 | Poems |  |
44
LOVE AND FAME.
Give me the boon of love!
I ask no more for fame;
Far better one unpurchased heart
Than glory's proudest name.
Why wake a fever in the blood,
Or damp the spirit now,
To gain a wreath whose leaves shall wave
Above a withered brow?
I ask no more for fame;
Far better one unpurchased heart
Than glory's proudest name.
Why wake a fever in the blood,
Or damp the spirit now,
To gain a wreath whose leaves shall wave
Above a withered brow?
Give me the boon of love!
Ambition's meed is vain;
Dearer affection's earnest smile
Than honor's richest train.
I'd rather lean upon a breast
Responsive to my own,
Than sit pavilioned gorgeously
Upon a kingly throne.
Ambition's meed is vain;
Dearer affection's earnest smile
Than honor's richest train.
I'd rather lean upon a breast
Responsive to my own,
Than sit pavilioned gorgeously
Upon a kingly throne.
45
Like the Chaldean sage,
Fame's worshippers adore
The brilliant orbs that scatter light
O'er heaven's azure floor;
But, in their very heart enshrined,
The votaries of love
Keep e'er the holy flame, which once
Illumed the courts above.
Fame's worshippers adore
The brilliant orbs that scatter light
O'er heaven's azure floor;
But, in their very heart enshrined,
The votaries of love
Keep e'er the holy flame, which once
Illumed the courts above.
Give me the boon of love!
Renown is but a breath,
Whose loudest echo ever floats
From out the halls of death.
A loving eye beguiles me more
Than fame's emblazoned seal,
And one sweet note of tenderness
Than triumph's wildest peal.
Renown is but a breath,
Whose loudest echo ever floats
From out the halls of death.
A loving eye beguiles me more
Than fame's emblazoned seal,
And one sweet note of tenderness
Than triumph's wildest peal.
Give me the boon of love!
The path of fame is drear,
And glory's arch doth ever span
A hill-side cold and sere.
One wild flower from the path of love,
All lowly though it lie,
Is dearer than the wreath that waves
To stern ambition's eye.
The path of fame is drear,
And glory's arch doth ever span
A hill-side cold and sere.
One wild flower from the path of love,
All lowly though it lie,
Is dearer than the wreath that waves
To stern ambition's eye.
46
Give me the boon of love!
The lamp of fame shines far,
But love's soft light glows near and warm—
A pure and household star.
One tender glance can fill the soul
With a perennial fire;
But glory's flame burns fitfully—
A lone, funereal pyre.
The lamp of fame shines far,
But love's soft light glows near and warm—
A pure and household star.
One tender glance can fill the soul
With a perennial fire;
But glory's flame burns fitfully—
A lone, funereal pyre.
Give me the boon of love!
Fame's trumpet-strains depart,
But love's sweet lute yields melody
That lingers in the heart;
And the scroll of fame will burn
When sea and earth consume,
But the rose of love in a happier sphere
Will live in deathless bloom.
Fame's trumpet-strains depart,
But love's sweet lute yields melody
That lingers in the heart;
And the scroll of fame will burn
When sea and earth consume,
But the rose of love in a happier sphere
Will live in deathless bloom.
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