 | The battle of Niagara |  |
ADJURATION.
O come, on the beam of the night, love!
O come, on the beam of the night!
While the stars are all busy and bright, love:
O come, with thy tresses of light!
O come, on the beam of the night!
While the stars are all busy and bright, love:
O come, with thy tresses of light!
Away thro' the air we will go, love,
Where the waters of melody flow, love:
Where the waters of melody flow, love:
Where all the fresh lilies are blowing;
Where the turf is all mossy and green love, love;
Where the fountains of heaven are flowing,
And the skies are all blue and serene love.
Where the turf is all mossy and green love, love;
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And the skies are all blue and serene love.
O come, with thy plumage of light, love,
And we will embrace in our flight, love.
And we will embrace in our flight, love.
O come, to my desolate heart, love,
And smile on the clouds that are there,
And let us together depart, love,
And sing on our way thro' the air.
And smile on the clouds that are there,
And let us together depart, love,
And sing on our way thro' the air.
O come, let us hasten away, love—
Where spirits may worship and pray, love.
Where spirits may worship and pray, love.
O come, on the beam of the night, love!
O come, on the beam of the night!
While the stars are all busy and bright, love,
O come, with thy tresses of light!
O come, on the beam of the night!
While the stars are all busy and bright, love,
O come, with thy tresses of light!
Then with a glance of fire he rose,
And this—a fiercer hymning rose:
And this—a fiercer hymning rose:
This harp hath lain long and forgotten in gloom;
And the roses that wreathed it have lost all their bloom,
Since it brightened and trembled at home:
The swell of whose heaven, and smile of whose day,
First tempted its song on the breezes to stray:
The air of whose mountain first taught it to play,
And the wind from the surge, as it tumbled in foam
First challenged its numbers in storm to roam.
For the night of the heart, and of sorrow is o'er it,
And the passionate hymn that in other days tore it,
With her, who so oft to the green bower bore it,
Have gone like the moonlighted song of a dream!
Like the soul of an eye that hath shed its last beam!
And the tendrils of lustre that over it curled,
With the dark eye that gave all its wanderings birth,
All gone—like a cherubim-wing that is furled—
And left me alone—all alone in the world—
With nothing to worship or sing to on earth!
And the roses that wreathed it have lost all their bloom,
Since it brightened and trembled at home:
The swell of whose heaven, and smile of whose day,
First tempted its song on the breezes to stray:
The air of whose mountain first taught it to play,
And the wind from the surge, as it tumbled in foam
First challenged its numbers in storm to roam.
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And the passionate hymn that in other days tore it,
With her, who so oft to the green bower bore it,
Have gone like the moonlighted song of a dream!
Like the soul of an eye that hath shed its last beam!
And the tendrils of lustre that over it curled,
With the dark eye that gave all its wanderings birth,
All gone—like a cherubim-wing that is furled—
And left me alone—all alone in the world—
With nothing to worship or sing to on earth!
Yet—yet o'er the mountains my country appears:
And to her I will waken my lyre:
Perhaps it may brighten again, tho' in tears,
And the being it sang to in long vanished years,
May come in my visions of fire!
Ah, though she has gone—that young hope of my heart!
Still she thinks of the nights when I played to her,
When my sighs like the souls of the blest would depart,
As I knelt by my harp and prayed to her.
And to her I will waken my lyre:
Perhaps it may brighten again, tho' in tears,
And the being it sang to in long vanished years,
May come in my visions of fire!
Ah, though she has gone—that young hope of my heart!
Still she thinks of the nights when I played to her,
When my sighs like the souls of the blest would depart,
As I knelt by my harp and prayed to her.
O, yes—tho' thou art gone, my love,
Thou'lt know the lay—for none could move
Thy pulse like him, who sings this song—
Its throbs delay—subdue—prolong—
For they were so obedient still,
They fluttered, fainted at his will;
Thy heart and soul, and thought kept time,
Like angels to some heavenly chime;
Now lightning wantoned in thine eyes,
As bright as ever cleft the skies;
And now in rich dissolving dew—
They darkly swam like heaven's own blue;
Now bent to earth—now flashing bright:—
Now fainting—fading on the sight—
Like cherub eyes that weep in light;
O, yes thou'lt know the lay again,
And weep to hear my harp complain;
Spirit! I know thou wilt, for ye
Can never lose such memory:—
Oh, I could sing my heart away,
To such a spirit would it stay!
Thou'lt know the lay—for none could move
Thy pulse like him, who sings this song—
Its throbs delay—subdue—prolong—
For they were so obedient still,
They fluttered, fainted at his will;
Thy heart and soul, and thought kept time,
Like angels to some heavenly chime;
Now lightning wantoned in thine eyes,
As bright as ever cleft the skies;
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They darkly swam like heaven's own blue;
Now bent to earth—now flashing bright:—
Now fainting—fading on the sight—
Like cherub eyes that weep in light;
O, yes thou'lt know the lay again,
And weep to hear my harp complain;
Spirit! I know thou wilt, for ye
Can never lose such memory:—
Oh, I could sing my heart away,
To such a spirit would it stay!
| The battle of Niagara | |