 | Three hours ; or, the vigil of love : and other poems |  |
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THE RECORD TREE.
Yes, I am changed—but still the tree remains
As green and beautiful as when its shade,
Screening from arid heats the fresh, soft grass,
With tufts of moss and the wood-violet mixed,
I deemed the sweetest spot the earth contained.
'T was here my childhood's gambols oft were played;
'T was here my youthful visions brightest came;
'T was here my spirit felt devotion's power,
And framed its first spontaneous prayer to heaven:—
Till then the orisons my mother taught,
When o'er my pillow bowed she kissed my cheek,
And bade me sleep, for God would watch the rest
Of all who called him “Father” in their hearts,
Was all the adoration I had given.
Oh! why do heavenly visions from the mind
Pass, like the rainbow mists that wreathe around
And tinge with beauty the unsightly rock?—
While like that rock, when shivered by the storm,
The fragments of our worldly schemes must lie
Athwart our path, and every step be pained
With fears or dread, with sorrow or remorse.
As green and beautiful as when its shade,
Screening from arid heats the fresh, soft grass,
With tufts of moss and the wood-violet mixed,
I deemed the sweetest spot the earth contained.
'T was here my childhood's gambols oft were played;
'T was here my youthful visions brightest came;
'T was here my spirit felt devotion's power,
And framed its first spontaneous prayer to heaven:—
Till then the orisons my mother taught,
When o'er my pillow bowed she kissed my cheek,
And bade me sleep, for God would watch the rest
Of all who called him “Father” in their hearts,
Was all the adoration I had given.
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Pass, like the rainbow mists that wreathe around
And tinge with beauty the unsightly rock?—
While like that rock, when shivered by the storm,
The fragments of our worldly schemes must lie
Athwart our path, and every step be pained
With fears or dread, with sorrow or remorse.
Miranda! can thine image sorrow wake?
As strives the anchorite to purchase heaven,
I strove her smile of tenderness to win:
And I did win it, and beneath this Tree
We pledged our mutual faith!—I see her now,
The smile and tear on her soft, blushing cheek,
Like light and dew on the sweet morning rose,
When here this Record of our names I showed,
Deep carved upon the Tree.—And then she said,
In those dear dove-like tones, which naught but love
Can teach the human voice—“The heart alone
Keeps records undefaced.”—And then she paused,
And raised her dewy eyes and met my gaze.
—I vowed fidelity, and she believed!
As strives the anchorite to purchase heaven,
I strove her smile of tenderness to win:
And I did win it, and beneath this Tree
We pledged our mutual faith!—I see her now,
The smile and tear on her soft, blushing cheek,
Like light and dew on the sweet morning rose,
When here this Record of our names I showed,
Deep carved upon the Tree.—And then she said,
In those dear dove-like tones, which naught but love
Can teach the human voice—“The heart alone
Keeps records undefaced.”—And then she paused,
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—I vowed fidelity, and she believed!
'T was then, as now, the season of bright flowers,
And thus the sun's last beams their radiance flung,
Gilding the brow of yonder Alpine hill;
And, mellowed by the distance and the glow,
The rugged peak looked beautiful—as fair
As did the world before me. Love was mine,
And Hope's bright beams Ambition's summit crowned,—
I gained it—there was nought save barrenness!
And thus the sun's last beams their radiance flung,
Gilding the brow of yonder Alpine hill;
And, mellowed by the distance and the glow,
The rugged peak looked beautiful—as fair
As did the world before me. Love was mine,
And Hope's bright beams Ambition's summit crowned,—
I gained it—there was nought save barrenness!
And then, Miranda, I remembered thee:—
Remembered, did I say?—I ne'er forgot;—
But man, amid the bustling world, casts off
The chords of tenderness that tune his soul
While dwelling in the calm, domestic scene.
Home is the sphere of harmony and peace,
The spot where angels find a resting-place,
When, bearing blessings, they to earth descend.
Remembered, did I say?—I ne'er forgot;—
But man, amid the bustling world, casts off
The chords of tenderness that tune his soul
While dwelling in the calm, domestic scene.
Home is the sphere of harmony and peace,
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When, bearing blessings, they to earth descend.
But perfect peace makes not her gods of clay;
And home, the blesséd Eden of our earth,
May feel a blight come o'er its fairest flowers—
The wasting blight of unrequited love.
And thus, my gentle one, thy heart was broke.
They tell me thou didst part in peacefulness;—
Thy Saviour's arm beneath thee, and his smile
So lighting the dark passage to the grave,
That thou, who didst not dare to tread alone,
When night was o'er the world, a well-known path,
Entered the vale of Death with songs of joy.
And home, the blesséd Eden of our earth,
May feel a blight come o'er its fairest flowers—
The wasting blight of unrequited love.
And thus, my gentle one, thy heart was broke.
They tell me thou didst part in peacefulness;—
Thy Saviour's arm beneath thee, and his smile
So lighting the dark passage to the grave,
That thou, who didst not dare to tread alone,
When night was o'er the world, a well-known path,
Entered the vale of Death with songs of joy.
Religion triumphs when her followers die.
Death holds the mighty talisman that shows
The human heart, and seals the character.
And thou, Miranda, wert a child of heaven,
And with the signet of the Saviour sealed,
And angels welcomed thee, and thou hast seen
The glory of His light who made the sun!—
While I, poor earth-bound pilgrim, wander here,
And still life's darkened desert round me spreads.
Death holds the mighty talisman that shows
The human heart, and seals the character.
And thou, Miranda, wert a child of heaven,
And with the signet of the Saviour sealed,
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The glory of His light who made the sun!—
While I, poor earth-bound pilgrim, wander here,
And still life's darkened desert round me spreads.
But while this Record, weeping, I peruse,
Where thy dear name is still with mine conjoined,
One hope, with seraph lustre, beams afar—
The hope that we may meet.
My soul's first prayer,
The morning incense of my life, arose
When here I bowed the knee. Give to the world
The heart, and soul, and strength—there's no reward,
Save barren promises, or bitter bread;—
But all the hours we dedicate to God
Bear golden fruit. The multitude have bowed,
And watched my smile, and listening senates hung
On my poor eloquence, and thundered praise.
—'T was grand!—'T is nothing!
But that humble prayer
Comes o'er my spirit like a heavenly balm
My bleeding heart to heal. A still, small voice
Seems whispering—“Faith and prayer can bear thee up,
And many mansions are prepared above,
And harps of angels hail the Penitent.”
Where thy dear name is still with mine conjoined,
One hope, with seraph lustre, beams afar—
The hope that we may meet.
My soul's first prayer,
The morning incense of my life, arose
When here I bowed the knee. Give to the world
The heart, and soul, and strength—there's no reward,
Save barren promises, or bitter bread;—
But all the hours we dedicate to God
Bear golden fruit. The multitude have bowed,
And watched my smile, and listening senates hung
On my poor eloquence, and thundered praise.
—'T was grand!—'T is nothing!
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Comes o'er my spirit like a heavenly balm
My bleeding heart to heal. A still, small voice
Seems whispering—“Faith and prayer can bear thee up,
And many mansions are prepared above,
And harps of angels hail the Penitent.”
| Three hours ; or, the vigil of love : and other poems | |