The Poems of J. J. Callanan A New Edition, with Biographical Introduction and Notes |
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LINES TO MISS O. D---
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 | The Poems of J. J. Callanan |  |
133
LINES TO MISS O. D---
Who had replied, to some questions of Mr. C.'s about verses, that she “Was getting Sense, she would Write no More.”
You're “getting sense,” you'll “write no more!”
The sweet delusive dream is o'er,
And fancy's bright and meteor ray
Is but a light that leads astray.
No more the wreath of song you'll twine,
Calm reason, common sense be thine!
The sweet delusive dream is o'er,
And fancy's bright and meteor ray
Is but a light that leads astray.
No more the wreath of song you'll twine,
Calm reason, common sense be thine!
As well command the troubled sky,
When winds are loud and waves are high;
As well call back the parted soul,
Or force the needle from the pole,
False to the star it loved so long—
As turn the poet's heart from song.
When winds are loud and waves are high;
As well call back the parted soul,
Or force the needle from the pole,
False to the star it loved so long—
As turn the poet's heart from song.
If aught be true that minstrel deems
Of sister spirit in his dreams—
The still pale brow's expression high—
The silent eloquence of eye,
Its fitful flashes bright and wild—
Thou art and must be fancy's child.
Of sister spirit in his dreams—
The still pale brow's expression high—
The silent eloquence of eye,
Its fitful flashes bright and wild—
Thou art and must be fancy's child.
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And reason, sense—are they confined
To the austere and cold of mind?
Must thoughtless folly still belong
To those who haunt the paths of song,
And o'er this vale of woe and tears
Pour the sweet strain of happier spheres?
To the austere and cold of mind?
Must thoughtless folly still belong
To those who haunt the paths of song,
And o'er this vale of woe and tears
Pour the sweet strain of happier spheres?
No, lady, still let fancy spring
On her own wild and wayward wing;
Still let the fire of genius glow,
And the strong tide of feeling flow;
The bright imaginings of youth
Are but the Titian tints of truth.
On her own wild and wayward wing;
Still let the fire of genius glow,
And the strong tide of feeling flow;
The bright imaginings of youth
Are but the Titian tints of truth.
When chill November sweeps along
With its own hoarse and sullen song,
And withered lies the autumn's pride,
And every flower you nursed hath died;
Whilst other hearts in ennui pine,
The poet's raptures shall be thine.
With its own hoarse and sullen song,
And withered lies the autumn's pride,
And every flower you nursed hath died;
Whilst other hearts in ennui pine,
The poet's raptures shall be thine.
Then gaze upon the lightning's flash
And listen to the wild wave's dash—
Others may tremble at their tone,
Not thou—their language is thine own;
Mark how the seagull wings his way
Through billow's foam and wintry spray,
With tireless wing and joyous cry
Proclaims its ocean liberty!
And listen to the wild wave's dash—
Others may tremble at their tone,
Not thou—their language is thine own;
Mark how the seagull wings his way
Through billow's foam and wintry spray,
With tireless wing and joyous cry
Proclaims its ocean liberty!
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Yes, my young friend, if I may claim
For humble bard so dear a name,
Still let thy heart revere the lyre,
Still let thy hands awake its fire,
Walk in the light that God hath given,
And make Dunmanus' wilds a heaven.
For humble bard so dear a name,
Still let thy heart revere the lyre,
Still let thy hands awake its fire,
Walk in the light that God hath given,
And make Dunmanus' wilds a heaven.
For me, believe, where'er I stray
Through life's uncertain, toilsome way,
Whether calm peace my lot may be,
Or tossed on fortune's stormy sea,
I'll think upon the young, the fair,
The kind warm hearts that met me there.
Through life's uncertain, toilsome way,
Whether calm peace my lot may be,
Or tossed on fortune's stormy sea,
I'll think upon the young, the fair,
The kind warm hearts that met me there.
| The Poems of J. J. Callanan | |