 | [Poems by Gallagher in] Selections from the poetical literature of the West |  |
65
OUR EARLY DAYS.
Our EARLY DAYS!—How often back
We turn on Life's bewildering track,
To where, o'er hill and valley, plays
The sunlight of our early days!
We turn on Life's bewildering track,
To where, o'er hill and valley, plays
The sunlight of our early days!
A Boy!—my truant steps were seen
Where streams were bright, and meadows green;
Where flow'rs, in beauty and perfume,
Breath'd ever of the Eden-bloom,—
And birds, abroad in the free wind,
Sang, as they left the earth behind
And wing'd their joyous way above,
Of Eden-peace, and Eden-love.
That life was of the soul, as well
As of the outward-visible;
And now, its streams are dry; and sere,
And brown, its meadows all appear;
Gone are its flow'rs; its bird's glad voice
But seldom bids my heart rejoice;
And, like the mist as comes the day,
Its Eden-glories roll away.
Where streams were bright, and meadows green;
Where flow'rs, in beauty and perfume,
Breath'd ever of the Eden-bloom,—
And birds, abroad in the free wind,
Sang, as they left the earth behind
And wing'd their joyous way above,
Of Eden-peace, and Eden-love.
That life was of the soul, as well
As of the outward-visible;
And now, its streams are dry; and sere,
And brown, its meadows all appear;
Gone are its flow'rs; its bird's glad voice
But seldom bids my heart rejoice;
And, like the mist as comes the day,
Its Eden-glories roll away.
66
A Youth!—the mountain torrent made
The music which my soul obey'd.
To shun the crowded ways of men,
And seek the old tradition'd glen,
Where, through the dim, uncertain light,
Moved many an ever-changing sprite,—
Alone the splinter'd crag to dare,
While trooping shadows fill'd the air,
And quicken'd fancy many a form
Traced vaguely in the gathering storm,—
To tread the forest's lone arcades,
And dream of Sherwood's peopled shades,
And Windsor's haunted ‘alleys green’
‘Dingle’ and ‘bosky bourn’ between,
Till burst upon my raptured glance
The whole wide realm of Old Romance:
Such was the life I lived—a youth!
But vanish'd, at the touch of Truth,
And never to be known agen,
Is all that made my being then.
The music which my soul obey'd.
To shun the crowded ways of men,
And seek the old tradition'd glen,
Where, through the dim, uncertain light,
Moved many an ever-changing sprite,—
Alone the splinter'd crag to dare,
While trooping shadows fill'd the air,
And quicken'd fancy many a form
Traced vaguely in the gathering storm,—
To tread the forest's lone arcades,
And dream of Sherwood's peopled shades,
And Windsor's haunted ‘alleys green’
‘Dingle’ and ‘bosky bourn’ between,
Till burst upon my raptured glance
The whole wide realm of Old Romance:
Such was the life I lived—a youth!
But vanish'd, at the touch of Truth,
And never to be known agen,
Is all that made my being then.
A Man!—the thirst for fame was mine,
And bow'd me at Ambition's shrine,
Among the votaries who have given
Time, health, hope, peace—and madly striven,
Ay, madly! for that which, when found,
Is oftenest but an empty sound.
And I have worshipp'd!—even yet
Mine eye is on the Idol set;
But it hath found so much to be
But hollowness and mockery,
That from its worship oft it turns
To where a Light intenser burns,
Before whose radiance, pure and warm,
Ambition's star must cease to charm.
And bow'd me at Ambition's shrine,
Among the votaries who have given
Time, health, hope, peace—and madly striven,
Ay, madly! for that which, when found,
Is oftenest but an empty sound.
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Mine eye is on the Idol set;
But it hath found so much to be
But hollowness and mockery,
That from its worship oft it turns
To where a Light intenser burns,
Before whose radiance, pure and warm,
Ambition's star must cease to charm.
Our EARLY DAYS!—They haunt us ever—
Bright star-gleams on Life's silent river,
Which pierce the shadows, deep and dun,
That bar e'en manhood's noonday sun.
Bright star-gleams on Life's silent river,
Which pierce the shadows, deep and dun,
That bar e'en manhood's noonday sun.
177
LINES TO A POETESS.
Lady—I know thee only
Through the breathings of thy song,
But my thought has often pictured thee
The loveliest of the throng,
Who, in our free, wild forest-land,
Have knelt them at the shrine
Of Eloquence and Poesy—
The thrilling, the divine.
Through the breathings of thy song,
But my thought has often pictured thee
The loveliest of the throng,
Who, in our free, wild forest-land,
Have knelt them at the shrine
Of Eloquence and Poesy—
The thrilling, the divine.
The ever-verdant islands
That dot Mind's soundless sea,
Seem pleasure-walks, and pilgrim-spots,
Familiar unto thee;
And the flowers of immortal Thought
That there unfading bloom,
Thou hast their beauty at thy heart,
Their brightness, their perfume.
That dot Mind's soundless sea,
Seem pleasure-walks, and pilgrim-spots,
Familiar unto thee;
And the flowers of immortal Thought
That there unfading bloom,
Thou hast their beauty at thy heart,
Their brightness, their perfume.
Along the blessed Heaven
Thy spirit holds its way,
In the starry radiance of the night,
And the golden light of day,—
Its pinions flashing back the sheen
Of those unclouded spheres,
And its own wild music mingling
With the angel-notes it hears.
Thy spirit holds its way,
In the starry radiance of the night,
And the golden light of day,—
178
Of those unclouded spheres,
And its own wild music mingling
With the angel-notes it hears.
In the human heart already
Thou hold'st an honored place,
And there thou hast engraven things
Which nothing can efface.
Hold on, among Earth's gifted, then!
Tread firm the paths of Fame!
And high, upon the heaven of Mind,
Thou'lt write a deathless name.
Thou hold'st an honored place,
And there thou hast engraven things
Which nothing can efface.
Hold on, among Earth's gifted, then!
Tread firm the paths of Fame!
And high, upon the heaven of Mind,
Thou'lt write a deathless name.
263
OLDEN MEMORIES.
There's a voice from every bird,
There 's a tone in every tree,
That recalls some burning word
I have uttered when with thee:
There 's an eye in every star,
There 's a look in every cloud,
That bears my thoughts afar
Where thou rulest Fashion's crowd.
There 's a tone in every tree,
That recalls some burning word
I have uttered when with thee:
There 's an eye in every star,
There 's a look in every cloud,
That bears my thoughts afar
Where thou rulest Fashion's crowd.
Every sweet and breathing flow'r
That scents the twilight breeze,
Hath a ministry and pow'r
Over “Olden Memories:”
Every ripple of the stream
That goes singing on its way,
Hath a tale of boyhood's dream,
And of manhood's merry May.
That scents the twilight breeze,
Hath a ministry and pow'r
Over “Olden Memories:”
264
That goes singing on its way,
Hath a tale of boyhood's dream,
And of manhood's merry May.
I have treasured every look,
I have garnered every tone,
Till my heart is like a book
Fill'd with memories alone:
I have asked no higher bliss,
'Mid the world's incessant din,
Since our last hope died, than this—
To dream of what hath been.
I have garnered every tone,
Till my heart is like a book
Fill'd with memories alone:
I have asked no higher bliss,
'Mid the world's incessant din,
Since our last hope died, than this—
To dream of what hath been.
And in the silence of the night,
And 'mid the bustle of the day,
Oft a vision glads my sight,
And I wish it not away:
But I wonder then if thou,
In thy far and wedded home,
Ever think'st of him who now
To thy presence may not come.
And 'mid the bustle of the day,
Oft a vision glads my sight,
And I wish it not away:
But I wonder then if thou,
In thy far and wedded home,
Ever think'st of him who now
To thy presence may not come.
| [Poems by Gallagher in] Selections from the poetical literature of the West | |