Poems By Edward Quillinan. With a Memoir by William Johnston |
 |
|
| I. |
| II. |
| I. |
| II. |
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| I. |
| II. |
|
| I. |
| II. |
VERY UNFINISHED VERSES SUGGESTED BY THE SERRA OF GERÉS. |
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
 | Poems |  |
148
VERY UNFINISHED VERSES SUGGESTED BY THE SERRA OF GERÉS.
Were I an idol to adore,
Nor glittering gems nor golden ore
Could so pervert my mind;
Nor man, nor woman, nor the moon;
Nor sun, the most divine-like boon
That cheereth mortal kind.
Nor glittering gems nor golden ore
Could so pervert my mind;
Nor man, nor woman, nor the moon;
Nor sun, the most divine-like boon
That cheereth mortal kind.
The moon, than woman lovelier far,
Is yet but an unsteady star,
In growth, or on the wane;
Like woman's too, her smiles are sad,
And make the earnest gazer mad
At springtide of the brain.
Is yet but an unsteady star,
In growth, or on the wane;
Like woman's too, her smiles are sad,
And make the earnest gazer mad
At springtide of the brain.
The dazzling god of olden days,
Veil'd in a mystery of rays,
Hath still too many a shrine;
For many a poet's heart supplies
A vainly burning sacrifice
To Phœbus and the Nine.
Veil'd in a mystery of rays,
Hath still too many a shrine;
149
A vainly burning sacrifice
To Phœbus and the Nine.
The strange unmeasurable deep,
Low panting in his awful sleep,
A god benign might seem;
But I too oft have seen him wake,
With every wave a hissing snake,
More dreadful than a dream.
Low panting in his awful sleep,
A god benign might seem;
But I too oft have seen him wake,
With every wave a hissing snake,
More dreadful than a dream.
So none of these, Moon, Sun, nor Sea,
The idol of my choice should be,
Though all have had their praise;
I'd ask of Nature to supply
Some fix'd transcendent majesty,
Like Thee, sublime Gerés!
The idol of my choice should be,
Though all have had their praise;
I'd ask of Nature to supply
Some fix'd transcendent majesty,
Like Thee, sublime Gerés!
Girt with a stedfast cloud of pines,
His star-loved head above them shines
Serener than a star,
While eagles with a desert-voice,
Around their father-king rejoice,
Or hail him from afar.
His star-loved head above them shines
Serener than a star,
While eagles with a desert-voice,
Around their father-king rejoice,
Or hail him from afar.
150
Behold the mighty Serra stand!
Grim patron of a smiling land,
His bounty never fails;
But freely from his generous veins
He yields the streams that feed the plains,
The life-blood of the vales.
Grim patron of a smiling land,
His bounty never fails;
But freely from his generous veins
He yields the streams that feed the plains,
The life-blood of the vales.
When stormy uproar round him raves,
When winds howl wolf-like in his caves,
And through his forests chide,
A type he stands of sufferance meek;—
The peevish tempests smite his cheek,
The lightnings pierce his side;
When winds howl wolf-like in his caves,
And through his forests chide,
A type he stands of sufferance meek;—
The peevish tempests smite his cheek,
The lightnings pierce his side;
And when their idle rage is o'er,
More like a god he seems to soar,
And shine with all his fountains—
Yet, lip to earth, on height like this,
'Tis but a footstool that I kiss
Of Him who made the mountains.
More like a god he seems to soar,
And shine with all his fountains—
Yet, lip to earth, on height like this,
'Tis but a footstool that I kiss
Of Him who made the mountains.
| Poems | |