 | Gathered leaves : or miscellaneous papers |  |
1
‘And in each branch there was a budding gem,
And in each gem there was a hidden stem,
And in each stem, a leafy diadem.
And every branch of that prophetic tree
Was emblem of some mightier mystery.’
THE MOUNTAIN HOME.
And in each gem there was a hidden stem,
And in each stem, a leafy diadem.
And every branch of that prophetic tree
Was emblem of some mightier mystery.’
THE MOUNTAIN HOME.
75
THE PAINTER'S LAST TOUCH.
‘Hark! 'tis Love and Mercy calling,
In the sounds from Calvary;
See the tears of pity, falling
In the blood that bathes the tree.
In the sounds from Calvary;
See the tears of pity, falling
In the blood that bathes the tree.
‘It is finished! hear him crying;
With the faint, departing breath,
Who, to save a world, is dying,
Thus for us to conquer death.
With the faint, departing breath,
Who, to save a world, is dying,
Thus for us to conquer death.
‘Lo! the great High Priest is bending
With the sacrifice for sin,
That the temple's vail is rending,
As he bows and enters in.’
With the sacrifice for sin,
That the temple's vail is rending,
As he bows and enters in.’
120
THE GRAVE OF L. E. L.
121
Where is thy lovely shrine of clay,
Sweet sister of the Lyre,
Since passed it's light so swift away,
When heaven recalled it's fire?
Where is the veil thy spirit wore?
I know, alas, too well,
On Afric's strand, what passes o'er
The dust of L. E. L.
Sweet sister of the Lyre,
Since passed it's light so swift away,
When heaven recalled it's fire?
Where is the veil thy spirit wore?
I know, alas, too well,
On Afric's strand, what passes o'er
The dust of L. E. L.
My saddened soul within me weeps,
That no kind power would save
The form of genius there that sleeps,
From that unholy grave.
And when the half-indignant blush
Would on my cheek appear,
'T is backened by the sorrow-gush,
That bathes it with a tear.
That no kind power would save
The form of genius there that sleeps,
From that unholy grave.
And when the half-indignant blush
Would on my cheek appear,
'T is backened by the sorrow-gush,
That bathes it with a tear.
Dead warriors, in their final rest,
Her couch of earth surround!
Rude soldiers, trampling o'er her breast,
Their loud reveillé sound.
The daily drum and clang of arms,
The march, the stern command,
Pass o'er her form, whose music charms
The pure in every land.
Her couch of earth surround!
Rude soldiers, trampling o'er her breast,
Their loud reveillé sound.
The daily drum and clang of arms,
The march, the stern command,
Pass o'er her form, whose music charms
The pure in every land.
122
'Tis meet to lay bold warriors there,
Beneath their last parade;
But not that tender woman share
The ground where these are laid.
The blazing tropic sun may shower
His fiery darts on them;
But o'er her breast some lovely flower
Should bow on flexile stem.
Beneath their last parade;
But not that tender woman share
The ground where these are laid.
The blazing tropic sun may shower
His fiery darts on them;
But o'er her breast some lovely flower
Should bow on flexile stem.
Yet she, who her sweet harp inwreathed
With fair, undying flowers,
To touch the soul whene'er it breathed,
And gave the world its powers—
She sleeps in noisy, foreign ground,
O'erhung by burning skies,
With no green grass, or tree, or mound,
To mark where Landon lies!
With fair, undying flowers,
To touch the soul whene'er it breathed,
And gave the world its powers—
She sleeps in noisy, foreign ground,
O'erhung by burning skies,
With no green grass, or tree, or mound,
To mark where Landon lies!
Four months a bride—two moons within
Those grim old castle walls;
Then laid in death, amid the din
That o'er that court-yard falls!
Her heart, the home of peace and love,
Of truthfulness and trust,
Has not a footing for the dove
To light above its dust!
Those grim old castle walls;
Then laid in death, amid the din
That o'er that court-yard falls!
Her heart, the home of peace and love,
Of truthfulness and trust,
Has not a footing for the dove
To light above its dust!
And now, in that unpeaceful grave,
Forsaken! left behind!
By him to whom herself she gave,
Heart, hand, and glorious mind!
But clattering arms, and soldier's tramp,
Though borne afar by fame,
Have no dishonor e'er to stamp
On her far-honored name.
Forsaken! left behind!
By him to whom herself she gave,
Heart, hand, and glorious mind!
123
Though borne afar by fame,
Have no dishonor e'er to stamp
On her far-honored name.
That name was England's praise; it shone,
A star, throughout the world,
Where'er her royal tongue is known—
Her haughty flag unfurled.
And will not England's parent-love—
Will not her pride and power,
Her gifted daughter's dust remove
To some cool, native bower?
A star, throughout the world,
Where'er her royal tongue is known—
Her haughty flag unfurled.
And will not England's parent-love—
Will not her pride and power,
Her gifted daughter's dust remove
To some cool, native bower?
No squaring art, in marble strong
Should rear her measured tomb;
But o'er her gush the wild bird's song,
Leaves spread, and young flowers bloom.
Yet, L. E. L., thy name, on earth
Immortal, cannot die!
Sweet Poesy embalms thy worth,
Where'er thine ashes lie.
Should rear her measured tomb;
But o'er her gush the wild bird's song,
Leaves spread, and young flowers bloom.
Yet, L. E. L., thy name, on earth
Immortal, cannot die!
Sweet Poesy embalms thy worth,
Where'er thine ashes lie.
And may some abler hand than mine
Thy sweeter requiem give;
And amaranth with cypress twine,
To bid thy memory live!
Thy voice is hushed to mortal ear,
Thy form, a broken lyre;
But shining hosts thy numbers hear,
Where seraphs form the choir.
Thy sweeter requiem give;
And amaranth with cypress twine,
To bid thy memory live!
Thy voice is hushed to mortal ear,
Thy form, a broken lyre;
But shining hosts thy numbers hear,
Where seraphs form the choir.
June 27, 1845.
127
[Oh! Death has a rigor of all most hard]
Oh! Death has a rigor of all most hard
His suppliants to defy.
The cruel! he stops his ear at our prayer,
And leaves us in vain to cry.
His suppliants to defy.
The cruel! he stops his ear at our prayer,
And leaves us in vain to cry.
128
THE CEMETERY OF THE EAST.
All here engraves most solemnly,
In lines that naught disputes,
The pride and nothingness of man,
His two great attributes.
In lines that naught disputes,
The pride and nothingness of man,
His two great attributes.
Alas! of all his splendor, power,
And talents, this their term
Has nothing now to offer us
But ashes and the worm—
And talents, this their term
Has nothing now to offer us
But ashes and the worm—
A little ashes, which the winds,
That wander wild in space,
Contending for it as they meet,
Shall with their breath efface.
That wander wild in space,
Contending for it as they meet,
Shall with their breath efface.
And such is man—insensate man!
Why, then, is he so proud?
The coffin, as his palace, waits
His coming in the shroud;
Why, then, is he so proud?
The coffin, as his palace, waits
His coming in the shroud;
In this deep lodge lugubrious,
All solitary laid,
To moulder silently, concealed
In mortuary shade.
All solitary laid,
To moulder silently, concealed
In mortuary shade.
If this be human destiny,
Why doth you lordling eye
My poverty but with contempt,
And hold his honors high?
Why doth you lordling eye
My poverty but with contempt,
And hold his honors high?
And why should his base opulence
Give him a haughty head,
Thus daily on my penury
With insolence to tread?
Give him a haughty head,
Thus daily on my penury
With insolence to tread?
129
Is gold the god men so adore,
And to it incense burn;
While they to honor lift the vile,
And virtuous merit spurn?
And to it incense burn;
While they to honor lift the vile,
And virtuous merit spurn?
Can this bright idol give a shield,
Of death to turn the blow—
That they may stand, and hold their ground,
When his dread scythe shall mow?
Of death to turn the blow—
That they may stand, and hold their ground,
When his dread scythe shall mow?
Yet let us wait. That foe, perhaps,
May bow the lofty head
Ere midnight, by the cutting stroke
That parts the vital thread.
May bow the lofty head
Ere midnight, by the cutting stroke
That parts the vital thread.
And they, who contumelious now
Our humbler presence meet,
May be, when sinks but one more sun,
The dust beneath our feet.
Our humbler presence meet,
May be, when sinks but one more sun,
The dust beneath our feet.
We'll therefore leave these mighty ones
To shake their glittering chain;
Their souls to dazzle and inflate
With splendor poor and vain.
To shake their glittering chain;
Their souls to dazzle and inflate
With splendor poor and vain.
And let them in idea raise
Their monuments of state,
Whose marble proud shall stand to say,
‘Beneath me rests the great!’
Their monuments of state,
Whose marble proud shall stand to say,
‘Beneath me rests the great!’
For what imports their empty show—
Their grandeur frivolous;
This idol of the ignorant
And vulgar, worshipped thus?
Their grandeur frivolous;
This idol of the ignorant
And vulgar, worshipped thus?
130
And what are their distinctive ranks
(Of no true good the friends,)
To me, who touch the hour and place
Where all in nothing ends?
(Of no true good the friends,)
To me, who touch the hour and place
Where all in nothing ends?
164
SAINT ROSALIA.
As light before the dial's shade,
As odors on a wave of air;
So passed the beauteous royal maid,
While mortal could not answer, where!
As odors on a wave of air;
So passed the beauteous royal maid,
While mortal could not answer, where!
224
BLANCHE AND ISABEL.
“Beloved grove, where oft I came,
To tell to thee my secret grief;
And here to speak that hallowed name,
Elizabeth, to every leaf—
To tell to thee my secret grief;
And here to speak that hallowed name,
Elizabeth, to every leaf—
“I then believed that name alone
Upon my lips would ever dwell;
But I another love must own—
My lips must utter Isabel!
Upon my lips would ever dwell;
But I another love must own—
My lips must utter Isabel!
225
“Dear picture of thy giver's face,
Which I so long adored in thee,
Absolve a heart that bears the trace
Of other features dear to me!
Which I so long adored in thee,
Absolve a heart that bears the trace
Of other features dear to me!
“When, of my lost Elizabeth,
Her people's voice proclaimed aloud
The hapless fate—the cruel death!
A life of faith to thee I vowed.
Her people's voice proclaimed aloud
The hapless fate—the cruel death!
A life of faith to thee I vowed.
“Elizabeth, thy bleeding shade
I see, as if it late had wept:
It frowns to find thy lover made
That vow to be no longer kept.
I see, as if it late had wept:
It frowns to find thy lover made
That vow to be no longer kept.
“Yet, to have held that promise fast,
The eyes whose tears in torrents fell,
When darkness over thine was cast,
Should ne'er have looked on Isabel.
The eyes whose tears in torrents fell,
When darkness over thine was cast,
Should ne'er have looked on Isabel.
“In memory thou shalt ever live.
I'll seek thee there at sorrow's shrine;
But hence, to Isabel I give
The love that once was only thine!”
I'll seek thee there at sorrow's shrine;
But hence, to Isabel I give
The love that once was only thine!”
259
LANCASTER.
‘O, Lancaster! just as I saw thee in childhood,
Does memory, still as a child, cling to thee;
Where once, 'mid the flowers of thy meadows and wild-wood,
I roamed, culling sweets, like a careless young bee!
Does memory, still as a child, cling to thee;
Where once, 'mid the flowers of thy meadows and wild-wood,
I roamed, culling sweets, like a careless young bee!
‘I see thy green turf with the red berries sprinkled;
The spice of thy pines I inhale from the breeze;
I still hear the lonely old cow-bell, that tinkled,
As, vagrant, its wearer browsed through the green trees.
The spice of thy pines I inhale from the breeze;
I still hear the lonely old cow-bell, that tinkled,
As, vagrant, its wearer browsed through the green trees.
‘I hear the cracked sound of the mill-wheel that clattered,
When, fierce, the pent waters rushed pale from the flume;
Then, taming their pace as the wild spray was scattered,
Ran off, bright and singing, through verdure and bloom.
When, fierce, the pent waters rushed pale from the flume;
Then, taming their pace as the wild spray was scattered,
Ran off, bright and singing, through verdure and bloom.
‘I still hear rehearsed the old tale of the quarry
Of far-carried slate, which my grandfather found,
Inwrought with the names, Whighting, Harrington, Torrey,
And others, the first ever taught me by sound.
Of far-carried slate, which my grandfather found,
Inwrought with the names, Whighting, Harrington, Torrey,
And others, the first ever taught me by sound.
‘But cease, restless memory, cease from thy sweeping
So hard on these heart-strings to things past away!
With phantoms of joys that in ashes are sleeping,
O, shake not the chords, lest they break by thy play!’
So hard on these heart-strings to things past away!
With phantoms of joys that in ashes are sleeping,
O, shake not the chords, lest they break by thy play!’
277
ST. BERNARD.
They asked in midnight's solemn shade—
When morning's splendor shone—
If he to distant lands had strayed;
If in the grave his dust were laid;
If he in glory stood arrayed
Before the eternal throne.
When morning's splendor shone—
If he to distant lands had strayed;
If in the grave his dust were laid;
If he in glory stood arrayed
Before the eternal throne.
None answered through night's silent gloom!
No beams of opening day
The painful mystery could illume;
Nought from the world of deathless bloom,
From distant earth, or secret tomb,
Told how he passed away.
No beams of opening day
The painful mystery could illume;
Nought from the world of deathless bloom,
From distant earth, or secret tomb,
Told how he passed away.
| Gathered leaves : or miscellaneous papers | |