The Poetical Works of James Gates Percival :: :: University of Virginia Library

The fire is burning cheerly bright,
The room is snug and warm;
We keep afar the wintry night,
And drive away the storm;
And when without the wanderer pines,
And all is dark and chill,
We sit securely by the fire,
And sparkling glasses fill.

And ever as the hollow wind
Howls through the moaning trees,
Strange feelings on the boding heart
With sudden chillness seize:
But brightly blazes then the hearth,
And freely flows the wine;
And laugh of glee, and song of mirth,
Then wreathe their merry twine.

We think not how the dashing sleet
Beats on the crusted pane;
We care not though the drifting snow
Whirls o'er the heath amain:
But haply, while our hearts are bright,
Far struggling through the waste,
Some traveller seeks our window's light,
With long and fruitless haste.

Hark his halloo!—we leave the fire,
And hurry forth to save:
A short half-hour, and he had found,
Beneath the snow, a grave.
Pile on the wood,—feed high the flame,—
Bring forth our choicest store!
The traveller's heart grows warm again;
His spirit droops no more.

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III.
EVENING.

The evening star is sparkling bright,
And in darkness fades the rosy light:
How sweetly shines that evening star,
Bright-twinkling o'er the hills afar!
The last expiring gleam of day,
The mellow twilight, steals away;
But soon, with full and silver light,
The moon walks forth and cheers the night.

What softer feelings through my soul,
What tender, sweet emotions roll!
Though the light of day is gone, is gone,
My love still burns as brightly on:
And beneath the moon I rove along,
And low I hum my own dear song;
Away 't is floating on the air,—
O, will it reach my fair, my fair?

[IV. O the days of blooming youth are gone]

O the days of blooming youth are gone!
How swift the years are hasting on!
My eye has lost its lustre bright;
My flowing locks are thin and white.
The blissful moments would not stay;
Like dreams, they glided quick away:
But still in memory they remain;
Those happy hours are young again.

And oh! may they be ever there,
As dear to me, as sweet and fair;
And even till life's last sand is run,
O may they flow as brightly on!

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My eye grows dim; my pulse beats still;
Life's winter waxes dark and chill:
But still youth's dreams are fresh and bright;
Still burns as pure love's holy light.

[V. O, how softly sweet the song is flowing]

O, how softly sweet the song is flowing,
Softly flowing through the mellow air,
Kind refreshment on my heart bestowing,
Waking thoughts that long had slumbered there!

Then fond memory sweetly loves to bring me
Scenes that still forgotten long had lain;
Youth's emotions, bright and joyous, wing me
Lightly to the heaven of love again.

And its earliest blossoms have not faded;—
Still they fill around the sunny air;
And with bower of heavenly rose is shaded
Still the spring of joy that bubbles there.

O, when softly sweet the song is flowing,
Ever glides from me my spirit's chain!
Then I mount, with youth's first passion glowing,
Lightly to the heaven of love again.

[VI. The night is dark; the hollow wind]

The night is dark; the hollow wind
Is breathing faint and low:
Though loth to leave my love behind,
Perforce away I go.

Away o'er mountain and o'er moor,—
My guide, no friendly star;

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No window-light, to lead me o'er
The heath, that spreads afar.

Though dark the night, a darker shade
Hangs heavy round my heart.
How deep it sank, as cold she said
Those bitter words: “We part!”

“We part, and, ay, for ever too:
My love for thee has gone.”
I turned, and bade no last adieu
But wildly hurried on.

O, on, through sleet and driving rain,
Still let me ever haste!
Day breaks not on my heart again,
Life lies for ever waste.

Away o'er mountain and o'er moor,
Though cold the gusty wind:
No light to cheer me on before,—
Hope, love, all left behind!

[VII. O come, loved Spirit, come to me]

O come, loved Spirit, come to me!
My heart, my heart, invoketh thee.
Though dark and cheerless broods my night,
Thy presence fills it all with light.

O come, loved Spirit, gently come!
O make beside my heart thy home!
Look on me with endearing smile,—
That look shall all my woes beguile.

O be thou ever, ever nigh!
Bend on me thy complacent eye:
Then shall my heart swell up to thee,
My soul be large, my spirit free.

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Bear me away, through sun and star,
To worlds of softest light afar:
Then bid my wearied eyelids close,
On pillowed flowers, in blest repose.

[VIII. Wife! I am dying]

Wife! I am dying,—
Life is departing;
Soon I must leave thee,
Soon I am gone.
O, wilt thou weep me
When I have left thee?
O, wilt thou weep me
When I am gone?

If I have ever
Wronged thee or grieved thee,
O now forgive me,
Ere I am gone!
Sadly I rue it,—
Thou wilt forget it;
O then forgive me,
Ere I am gone!

Darkness is round me,—
Dimly I see thee;
Life is just closing,—
Soon I am gone.
O, thou wilt weep me,
Truly wilt weep me,—
Yes, thou wilt weep me,
When I am gone!

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IX.
EVENING.

The evening star now sparkles bright;
Full shines the rising moon;
And fleetly fades the rosy light
Around the horizon.
The bosom swells with holy joy;
The heart beats soft and low:
No longer care and pain annoy;
Unchecked the feelings flow.

The meadow brook now dances light,
Its wave shines silver-clear:
The stars are dancing strangely bright,
Along yon azure sphere.
The nightingale her melody
Trills lightly from the brake;
And trembling floats, in harmony,
The moonbeam on the lake.

The lovelorn maiden listens long,
As trills the melody:
Her tender bosom feels it strong;
Her tears are flowing free.
She fondly thinks her lover then
Is serenading nigh;
And sadly sweet in dreams again
She sees him standing by.

O, evening is the time for me!
Be thine the gairish day:
My spirit is so full and free,
As fades the light away!
My bosom swells with holy joy;
My heart beats soft and low;
And fondly then, without annoy,
My gentler feelings flow.

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X.
AWAKE, MY LYRE.

Awake, my lyre, awake!
Breathe aloud the choral strain;
From thy heavy slumber break;
Wake to life and joy again.

Hark! how on thy trembling strings
Songs of hope and love rebound!
Brushed as by an angel's wings,
How the vocal chords resound!

Now thy long, deep sleep has flown;
Spirit burns along thy wire:
How the swelling peals roll on,
Full, instinct with living fire.

O, be silent nevermore!
Soar to day's eternal blue;
Through the solemn midnight pour
Notes that fall like starry dew.

As on eagle's pinions, take
High to heaven thy sweep again;
Light and music o'er us shake,
Like a shower of golden rain.
Awake, my lyre, awake!
Breathe aloud the choral strain.

XI.
HUNTING SONG.

O, see how the red-deer boundeth,
As he hears the horn in the morning!
He leaps, as the blast resoundeth,
In his flight the hunter scorning.

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And away, away, O, away,
He fleets through the forest drear:
'T is more wild freedom's play,
Than the hurried speed of fear.
He leaps, as the blast resoundeth,
In his flight the hunter scorning;
And away, away he boundeth,
As he hears the horn in the morning.
Then oho! oho! oho!
Away to chase the deer!
Oho! oho! oho!
The free, the free are here.

And on, through the forest fleeting,
He hies to the rock-built fountain,
And hears but the echo retreating
To the dells and glens of the mountain.
He stands by the welcome spring,
And looks in the mirror below,—
When hark! through the green-wood ring
The horn and the loud oho!
He leaps, as the blast resoundeth,
In his flight the hunter scorning;
And away, away he boundeth,
As he hears the horn in the morning.
Then oho! oho! oho!
Away to chase the deer!
Oho! oho! oho!
The free, the free are here.

XII.
MEMORY.

O, when Memory brings her light,
And sweetly calls me home,
Swifter than the swallow's flight,
Bright visions to me come.

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Such fond Memory brings
On her golden wings,—
O, she brings them with her light,
And sweetly calls me home.

Visions, veiled in roseate light,
Then gently round me throng;
Softest tones of young delight,
Sweet tones, forgotten long,
Melt into my soul,
While with blest control,
Hopes and fancies, starry bright,
Mingle in the song.

Memory, be thou ever near,
To glad me on my way:
Thy light to greet, thy voice to hear,
O, I would fondly stay.
Days that knew no shade,
Ah! they never fade,—
Beams from Heaven's eternal year
Still lightly o'er them play.

XIII.
THE GERMAN EMIGRANT'S SONG.

O Deutschland, our good Fatherland!
Where grows the vine, along the Rhine;
Where far the Alpine summits stand,
And o'er the free-born Switzer shine;
Where bright thy southern summer glows,
Thy northern winter sleeps in snows:
Thy pine-clad hills, thy heaths of sand,
All linked by Union's golden band,
Thou art our fathers' Fatherland.

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O Deutschland, blue-eyed Herman's home!
Thou, earliest free, thy liberty
Hast sent where'er the Saxon roam;
Earth's new-born freedom sprang from thee.
First o'er thy woods it dawned, nor yet
Has there its pure effulgence set:
On to the west still rolls the day,
O'er ocean holds its heavenward way;
Its Fatherland, still thou for aye.

My Country! Home, where first I heard,
Full, deep, and strong, the patriot song,—
First learned to lisp the sacred word,
As pealed the bells thy vales along,—
Still with thee faith and honor dwell;
The oath we swear, we keep it well:
Nor needs our faith so strong a token;
A grasp of hand, a pledge just spoken,
Sure as our hearts, is never broken.

O Deutschland, our own Fatherland!
Though distant far, thou, like a star,
Beamest on us from the Frisian strand;
Our hearts, our loves, still centre there:
Still we behold the purpling vine,
Full clustered, crown the noble Rhine.
O, may thy sons, by valor manned,
With earnest soul, and strenuous hand,
Strike for thee, sacred Fatherland!

XIV.
THE HARPER.

The harper once in Tara's halls
Rung loud the martial strain;
Nor were those full and stirring notes
Struck by his hand in vain.

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They roused the sons of Erin, far
To drive the invading foe;
They fired the heart, they nerved the hand,
To deal the avenging blow.

In vest of green, the harper sat
Beside the royal throne;
The golden chain, that slung his harp,
In pride around him thrown.
Wide through the halls his music rang,
And warriors leaped to hear;
Drew the bright sword, and shook it high,
And tossed the beamy spear.

But Tara's halls are seen no more;
In ruin low they lie:
The green turf o'er them weaves its sod,
The weeds there mantle high;
And Erin's sons no longer leap
To hear their harp's wild tone:
The light, that o'er their country shed
Its beams from Heaven, has flown.

And sadly now the harper wends
To other realms his way:
He seeks a freer, happier land,
Where Britons bear no sway.
Then welcome here, with generous cheer,
The minstrel wandering lone;
And let us ever hold him dear,
And prize him as our own.

[XV. That strain o' music greets my ear]

That strain o' music greets my ear,
Like joys o' days departed,
When ilka mornin' dawn'd sae fair,
An' fand me lightsome-hearted:

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It tells o' loves that ance I knew,
O' een that shone sae clearly,
An' ah! it minds me o' the voice
O' her I loe'd sae dearly.

It minds me o' the welcome, when
I met her aft at gloamin;
It minds me o' the sweet fareweel,
When we had lang been roamin'.
It is her sang,—I ken it true;
Nae ither voice could breathe it;
Nane wi' sic artless melody,
Sae woodland wild, enwreath it.

Flow gently on, thou sweetest strain;
My heart is fain to hear thee;
My loves I'll never know again;
They dwell in heav'n a' near thee.
An' yet the hopes o' ither days
Dawn, as thou breathest round me;
My spirit bursts to light an' life,
Frae sorrow's chain that bound me.

Thou stealest to my inmost soul,
An' charm'st awa my sadness;
The clouds, that heavy round me roll,
Now break, an' a' is gladness.
O fly na' yet! wi' lang delay,
Still fondly linger near me;
Blest voice o' joy an' comfort, stay!
I'll never tire to hear thee.

[XVI. An' hae ye heard the bonnie birds]

An' hae ye heard the bonnie birds,
That sing sae sweet i' the birken shaw?
O ye may tell o' your nightingales,—
Thae bonnie birds outsing them a'.

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An' ye may tell o' the minstrels too,
Wha tune their harps in bower an' ha',—
I better loe the bonnie birds,
That sing sae sweet i' the birken shaw.

Nae cushat ever safter croods,
Amang the woods, her dyin' fa',
Nae lav'rock louder lilts at morn,
When mountin' high to heaven's ha'.
Nae gloamin win' aye sighs sae low
'Mang autumn leaves in birken shaw;
Nae pibroch 'mang the mountains rings
Wi' fu'er swell its gatherin' ca'.

An' wha can be the bonnie birds,
That sing sae sweet i' the birken shaw?
Twa bonnie lasses be thae birds,
An' they might sing in palace ha';
Ae bonnie lassie sings sae sweet,
Ye feel the tears unbidden fa';
But tither starts ye to your feet,
An' stirs ye high, she sings sae braw.

XVII.
THE SPIRITS' LULLABY.

When the night is still,
On the moon-lit hill
We sink in soft repose;
While the cool winds sigh,
And the rivulet nigh
In mellow music flows.
Then, as in dreams we float in light along,
Sweet round us breathes from Heaven a cradle song:
Slumber! slumber! Angels watch you nigh.
Slumber! slumber! Spirits, gathering by,
Sing their lullaby.

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Hushed to slumber deep,
Softly then we sleep,
And happy is our dream:
Forms of beauty rare
Float along the air;
Their eyes how kindly beam.
Then, as we listen, harps around us play;
Gentlest of voices bid us come away:
Hither, hither, where the heavens are bright,—
Hither, hither, to this world of light,—
Hither take your flight.

[XVIII. Softly flow, thou gentle river]

Softly flow, thou gentle river,
Through the vale where dwells my love:
Tell her, I am constant ever;
Naught from her my heart can move.
Bear this rose-leaf on thy bosom,
Image of my constancy:
Waft it safely to her cottage;
Tell her it was sent by me.

She will fondly stoop to gather
From thy wave the welcome leaf,
Press it to her lips, and smother
Lightly so her swelling grief.
Murmur faintly, as she takes it:
“Faithful lover sent it thee;
Be the treasure to thee ever
Image of his constancy.”

[XIX. Once I saw, in pride of beauty]

Once I saw, in pride of beauty,
Full unveiled, a golden flower;
Sweetest perfume flowed around it:
It was evening's winning hour.

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I approached the splendid blossom,
Kissed its bosom, softly swelling;
But no odors breathed around it,
Though it seemed their chosen dwelling.

By this blossom bloomed unseen,
Low in shade, a milder flower;
Pale its cheek and wet its eye,
Bathed in evening's dewy shower.

O'er the lonely flower I hung,—
Thence the sweets that filled the air:
To that gentle flower I clung,—
Pale, yet seemed it more than fair.

[XX. Once, in the heart of a desert]

Once, in the heart of a desert,
Blossomed a rose-bush unseen:
Only the sands were around it;
Naught but its leaf was there green.
Ever, at evening and morning,
Trickled its flowers with dew;
And then, in light circles, round it
Fondly a nightingale flew.

Over the sands strayed a pilgrim,
Lost in the midst of the wild,
When on his faint eye, at evening,
Sweetly the rose-blossom smiled:
Sweetly the nightingale wooed him,
Under its shade to repose;
There his song charmed him to slumber,
Wet by the dew of the rose.

Freshly he rose in the morning,
Dug in the sand by the flower,

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And a bright fountain up-sparkled,
Welling with bubbling shower:
Over the sands as it murmured,
Green sprung the grass by its side;
Round it a garden soon blossomed,
Fed by its life-giving tide.

There, too, a wild vine up-started;
Under its shelter he dwelt:
Morning and evening, yet ever
Low by the rose-bush he knelt.
So in the far waste, forgotten,
Still flowed his pure life along,
Soothed by the rose-blossom's fragrance,
Charmed by the nightingale's song.

[XXI. When the violet blows]

When the violet blows,
Light the swallow plumes his wings,
Sweet the earliest robin sings;
Something dearer brings the rose.

Fairer forms are nigh,
When the rose is full and bright:
Ever shapes of softest light
Then in glancing flight go by.

From what clime are they?
From the wakened heart they rise,
Bright as hues of orient skies:—
Soon the vision flies away.