'd! (for manly years
Produc'd not manly thought)—I can no more!
Farewell, best friend! ah, holy Friend farewell!
This day was once with thee enjoy'd, 'tis now
In sad remembrance more than ever thine!
| Nugae Canorae | |