 | Abaddon, the spirit of destruction ; and other poems |  |
102
THE STAR OF MEMORY.
Life! life! how many Scyllas dost thou hide
In thy calm depths, which sooner kill than threaten?
Phineas Fletcher.
In thy calm depths, which sooner kill than threaten?
Phineas Fletcher.
O'er the lone temple of my secret mind,
That stands unnoted 'mid the pomp of men,
Beam, star of memory! ever mild and kind,
And wake the slumbering thoughts of youth agen,
That every green hillside and shadowy glen,
Peopled by angel visitants, may bring
Once more the sinless hours of pleasure when
The pure bright Spirit o'er the world could fling
The beauty, light and bloom of one unchanging spring!
That stands unnoted 'mid the pomp of men,
Beam, star of memory! ever mild and kind,
And wake the slumbering thoughts of youth agen,
That every green hillside and shadowy glen,
Peopled by angel visitants, may bring
Once more the sinless hours of pleasure when
The pure bright Spirit o'er the world could fling
The beauty, light and bloom of one unchanging spring!
Bliss of my childhood! sister of my soul!
Oft o'er thy name my voiceless spirit sighs,
As my path wanders and the fleet years roll,
And disappointments darken on my eyes.
Oft through the depths of vast, blue, glorious skies
My yearning though bereaved thoughts sadly roam,
Painting thy form 'mid those effulgencies
That glow forever round thy heavenly home,
Whence thy soft smiles effuse o'er trial days to come.
Oft o'er thy name my voiceless spirit sighs,
As my path wanders and the fleet years roll,
And disappointments darken on my eyes.
Oft through the depths of vast, blue, glorious skies
My yearning though bereaved thoughts sadly roam,
Painting thy form 'mid those effulgencies
That glow forever round thy heavenly home,
Whence thy soft smiles effuse o'er trial days to come.
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Thou wert my starlight, sister! holy truth,
Thrilling devotion and immortal love
With seraph robes of beauty clothed thy youth,
That breathed the mildness of the snow-winged dove;
At eve, accustomed by thy side to rove
From toil unsolaced, unrewarded, o'er
The new-mown meadows where the flock and drove
Gleaned after harvest, thoughts, bound down before,
Gushed from their unsealed spring, with thee on high to soar.
Thrilling devotion and immortal love
With seraph robes of beauty clothed thy youth,
That breathed the mildness of the snow-winged dove;
At eve, accustomed by thy side to rove
From toil unsolaced, unrewarded, o'er
The new-mown meadows where the flock and drove
Gleaned after harvest, thoughts, bound down before,
Gushed from their unsealed spring, with thee on high to soar.
For in thy dayspring not of earth wert thou,
And feeling, mother of event, foretold
That malady should blanche thy beaming brow,
Quench that sweet eye and leave that fresh heart cold;
Yet not in fear, but grief, didst thou behold
The hastened vision of thine early end,
And from the sacred wisdom, stored of old,
Thy sorrow with the slow discourse did blend
Full many a promise blest to soothe thy weeping friend.
And feeling, mother of event, foretold
That malady should blanche thy beaming brow,
Quench that sweet eye and leave that fresh heart cold;
Yet not in fear, but grief, didst thou behold
The hastened vision of thine early end,
And from the sacred wisdom, stored of old,
Thy sorrow with the slow discourse did blend
Full many a promise blest to soothe thy weeping friend.
Thy widowed parent and thy brother heard,
Cherubic Spirit! thy pure breath depart;
Thy meek religion in our bosoms stirr'd,
And hushed our dreadful hopelessness of heart;
For well we knew thine was the better part,
That sin could never stain thy spotless mind,
Nor evil—jaguar of the world's dark mart—
Torture thy nature and thy bosom bind
With chains of agony—and so we grew resigned.
Cherubic Spirit! thy pure breath depart;
Thy meek religion in our bosoms stirr'd,
And hushed our dreadful hopelessness of heart;
For well we knew thine was the better part,
That sin could never stain thy spotless mind,
Nor evil—jaguar of the world's dark mart—
Torture thy nature and thy bosom bind
With chains of agony—and so we grew resigned.
104
Cease thy vain workings, memory! and be still,
And let me not repine o'er fading dreams
Of lost affection that with anguish fill
A wronged and troubled heart! Thy beauty gleams
Through being's storm, and by its hallowed beams
Watches pale melancholy unto its rest,
Where the rapt soul with truth prophetic deems
It holds communion with thee, Sister blest!
And sinks away from grief on thine ethereal breast.
And let me not repine o'er fading dreams
Of lost affection that with anguish fill
A wronged and troubled heart! Thy beauty gleams
Through being's storm, and by its hallowed beams
Watches pale melancholy unto its rest,
Where the rapt soul with truth prophetic deems
It holds communion with thee, Sister blest!
And sinks away from grief on thine ethereal breast.
| Abaddon, the spirit of destruction ; and other poems | |