 | Poems by Miss H. F. Gould |  |
168
THE SOLITARY MAN.
He had not sought the joy sublime,
Nor made the goodly pearl secure,
That will defy the power of time,
And through eternity endure.
And yet, he needed them; for all
His fondly-cherished hopes had fled;
And peace to him was past recall—
He lived, while those he loved were dead!
Nor made the goodly pearl secure,
That will defy the power of time,
And through eternity endure.
And yet, he needed them; for all
His fondly-cherished hopes had fled;
And peace to him was past recall—
He lived, while those he loved were dead!
His spirit bowed not in his grief,
For balm, before his Father's throne.
From sympathy he shunned relief,
And moved in crowds, but felt alone.
He bent his footsteps to the tomb,
A sad and solitary man;
And there, 'mid silence, death and gloom,
To kindred dust his plaint began:
For balm, before his Father's throne.
From sympathy he shunned relief,
And moved in crowds, but felt alone.
He bent his footsteps to the tomb,
A sad and solitary man;
And there, 'mid silence, death and gloom,
To kindred dust his plaint began:
“I stand, while all around me lie
Composed in slumber long and deep.
Where darkness sits on every eye,
'T is mine alone to wake and weep!
Amid the hearts that once would leap
In welcome of my coming feet,
I feel my lonely life-stream creep;
For not another breast will beat.
Composed in slumber long and deep.
Where darkness sits on every eye,
'T is mine alone to wake and weep!
Amid the hearts that once would leap
In welcome of my coming feet,
I feel my lonely life-stream creep;
For not another breast will beat.
169
“The arms that spread so quick to twine
Around me, now no more I fill.
The hand, once fondly locked in mine,
Is here beside me, cold and still.
I sigh, I feel, I think alone;
For not a dream is passing here.
'T is all oblivion! and my groan
Unheeded falls on every ear.
Around me, now no more I fill.
The hand, once fondly locked in mine,
Is here beside me, cold and still.
I sigh, I feel, I think alone;
For not a dream is passing here.
'T is all oblivion! and my groan
Unheeded falls on every ear.
“And have the ties affection wove
So close, so tender, ended thus?
Does nature form our souls for love
To sport with, and to torture us?
I long this weary load of life
To lay aside, and be at rest—
To end at once the pain and strife
That slowly now consume my breast.
So close, so tender, ended thus?
Does nature form our souls for love
To sport with, and to torture us?
I long this weary load of life
To lay aside, and be at rest—
To end at once the pain and strife
That slowly now consume my breast.
“But earth! earth! earth! it is not so,
That I may yet thy part dismiss;
And forth to other scenes I go,
With all my soul confined to this!
For, when the busy world shall claim
That I amid its throngs appear,
I shall be there in form and name,
While all beside will linger here.
That I may yet thy part dismiss;
And forth to other scenes I go,
With all my soul confined to this!
For, when the busy world shall claim
That I amid its throngs appear,
I shall be there in form and name,
While all beside will linger here.
“I now must join the noisy crowd,
To hold their pleasures light as air;
Yet, not like one whom grief has bowed,
Or sorrow marked, will I be there.
The world's rude hand I would not trust
Too near my bosom's bleeding strings;
For these, beloved and hallowed dust!
'Twixt God and us are sacred things.
To hold their pleasures light as air;
Yet, not like one whom grief has bowed,
Or sorrow marked, will I be there.
170
Too near my bosom's bleeding strings;
For these, beloved and hallowed dust!
'Twixt God and us are sacred things.
“Its careless eye shall never see
The wounds it has no balm to heal.
Its look of pity, turned on me,
I would not—could not bear to feel.
Before it I will wear a smile,
To veil the void it cannot fill;
Though deep within my breast the while
I feel the arrow rankling still.
The wounds it has no balm to heal.
Its look of pity, turned on me,
I would not—could not bear to feel.
Before it I will wear a smile,
To veil the void it cannot fill;
Though deep within my breast the while
I feel the arrow rankling still.
“The light of mirth may then be found
Upon my lip, but there alone.
My voice may even mock its sound,
To drown my weeping spirit's moan.
But what's the heartless world to me,
Since ye, my loved ones, slumber here?
I stand on earth, a blighted tree,
With winter round me all the year!”
Upon my lip, but there alone.
My voice may even mock its sound,
To drown my weeping spirit's moan.
But what's the heartless world to me,
Since ye, my loved ones, slumber here?
I stand on earth, a blighted tree,
With winter round me all the year!”
“Thou barren tree!” a voice then said,
And to his soul; “with leaves and flowers
I 've clothed thee well; and o'er thee shed
The richest gifts of sun and showers!
And now, if I should cut thee down,
For giving back no fruit to me,
To lie beneath my withering frown,
It were not rest and peace for thee!
And to his soul; “with leaves and flowers
I 've clothed thee well; and o'er thee shed
The richest gifts of sun and showers!
And now, if I should cut thee down,
For giving back no fruit to me,
To lie beneath my withering frown,
It were not rest and peace for thee!
171
“An earthly, dark, and sterile heart
Yields not the fruits of faith and love,
That should, for thine immortal part,
Be ripened here, and stored above.
Frail man! thy Maker's hand is kind,
In each severe and chastening blow.
The gold that is for heaven refined,
It tries and polishes below!”
Yields not the fruits of faith and love,
That should, for thine immortal part,
Be ripened here, and stored above.
Frail man! thy Maker's hand is kind,
In each severe and chastening blow.
The gold that is for heaven refined,
It tries and polishes below!”
| Poems by Miss H. F. Gould | |