Madmoments: or First Verseattempts By a Bornnatural. Addressed to the Lightheaded of Society at Large, by Henry Ellison |
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SABBATHBELLS. |
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 | Madmoments: or First Verseattempts |  |
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SABBATHBELLS.
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Oh! Sabbathbells, your merry chimeReminds me of another time,
Of days when gladsome smiles would shine,
Of days, when still a home was mine.
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But ye have no such memory,Ye know not of the hopes that die,
And tho' the Heart aches as ye bring
Past fancies up, yet still ye ring.
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Ah! little dreamt I in my youthThat ye could speak a bitter truth,
Ah! little dreamt I that blithe song
Could lend its notes to sorrow's tongue.
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But Time can countermiracleWith the same sounds, and of each spell
Which charmed us, He a voice can make,
Stern, as reality, to wake,
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I never thought to see this day,Or dreamt homescenes could pass away;
I never thought to be alone,
And feel that all I loved were gone.
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Bright, smiling faces pass beforeMine Eyes, such as I too once wore,
Oh Time! must these young hearts too be,
Like mine, ere long prey to thee?
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'Tis wise and well, that they should learnSelfschooled, Life's secret, and thus earn
The lesson of selfgoverment;
For peace begins where passion's spent.
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But oh! if prayer of mine may move,Still let them have a home where Love
May bind the bruisëd Heart, and share
The spirit's woes else hard to bear.
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The world is full of false, cold Hearts,Whose Icetouch to the soul imparts
A blight, and chills the healthy flow
Of Lovethoughts that no distrust know.
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Thus still imprisoned in the breast,Affections, that should make us blest,
Are doomed to pine, unshared to die,
In kindred Hearts ne'er fructify.
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The Heart, it cannot live alone,There is no Music in its Tone
'Till with another heart it be
Accorded to sweet harmony.
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Love is the keynote, and when thisIs wanting, then its music is
Like that of jangled Chimes, which tells
Of Sweetness gone, of broken spells!
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Sweet days, that ne'er may be again,Whose memory has nought of pain,
Except that ye are past away;
The lightsome Heart, the Spirits gay.
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Sweet days, when thought lay slumbering deepLike serpent 'neath life's flowers asleep;
With the heart's simple pleasures ne'er
Mixed poison, nor would interfere.
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Thoughtfree, Heartfree, Oh Time of bliss,My best reward a Mother's kiss;
A look of Love, a small kind word,
Could make me blithe as summerbird!
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Oh then my heart was all my own,Yet all of others, as a tone,
Which is and is not, till it be
Mixed with its like in harmony!
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Ye Flowers, that blossom at my feet,Why are ye still so fresh and sweet,
I have no more glad Boyhood's Eye
Nor in my heart youth's revelry!
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Oh that with boyhood's Hand and Heart,With thoughts which ye alone impart
To Childhood, I could pluck ye still,
And take from early founts my fill.
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It may not be — Time's set his sealUpon the Past, and soon I feel,
That ye must bloom o'er my gravesod,
On which a careless Boy I trod!
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Be still my Heart; why throb'st thou so?To Dust thou'lt crumble, cold and low!
Peace noisy Thoughts; few Feet beneath
This Sod, there is a Calm — like Death!
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Ye Sabbathbells, ye Change your Tone,Like false Friends, and at length I own,
What in my Youth I could not fear,
That ye have more than meets the Ear!
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That selfsame Chime that rings e'en nowSo blithe and merry tells of Woe;
And Deathbelltones, feared in my Youth,
Speak now a sadlypleasing Truth!
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They wellcome to that last, long Bourne,Where weary Spirits cease to mourn;
They speak of some still Churchyardnook,
With mossy Turf, and neighbouring Brook.
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Then ring your Chimes in every key,From Grave to Cradle, as may be,
And I will listen with an Ear
That undisturbed each Tone shall hear.
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As undisturbed, as you yourselves,Who when a Grave the Sexton delves,
Or when a Marriagetrain appears,
Lend the same Tongue to Smiles and Tears!
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Ye are but passing Notes of Time,Not set to Heaven's eternal Chime;
Ye ring but earthly Things to Dust;
Your Sabbathnotes speak Hope and Trust!
| Madmoments: or First Verseattempts | |