[Poems by Taylor in] Voices from the press a collection of sketches, essays, and poems, by practical printers |
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 | [Poems by Taylor in] Voices from the press |  |
79
LOVE.
A fading, fleeting dream!
That blinds awhile with bright and dazzling ray,
Until the heart is wildered by its beam,
And wanders from its lofty path away,
While meteors wild like holy planets gleam,
To tempt our steps astray!
That blinds awhile with bright and dazzling ray,
Until the heart is wildered by its beam,
And wanders from its lofty path away,
While meteors wild like holy planets gleam,
To tempt our steps astray!
A creature of the brain!
Whom poets painted with a hue divine—
That, bright embodied in their thrilling strain,
Makes the soul drunken, as with mental wine,
While the heart bows in longing and in pain
Before its mystic shrine!
Whom poets painted with a hue divine—
That, bright embodied in their thrilling strain,
Makes the soul drunken, as with mental wine,
While the heart bows in longing and in pain
Before its mystic shrine!
The shadow of a bliss!
That flies the spirit hastening to enjoy—
That seems to come from fairer climes than this,
To throw its spells around the dreaming boy,
But steals his quiet with its Siren-kiss,
And robs his soul of joy!
That flies the spirit hastening to enjoy—
That seems to come from fairer climes than this,
To throw its spells around the dreaming boy,
But steals his quiet with its Siren-kiss,
And robs his soul of joy!
Is this that power unknown
That rules the world with curbless, boundless sway,
Binding the lowest cot and loftiest throne
In golden fetters, which resist decay,
And breathing o'er each cold and rugged zone
The balminess of May?
That rules the world with curbless, boundless sway,
Binding the lowest cot and loftiest throne
In golden fetters, which resist decay,
And breathing o'er each cold and rugged zone
The balminess of May?
No! By the soul's high trust
On Him whose mandate bade the planets move!
Who, kind and merciful, though sternly just,
Gave unto man that loftiest boon of love,
To bless the spirit till his form is dust,
Then soar with it above!
On Him whose mandate bade the planets move!
Who, kind and merciful, though sternly just,
Gave unto man that loftiest boon of love,
To bless the spirit till his form is dust,
Then soar with it above!
80
'Tis no delusive spell,
Binding the fond heart in its shadowy hall;
But 'neath its power the purer feelings swell,
Till man forgets his thraldom and his fall,
And bliss, that slumbers in the spirit's cell,
Wakes at its magic call.
Binding the fond heart in its shadowy hall;
But 'neath its power the purer feelings swell,
Till man forgets his thraldom and his fall,
And bliss, that slumbers in the spirit's cell,
Wakes at its magic call.
Where'er its light has been,
But for a moment, twilight will remain;
Before whose ray, the night-born thoughts of sin
Cease from their torture of the maddened brain,
The spirit, deepest fallen, it can win
To better thoughts again!
But for a moment, twilight will remain;
Before whose ray, the night-born thoughts of sin
Cease from their torture of the maddened brain,
The spirit, deepest fallen, it can win
To better thoughts again!
'Tis for the young a star,
Beckoning the spirit to the future on—
Shining with pure and steady ray afar,
The herald of a yet unbroken dawn,
Where every fetter that has power to bar
In its warm glow is gone!
Beckoning the spirit to the future on—
Shining with pure and steady ray afar,
The herald of a yet unbroken dawn,
Where every fetter that has power to bar
In its warm glow is gone!
Who ne'er hath oped his heart
To that dove-messenger on life's dark sea,
Binds down his soul, in cold, mistaken art,
When vainly hoping he has made it free!
In earth's great family he takes no part—
He has not learned to be!
To that dove-messenger on life's dark sea,
Binds down his soul, in cold, mistaken art,
When vainly hoping he has made it free!
In earth's great family he takes no part—
He has not learned to be!
Who longs to feel its glow,
And nurtures every spark unto him given,
Has instincts of the rapture he shall know
When from its thralling dust the soul is riven.
He breathes, so long it blesses him below,
The native air of Heaven!
And nurtures every spark unto him given,
Has instincts of the rapture he shall know
When from its thralling dust the soul is riven.
He breathes, so long it blesses him below,
The native air of Heaven!
119
FRANKLIN.
The thunders of a mighty age
May drown the voices of the Past,
But thou, the Printer and the Sage,
Shalt speak thy wisdom to the last.
May drown the voices of the Past,
But thou, the Printer and the Sage,
Shalt speak thy wisdom to the last.
The power to stay the fleeting Thought,
Unto thy hand was early given,
Till with the mind's quick lightning fraught,
It learned to fetter that of Heaven.
Unto thy hand was early given,
Till with the mind's quick lightning fraught,
It learned to fetter that of Heaven.
The page, where by the Printer's art,
Thy voice has been eternal made,
Still bears its lessons wide apart,
The world to gladden and to aid.
Thy voice has been eternal made,
Still bears its lessons wide apart,
The world to gladden and to aid.
And now the lightning's wing of fire,
Which first was tamed beneath thy hand,
Takes on its path of slender wire
The Printer's word from land to land,
Which first was tamed beneath thy hand,
Takes on its path of slender wire
The Printer's word from land to land,
They both shall work, from age to age,
For Truth and Right, Man's will sublime—
The flash of Thought on many a page,
The lightning-throb, outspeeding Time.
For Truth and Right, Man's will sublime—
The flash of Thought on many a page,
The lightning-throb, outspeeding Time.
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