 | Lyrical and other poems |  |
OH! LET ME DREAM
Oh! let me dream, since now, no more
Remembrance ever must awake,
And dreaming hours may yet restore,
What Time relentless still must take.
And it were well, if in the dream,
Where Fancy pictures unreal joy,
My heart once more could feel the gleam,
That once illumed it, to—destroy.
Remembrance ever must awake,
And dreaming hours may yet restore,
What Time relentless still must take.
And it were well, if in the dream,
Where Fancy pictures unreal joy,
My heart once more could feel the gleam,
That once illumed it, to—destroy.
Perchance 'tis well, if reason's tongue
Can soothe the heart where passion reigns;
Oh! had she earlier spoke or sung,
How had I listen'd to her strains!
But now, what lore of other days,
However proud its music be,
Can charm this bosom, or erase
From it, the grasp of memory?
Can soothe the heart where passion reigns;
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How had I listen'd to her strains!
But now, what lore of other days,
However proud its music be,
Can charm this bosom, or erase
From it, the grasp of memory?
There o'er the wreck, the ruin'd shrine,
My heart, my hope—the tyrant roves;
And revels in the vacant mine,
Of all its early dreams and loves.
Can reason now o'erpower the spell?
Can truth remove th' illusive veil,
And show me that, I lov'd so well,
A mist, my happiness and bale?
My heart, my hope—the tyrant roves;
And revels in the vacant mine,
Of all its early dreams and loves.
Can reason now o'erpower the spell?
Can truth remove th' illusive veil,
And show me that, I lov'd so well,
A mist, my happiness and bale?
Then, tho' the truth before me rose,
The mists that clouded past away;
And all the phantoms, youth bestows,
Had vanish'd from the eyes of day;
Think'st thou 'twould cheer this gloomy heart
To know, when every hope's decay'd,
That what it cherish'd, as a part
Of its own Being, was a shade?
The mists that clouded past away;
And all the phantoms, youth bestows,
Had vanish'd from the eyes of day;
Think'st thou 'twould cheer this gloomy heart
To know, when every hope's decay'd,
That what it cherish'd, as a part
Of its own Being, was a shade?
No! o'er the shrine of former joys,
Howe'er delusive, they may be,
Young Thought still roves, and never cloys
The ling'ring lip of memory!
There shall the heart forever pause,
Like madness o'er the lov'd one's grave,
Whilst Memory, like the Vulture gnaws
The life, that death alone can save!
Howe'er delusive, they may be,
Young Thought still roves, and never cloys
The ling'ring lip of memory!
There shall the heart forever pause,
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Whilst Memory, like the Vulture gnaws
The life, that death alone can save!
| Lyrical and other poems | |