 | [Poems by Moulton in] The book of the boudoir ; or, memento of friendship |  |
9
Inuocation TO THE SPIRIT OF POESY.
BY THE EDITRESS.
O, come thou near me, gentle spirit,
For I am lonely now, and very sad,
And wave-like sweep the earth-cares o'er me;
Come thou, and make me glad!
As in the days of old-time silence,
By Tempe's vale, or sweet Castalian fount,
Come thou, and with pale, fair hands lead me
Unto the Muse's mount.
For I am lonely now, and very sad,
And wave-like sweep the earth-cares o'er me;
Come thou, and make me glad!
As in the days of old-time silence,
By Tempe's vale, or sweet Castalian fount,
Come thou, and with pale, fair hands lead me
Unto the Muse's mount.
There is in all this dim life left me
No joy save that which comes at touch of thine;
About my path no roses growing,
Save wreaths that thou dost twine.
Thou that for many years hast blest me,
And smiled with kind eyes on my aching heart,
Now that all other light has left me,
Thou wilt not now depart!
No joy save that which comes at touch of thine;
About my path no roses growing,
Save wreaths that thou dost twine.
Thou that for many years hast blest me,
And smiled with kind eyes on my aching heart,
Now that all other light has left me,
Thou wilt not now depart!
10
By hours in which I 've knelt and wooed thee,
'Mid shadows floating from my lamp at night,
Or with white pinions gleaming o'er me,
Beneath the pale moonlight,
By all the child-like prayerfulness
With which, before thee kneeling low, I prayed,
While scattering hot heart-tears for incense,
On altars thou hast made;—
'Mid shadows floating from my lamp at night,
Or with white pinions gleaming o'er me,
Beneath the pale moonlight,
By all the child-like prayerfulness
With which, before thee kneeling low, I prayed,
While scattering hot heart-tears for incense,
On altars thou hast made;—
By hidden dreamings of the blessed,
Which bind me closer unto thine and thee,
By all earth's love-light and caressing,
O, not, alas! for me!—
Leave me not, thou who, in the old-time,
Wast all that bound my trembling heart to life,
Still bend thee, with soft pinions cooling
The brow so flushed by strife!
Which bind me closer unto thine and thee,
By all earth's love-light and caressing,
O, not, alas! for me!—
Leave me not, thou who, in the old-time,
Wast all that bound my trembling heart to life,
Still bend thee, with soft pinions cooling
The brow so flushed by strife!
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DECEMBER.
How coldly o'er the gloomy earth the winter sun shines down!
The tall trees shake their leafless boughs, the lead sky seems to frown,
And streams that danced and played in light a gladsome month ago
Go murmuring onward toward the sea, with requiem tones of woe;
The very steeple of the church has felt the chilling spell,
And the Ghouls shrink back and shiver, as they ring the vesper-bell!
The tall trees shake their leafless boughs, the lead sky seems to frown,
And streams that danced and played in light a gladsome month ago
Go murmuring onward toward the sea, with requiem tones of woe;
The very steeple of the church has felt the chilling spell,
And the Ghouls shrink back and shiver, as they ring the vesper-bell!
And the moon-rays glimmer downwards, like letters faint and cold,
Wrote out on the granite pillars and marble domes of old;
And the golden stars of summer gleam forth like silver tears,
Which the icy reign of winter has chilled with haunting fears.
From the dying sun come murmurs, which the wild winds answer back,
As they haste, like restless pilgrims, along their earth-wide track.
Wrote out on the granite pillars and marble domes of old;
And the golden stars of summer gleam forth like silver tears,
Which the icy reign of winter has chilled with haunting fears.
From the dying sun come murmurs, which the wild winds answer back,
As they haste, like restless pilgrims, along their earth-wide track.
And away from vale and dingle the fairy feet have gone;
They've left the purple passion-flower, they 've left the tall black-thorn.
On high, through all the wild night-tide, the red star-cressets swing,
And they glance within the hollows, and on the Elfin-ring;
On the harp of brown December the mad breeze plays a tune,
And the red leaves dance like brownies beneath the waning moon.
They've left the purple passion-flower, they 've left the tall black-thorn.
On high, through all the wild night-tide, the red star-cressets swing,
And they glance within the hollows, and on the Elfin-ring;
On the harp of brown December the mad breeze plays a tune,
And the red leaves dance like brownies beneath the waning moon.
But in sun-light or in star-light, or when the moonbeams pale
Glint on the wind-swept hill-side, or the dry leaves in the vale,
A serpent-sting comes gnawing at this weary heart of mine,
For the whole of brown December I think of Madeline.
'T was the cold and chilly winter, when woods stand bare and drear,
And the winds go wailing over the hill-side and the mere,
Glint on the wind-swept hill-side, or the dry leaves in the vale,
A serpent-sting comes gnawing at this weary heart of mine,
For the whole of brown December I think of Madeline.
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And the winds go wailing over the hill-side and the mere,
She came from the restless shadows that flit through the elfin-land,
And pressed on my throbbing forehead the touch of her spirit-hand;
With locks like the shades at dew-fall which wandering sunbeams cast,
And brown eyes deep with memories and shadows of the Past,
And voice like the ringing music that swells from hidden caves,
Or the twinkling in the sea-shell brought from the South Sea waves,
And pressed on my throbbing forehead the touch of her spirit-hand;
With locks like the shades at dew-fall which wandering sunbeams cast,
And brown eyes deep with memories and shadows of the Past,
And voice like the ringing music that swells from hidden caves,
Or the twinkling in the sea-shell brought from the South Sea waves,
And brow like the dreams of angels in the star-paved land above,
The maiden came from the Aiden, and blessed my soul with her love;
But the last night of December, when vanished years, like ghosts,
Were pulling away the old year, to join their restless hosts,
And the new came smiling gently, with tears in her brimming eye,
As a bride who blesses the future, yet weeps for the days gone by;
The maiden came from the Aiden, and blessed my soul with her love;
But the last night of December, when vanished years, like ghosts,
Were pulling away the old year, to join their restless hosts,
And the new came smiling gently, with tears in her brimming eye,
As a bride who blesses the future, yet weeps for the days gone by;
And the dying year lay struggling 'mid shadows dim and cold,
Like monarch in his death-fight with leag'rers fierce and bold;
There passed from my sight the maiden, with tones of spirit-love,
Away to the distant Aiden and glory that waited above.
But ever the drear December, when winds are sighing sair,
And the sun looks forth like a maiden, through mists of golden hair,
Like monarch in his death-fight with leag'rers fierce and bold;
There passed from my sight the maiden, with tones of spirit-love,
Away to the distant Aiden and glory that waited above.
But ever the drear December, when winds are sighing sair,
And the sun looks forth like a maiden, through mists of golden hair,
Or the moonbeams murmur faintly, like tones from vanished years,
A peace to the troubled present, with its restless hopes and fears,
My heart is sad for the vision that blessed the days gone by,
And the wind and stars seem chanting an old-time melody;
And serpent-stings come gnawing at this weary heart of mine,
For ever the brown December brings dreams of Madeline!
A peace to the troubled present, with its restless hopes and fears,
My heart is sad for the vision that blessed the days gone by,
And the wind and stars seem chanting an old-time melody;
And serpent-stings come gnawing at this weary heart of mine,
For ever the brown December brings dreams of Madeline!
154
ELMWOOD COTTAGE.
'T is a sunny, happy home,
Where the North-land breezes roam,
And the sunshine lingering plays,
All the long, bright summer days,
O'er the posy-sprinkled grass,
Where the fays at night-tide pass,
Sowing flower-seeds with white hands,
Gathered in the shadowy lands!
Where the North-land breezes roam,
And the sunshine lingering plays,
All the long, bright summer days,
O'er the posy-sprinkled grass,
Where the fays at night-tide pass,
Sowing flower-seeds with white hands,
Gathered in the shadowy lands!
Tall the grove-trees rise, and fair,
Spread their arms, as if in prayer;
And the wild birds, seeking rest,
Building here a tiny nest,
Kiss their leaves, and murmur vows
Of bird-love amid the boughs,
Chiding, with a merry song,
All the summer hours along!
Spread their arms, as if in prayer;
And the wild birds, seeking rest,
Building here a tiny nest,
Kiss their leaves, and murmur vows
Of bird-love amid the boughs,
Chiding, with a merry song,
All the summer hours along!
There are green hills smiling round,
Daisies peep from out the ground,
And a grave-mound rises nigh,
Where, in years long since gone by,
Smoothed we back our Charlie's hair,
Kissed his brow, and laid him there;—
Left him, with a chanted hymn,
To the grave-rest, cold and dim!
Daisies peep from out the ground,
And a grave-mound rises nigh,
Where, in years long since gone by,
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Kissed his brow, and laid him there;—
Left him, with a chanted hymn,
To the grave-rest, cold and dim!
Summer stars shine brightest down
Where the baby rests alone,
Sleeping sweetly all the night
In his coffin-bed so white!
Angels, bending from the skies,
Gently sing their lullabies
O'er the children gone to sleep,
Where the grave-yard willows weep!
Where the baby rests alone,
Sleeping sweetly all the night
In his coffin-bed so white!
Angels, bending from the skies,
Gently sing their lullabies
O'er the children gone to sleep,
Where the grave-yard willows weep!
There 's a beauty round us now,
Sunshine gleams on every bough;
And the breezes seem love-laden,
Spicy-sweet as gales in Aiden!
In the perfume-breathing morn
Smile the fields of yellow corn,
And the wild bees humming go
Where the dew-wet roses blow.
Sunshine gleams on every bough;
And the breezes seem love-laden,
Spicy-sweet as gales in Aiden!
In the perfume-breathing morn
Smile the fields of yellow corn,
And the wild bees humming go
Where the dew-wet roses blow.
But the sunshine sweetest plays,
All the laughing summer-days,
Round the hearth-stone old and gray
Where our fathers knelt to pray;
Silver gleams my grandsire's hair,—
Heaven-rays are trembling there;
Kindles still his dimming eye,
At the thought of days gone by.
All the laughing summer-days,
Round the hearth-stone old and gray
Where our fathers knelt to pray;
Silver gleams my grandsire's hair,—
Heaven-rays are trembling there;
Kindles still his dimming eye,
At the thought of days gone by.
And upon my mother's brow
Sure a glory resteth now,
Like the halo round a saint,
Never dimmed by mortal taint;
And, as on my braided hair
Rest her fingers thin and fair,
Blessings on her erring child
Speaketh she, the undefiled,—
Sure a glory resteth now,
Like the halo round a saint,
Never dimmed by mortal taint;
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Rest her fingers thin and fair,
Blessings on her erring child
Speaketh she, the undefiled,—
Breathing words all glory-fraught,
Till the whole earth seemeth naught
But a gleam of love and light,
Blessing e'en the rayless night!
And there plays so sweet a smile
Round my father's lips the while,
You would think our home was blest
With a more than earthly rest!
Till the whole earth seemeth naught
But a gleam of love and light,
Blessing e'en the rayless night!
And there plays so sweet a smile
Round my father's lips the while,
You would think our home was blest
With a more than earthly rest!
Yet another face there seems
Beaming on me in my dreams,
Sitting in that velvet chair,
With his waving chestnut hair,
And a light in his brown eyes
Like a gleam from Paradise,
And a smile as sweet and faint
As the dreaming of a saint,—
Beaming on me in my dreams,
Sitting in that velvet chair,
With his waving chestnut hair,
And a light in his brown eyes
Like a gleam from Paradise,
And a smile as sweet and faint
As the dreaming of a saint,—
Brushing back my heavy locks,
Golden-hued as sun-bathed rocks,
Kisses he my throbbing brow,
Till the blue sky seems to bow,
And the Eden-land grows nearer,
And its glory seemeth dearer,
While my soul keeps ebb and flow
To his voice, so soft and low.
Golden-hued as sun-bathed rocks,
Kisses he my throbbing brow,
Till the blue sky seems to bow,
And the Eden-land grows nearer,
And its glory seemeth dearer,
While my soul keeps ebb and flow
To his voice, so soft and low.
Thus the darkness cometh never;
Spirit-sunshine gleameth ever
Round our sunny, laughing home;
For the sprites from Elf-land come,
Keeping it all bright and fair,
With a more than mortal care!
Cheering us, when earth is dim,
With a spirit-glory hymn!
Spirit-sunshine gleameth ever
Round our sunny, laughing home;
For the sprites from Elf-land come,
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With a more than mortal care!
Cheering us, when earth is dim,
With a spirit-glory hymn!
| [Poems by Moulton in] The book of the boudoir ; or, memento of friendship | |