 | The heir of the world, and lesser poems |  |
248
MARRIAGE SONG.
Farewell! ye lone visions of sorrow and wo
That have haunted my heart and bewildered my brain!
Once more as in childhood my bosom doth know
The joys my soul dreaded would ne'er come again.
That have haunted my heart and bewildered my brain!
Once more as in childhood my bosom doth know
The joys my soul dreaded would ne'er come again.
Through the lingering years of my wandering o'er
The lone waste of life, I had ceased to beguile
The darkness that clouded my heart evermore
With the radiant light of Hope's sunny smile.
The lone waste of life, I had ceased to beguile
The darkness that clouded my heart evermore
With the radiant light of Hope's sunny smile.
And I thought all the friends of my childhood had gone
And all the sweet feelings of life's bloomy spring,
And I sighed as I thought that my path must be lone
Thro' this dark world, uncheered by one beautiful thing.
And all the sweet feelings of life's bloomy spring,
And I sighed as I thought that my path must be lone
Thro' this dark world, uncheered by one beautiful thing.
Gloom fell on my heart and my spirit grew cold,
As the past fled away through the desert around,
And the prayer seemed a curse, “may I live to grow old!”
For solitude sighed at the desolate sound.
As the past fled away through the desert around,
And the prayer seemed a curse, “may I live to grow old!”
For solitude sighed at the desolate sound.
But my heart wakes again to the feelings that threw
Their beauty and bliss o'er my earlier years,
And Love, like the sunbeam embosomed in dew,
Sheds life o'er a heart whose throbs have been tears.
Their beauty and bliss o'er my earlier years,
And Love, like the sunbeam embosomed in dew,
Sheds life o'er a heart whose throbs have been tears.
With thee, lovely One! I shall ever forget
The sorrow I long have in solitude borne,
And bless in thy arms the blest hour when we met,
When years make more welcome its joyful return.
The sorrow I long have in solitude borne,
And bless in thy arms the blest hour when we met,
When years make more welcome its joyful return.
| The heir of the world, and lesser poems | |