Poems of James Clarence Mangan (Many hitherto uncollected): Centenary edition: Edited, with preface and notes by D. J. O'Donoghue: Introduction by John Mitchel |
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DISASTER. |
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 | Poems of James Clarence Mangan |  |
DISASTER.
I knew that Disaster
Would shadow thy morning, and must;
The fair alabaster
Is easily trampled to dust.
If the bright lake lay stilly
When whirlwinds rose to deform,
If the life of the lily
Were charmed against every storm,
Thou mightest, though human,
Have smiled through the saddest of years—
Thou mightest, though Woman,
Have lived unacquainted with tears.
Would shadow thy morning, and must;
The fair alabaster
Is easily trampled to dust.
128
When whirlwinds rose to deform,
If the life of the lily
Were charmed against every storm,
Thou mightest, though human,
Have smiled through the saddest of years—
Thou mightest, though Woman,
Have lived unacquainted with tears.
Weep, hapless forsaken!
In my lyrical art I can find
No spell that may waken
The glow of young hope in thy mind.
Weep, fairest and frailest!
Since bitter, though fruitless, regret
For the loss thou bewailest
Hath power to win tears from thee yet;
Weep, while from their fountain
Those drops of affliction can roll—
The snows on the mountain
Will soon be less cold than thy soul.
In my lyrical art I can find
No spell that may waken
The glow of young hope in thy mind.
Weep, fairest and frailest!
Since bitter, though fruitless, regret
For the loss thou bewailest
Hath power to win tears from thee yet;
Weep, while from their fountain
Those drops of affliction can roll—
The snows on the mountain
Will soon be less cold than thy soul.
Not always shall Sorrow
As a scimitar pierce to thy core;
There cometh a morrow
When its tyranny daunteth no more;
Chill Habitude, steeling
The breast, consecrates it to Pride,
And the current of Feeling
Is locked like a firm winter-tide,
And the stricken heart pillows
Itself in repose upon Pain,
And cares roll in billows
O'er the hull of the soul still in vain.
As a scimitar pierce to thy core;
There cometh a morrow
When its tyranny daunteth no more;
Chill Habitude, steeling
The breast, consecrates it to Pride,
And the current of Feeling
Is locked like a firm winter-tide,
And the stricken heart pillows
Itself in repose upon Pain,
And cares roll in billows
O'er the hull of the soul still in vain.
129
But the crumbling palace
Is lovely through ruin and ill,
And the wineless chalice
Sheds light on the banquet still;
And as odours of glory
Exhale from the patriot's shroud,
As the mountain, though hoary
And barren, still kisses the cloud,
So may thine affections
Live on, though their fervour be past,
And the heart's recollections
May hallow their shrine to the last!
Is lovely through ruin and ill,
And the wineless chalice
Sheds light on the banquet still;
And as odours of glory
Exhale from the patriot's shroud,
As the mountain, though hoary
And barren, still kisses the cloud,
So may thine affections
Live on, though their fervour be past,
And the heart's recollections
May hallow their shrine to the last!
| Poems of James Clarence Mangan | |