 | Poems by Three Friends |  |
155
THE JOY OF GRIEF.
The visions of departed joy,
From Life's dark course by Memory singled,
Though waking many a pensive sigh,
With fond delight are somewhat mingled.
From Life's dark course by Memory singled,
Though waking many a pensive sigh,
With fond delight are somewhat mingled.
Like twilight scenes to Poet's eye,
When fast the pale year is declining,
And bright amid a clouded sky,
The moon's unsettled beam is shining.
When fast the pale year is declining,
And bright amid a clouded sky,
The moon's unsettled beam is shining.
I feel a pleasure, though the tear,
Translucent from its cell is starting,
The fluttering of my heart is dear,
Though quick from scenes of bliss departing.
Translucent from its cell is starting,
The fluttering of my heart is dear,
Though quick from scenes of bliss departing.
156
What is it that with magic force,
Can thus a charm from sadness borrow,
That loves to linger at the source
Whence flows the crystal type of sorrow?
Can thus a charm from sadness borrow,
That loves to linger at the source
Whence flows the crystal type of sorrow?
It is not that I bid adieu
Sweet Ouse! thy undulating billow,
Though lovely is thy breast of blue,
And fair thy winding banks of willow.
Sweet Ouse! thy undulating billow,
Though lovely is thy breast of blue,
And fair thy winding banks of willow.
Though oft upon thy verdant edge,
I've loved thy mazy tide to follow,
Starting the moor-hen from her sedge.
The heron from his haunted shallow.—
I've loved thy mazy tide to follow,
Starting the moor-hen from her sedge.
The heron from his haunted shallow.—
I cast behind my lingering eye,
And view in vision fair extended,
Scenes of such rich variety,
They mock the hues with which they're blended.
And view in vision fair extended,
Scenes of such rich variety,
They mock the hues with which they're blended.
157
Here dewy meads and folding flowers,
Tall rock, and streamlet from its dingle,
Heaths clad with fern, and sunless bowers,
In one wild scene their beauties mingle.
Tall rock, and streamlet from its dingle,
Heaths clad with fern, and sunless bowers,
In one wild scene their beauties mingle.
Afar o'er many a valley dun,
The mountain's dusky woods are bending,
So thick, that scarce the fiery sun
Is seen behind their shades descending.
The mountain's dusky woods are bending,
So thick, that scarce the fiery sun
Is seen behind their shades descending.
But where the river's wooded banks
The fisher's midway skiff is nearing,
It gilds the billows in their ranks,
Bright flashing now, now disappearing.
The fisher's midway skiff is nearing,
It gilds the billows in their ranks,
Bright flashing now, now disappearing.
The Echo from the mountain cave,
From rocky dell the wild bird's measure,
And murmur of the chiding wave,
Might charm the ear awake to pleasure.
From rocky dell the wild bird's measure,
And murmur of the chiding wave,
Might charm the ear awake to pleasure.
158
But when in Fancy's ear is heard
The farewell accents of affection,
Each trembling tone from Nature's chord,
But breathes more sad, more deep dejection.
The farewell accents of affection,
Each trembling tone from Nature's chord,
But breathes more sad, more deep dejection.
And sure the eager step of Love
Would mid these scenes delighted linger,
To view the veil of darkness wove,
By pensive twilight's dewy finger.
Would mid these scenes delighted linger,
To view the veil of darkness wove,
By pensive twilight's dewy finger.
But say can he who leaves behind
The loved, the cherished bloom of gladness,
In Nature's fairy visions find
A solace for his bosom's sadness?
The loved, the cherished bloom of gladness,
In Nature's fairy visions find
A solace for his bosom's sadness?
Ah no! the heart by sorrow riven,
Will sleep not o'er so light a feeling;
The wound which Nature has not given,
But mocks her fancied power of healing.
Will sleep not o'er so light a feeling;
The wound which Nature has not given,
But mocks her fancied power of healing.
159
The scene that meets my tearful eye,
May smile to day, may smile to morrow;
It cannot check the rising sigh,
It cannot burst the gloom of sorrow.
May smile to day, may smile to morrow;
It cannot check the rising sigh,
It cannot burst the gloom of sorrow.
'Tis but a gale across the lake,
When hushed by Eve's melodious number,
That strives, but vainly strives to break
One billow from its sullen slumber.
When hushed by Eve's melodious number,
That strives, but vainly strives to break
One billow from its sullen slumber.
For distant are the summer bowers
Where Fancy woke her sweetest measure,
And Friendship on the rosy hours,
Diffused the light of social pleasure.
Where Fancy woke her sweetest measure,
And Friendship on the rosy hours,
Diffused the light of social pleasure.
Where if at Beauty's melting eye
A gentler passion was revealing,
'Twas marked but by a glance—a sigh—
In silent ecstacy of feeling.
A gentler passion was revealing,
'Twas marked but by a glance—a sigh—
In silent ecstacy of feeling.
160
So bright those golden scenes arise,
It seems some visitant from heaven
Had dipt them in the living dyes
That light the glimmering sky at even.
It seems some visitant from heaven
Had dipt them in the living dyes
That light the glimmering sky at even.
But they are fled,—those scenes so bright,
Fled like night visions of the sleeper,
And I but wake to mourn their flight,
A lone, a melancholy weeper.
Fled like night visions of the sleeper,
And I but wake to mourn their flight,
A lone, a melancholy weeper.
Yet still can Memory burst the shroud
Of sadness with a sweet emotion,
Like sunbeams on a stormy cloud,
Or flashing waves on nighted ocean.
Of sadness with a sweet emotion,
Like sunbeams on a stormy cloud,
Or flashing waves on nighted ocean.
For whilst her power unlocks the springs,
Whence sorrow's dews are fast distilling,
Touched by her hand, the bosom strings
With rapture's finest pulse are thrilling.
Whence sorrow's dews are fast distilling,
Touched by her hand, the bosom strings
With rapture's finest pulse are thrilling.
161
Yes, yes, it is her magic force,
From silent grief the charm can borrow,
She loves to linger at the source
Whence flows the crystal type of sorrow.
From silent grief the charm can borrow,
She loves to linger at the source
Whence flows the crystal type of sorrow.
Nor would I wish to find relief,
Though wildered, sad, and broken hearted,
For lovely is the Joy of Grief,
The woe that weeps o'er bliss departed.
Though wildered, sad, and broken hearted,
For lovely is the Joy of Grief,
The woe that weeps o'er bliss departed.
| Poems by Three Friends | |