 | Nacoochee ; or, the beautiful star, with other Poems |  |
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TO MY HARP.
He is made one with Nature; there is heard
His voice in all her music, from the moan
Of thunder to the song of night's sweet bird.—
Adonais.
His voice in all her music, from the moan
Of thunder to the song of night's sweet bird.—
Adonais.
Harp of the sunny South! awake! Oh! wake
The dove-like melodies that suit the soul!
For thou art stricken for affection's sake,
And sorrow yieldeth unto thy control!
Oh! come unto me from the realms above,
And minister relief for wounded love.
The dove-like melodies that suit the soul!
For thou art stricken for affection's sake,
And sorrow yieldeth unto thy control!
Oh! come unto me from the realms above,
And minister relief for wounded love.
Thou hast been unto me, amid the night,
As is the bird's songs to the silent woods;
And filled my spirit with diviner light
Than ever gushed from out the solitudes,
When contemplation lay upon my breast,
And whispered unto life eternal rest.
As is the bird's songs to the silent woods;
And filled my spirit with diviner light
Than ever gushed from out the solitudes,
When contemplation lay upon my breast,
And whispered unto life eternal rest.
Thou hast been unto me an infant nursed
With life's emulging nectar—very deep!
That only not sufficient for its thirst,
But after filling yields refreshing sleep.
An incense, rising from the fire of love,
That melts away into the heavens above.
With life's emulging nectar—very deep!
That only not sufficient for its thirst,
But after filling yields refreshing sleep.
An incense, rising from the fire of love,
That melts away into the heavens above.
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Oh! when the voice of early love was new,
The bright creations of the soul were deep—
When life was as the rose-buds in the dew,
And there was nothing here to make me weep;
Then, thou wert unto me that glorious light
That sets the stars beneath the heavens at night.
The bright creations of the soul were deep—
When life was as the rose-buds in the dew,
And there was nothing here to make me weep;
Then, thou wert unto me that glorious light
That sets the stars beneath the heavens at night.
The winds were then harmonious in the trees,
And jocund were the spirits of the air,
That all night long upon the passing breeze
Were wont to fondle with my tangled hair;
And now, though still melodious, they are deep,
And, like thy cadence, often make me sleep!
And jocund were the spirits of the air,
That all night long upon the passing breeze
Were wont to fondle with my tangled hair;
And now, though still melodious, they are deep,
And, like thy cadence, often make me sleep!
Oh! there are melodies that never die,
But like the shell-tones of the ocean deep,
They dwell within us, like the parting sigh
Of those who feel too many pangs to weep!
And pass like land-tones on the foaming sea,
When wave rolls after wave incessantly.
But like the shell-tones of the ocean deep,
They dwell within us, like the parting sigh
Of those who feel too many pangs to weep!
And pass like land-tones on the foaming sea,
When wave rolls after wave incessantly.
And, when the heavens above were very bright,
I hung thee gently on the willow tree!
But, when there came no clouds upon my light,
I could not say that thou wert dear to me!
For thou didst woo me by the gentle streams,
Like one that wooes his first love in his dreams.
I hung thee gently on the willow tree!
But, when there came no clouds upon my light,
I could not say that thou wert dear to me!
For thou didst woo me by the gentle streams,
Like one that wooes his first love in his dreams.
And in the sinless play-time of my-youth,
Beneath the oak-trees of my silent home,
When all my spring-tides rolled along as smooth
As doth the streams into the vales, whilom—
My heart lay calm like some undimpled lake,
Where sleeps the unscared swan beside the brake.
Beneath the oak-trees of my silent home,
When all my spring-tides rolled along as smooth
As doth the streams into the vales, whilom—
My heart lay calm like some undimpled lake,
Where sleeps the unscared swan beside the brake.
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And when the roebucks in the valley reeds,
Were seen to crop the languid blades at even;
And when the young fawns danced upon the meads,
And watched the first-born of the stars in heaven;
I swung upon the grape-vines by the spring,
And heard the mock-birds in the valleys sing.
Were seen to crop the languid blades at even;
And when the young fawns danced upon the meads,
And watched the first-born of the stars in heaven;
I swung upon the grape-vines by the spring,
And heard the mock-birds in the valleys sing.
And where the willow boughs embraced the brook,
The ring-doves cooed upon the cedar-trees—
I sate me down with some old favourite book,
And heard the pine-tops in the passing breeze;
And when the dews appeared at day's decline,
I did not think them antetypes of mine!
The ring-doves cooed upon the cedar-trees—
I sate me down with some old favourite book,
And heard the pine-tops in the passing breeze;
And when the dews appeared at day's decline,
I did not think them antetypes of mine!
And when my soul was very young, at noon,
Beneath the oak-trees of my silent hills—
When all the little flowers were up in June,
I sate me down upon the gentle rills,
And with some author of poetic song,
I felt instinctively my future wrong!
Beneath the oak-trees of my silent hills—
When all the little flowers were up in June,
I sate me down upon the gentle rills,
And with some author of poetic song,
I felt instinctively my future wrong!
And when, at eventide, the sun was set,
A thousand rainbow dyes bedecked the boughs—
I felt within me that which haunts me yet,
And saw prospectively my broken vows!
For such were latent in my silent heart,
That, since, hath torn its very chords apart!
A thousand rainbow dyes bedecked the boughs—
I felt within me that which haunts me yet,
And saw prospectively my broken vows!
For such were latent in my silent heart,
That, since, hath torn its very chords apart!
And when alone, since that delightful hour,
In sickness, when my soul was very faint—
When grief came on me with redoubled power,
And all life's energies were wont to pant;
I felt thy voice within my spirit deep,
And laid my hand upon my head to weep!
In sickness, when my soul was very faint—
When grief came on me with redoubled power,
And all life's energies were wont to pant;
I felt thy voice within my spirit deep,
And laid my hand upon my head to weep!
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Harp of the wounded spirit! thou hast been
The greatest comfort ever mortal tried!
And though such joys can never be again,
I still will hold thee always by my side!
For when life's sorrows shall have had an end,
I still will own thee as my dearest friend!
The greatest comfort ever mortal tried!
And though such joys can never be again,
I still will hold thee always by my side!
For when life's sorrows shall have had an end,
I still will own thee as my dearest friend!
Song of the Southern Lyre! though all is lost
That made life precious—and the day is gone!
And that dear being who was loved the most,
Has left me sighing in this world alone!
I now must leave thee for the ocean-shell—
Back to thy native heaven again—Farewell! Farewell!
That made life precious—and the day is gone!
And that dear being who was loved the most,
Has left me sighing in this world alone!
I now must leave thee for the ocean-shell—
Back to thy native heaven again—Farewell! Farewell!
| Nacoochee ; or, the beautiful star, with other Poems | |