 | The poems of Mrs. Emma Catherine Embury |  |
123
LINES
ON READING, IN A SHORT POEM BY F. G. HALLECK, THE FOLLOWING STANZAS:—
“Bid thy thoughts hover o'er that spot,
Boy-minstrel, in thy dreaming hour,
And know, however low his lot,
A poet's pride and power.
Boy-minstrel, in thy dreaming hour,
And know, however low his lot,
A poet's pride and power.
“And if despondency weigh down
Thy spirit's fluttering pinions then,
Despair—thy name is written on
The roll of common men.”
Thy spirit's fluttering pinions then,
Despair—thy name is written on
The roll of common men.”
Minstrel, full oft thy varied song
Has waked the echoes of my heart,
And gloomy fancies cherished long
Have fled before thy art,
And now thou comest with holier power
To nerve the spirit's wearied wing,
And o'er its path, where tempests lower,
Reflected light to fling.
Has waked the echoes of my heart,
And gloomy fancies cherished long
Have fled before thy art,
And now thou comest with holier power
To nerve the spirit's wearied wing,
And o'er its path, where tempests lower,
Reflected light to fling.
Though heaven-born inspiration ne'er
Breathe o'er my melancholy strain,
Yet with a poet's heart I bear
A poet's lot of pain;
And hard it is to bring the soul
Back to the low pursuits of earth,
When where the stars in beauty roll
It seeks its place of birth.
Breathe o'er my melancholy strain,
Yet with a poet's heart I bear
A poet's lot of pain;
And hard it is to bring the soul
Back to the low pursuits of earth,
When where the stars in beauty roll
It seeks its place of birth.
124
While all on earth grew dark beside,
I've lived but on the hope that fame,
Since happiness was now denied,
In death would bless my name;
Vain hope! when men upon whose brow
The hand of Heaven has set his seal,
Whose souls with God's own spirit glow,
The world's neglect must feel.
I've lived but on the hope that fame,
Since happiness was now denied,
In death would bless my name;
Vain hope! when men upon whose brow
The hand of Heaven has set his seal,
Whose souls with God's own spirit glow,
The world's neglect must feel.
Yet is it cherished,—I would lie
This moment on the bed of death,
Calm as a wearied child, nor sigh
To yield my failing breath;
And dear as are affection's ties,
Strong as is friendship's holier charm,
Gladly I'd grasp the richer prize,
And barter life for fame.
This moment on the bed of death,
Calm as a wearied child, nor sigh
To yield my failing breath;
And dear as are affection's ties,
Strong as is friendship's holier charm,
Gladly I'd grasp the richer prize,
And barter life for fame.
| The poems of Mrs. Emma Catherine Embury | |