 | Mina, a dramatic sketch : with Other Poems |  |
THE EVENING STAR.
Ere lingering sunlight leaves the western sky
And mellow tintings mingle with the gloom,
The crescent gilds the soft blue arch on high,
With beams that seem in upper air to bloom,
And down the cope of heaven afar,
A world of beauty, bliss and love,
Gleams brightly forth the Evening Star,
The loveliest light of all the host above.
And mellow tintings mingle with the gloom,
The crescent gilds the soft blue arch on high,
With beams that seem in upper air to bloom,
And down the cope of heaven afar,
A world of beauty, bliss and love,
Gleams brightly forth the Evening Star,
The loveliest light of all the host above.
Cold searching science may the spheres explore,
And yon vast systems learnedly unfold,
But, wrapt in beauty's charms, I scorn the lore,
And lightly all such withering knowledge hold;
When fancy revels in the skies,
And rose-wreathed bowers are breathing balm,
O who would know the mysteries
Of heaven—and all the glorious scene uncharm?
And yon vast systems learnedly unfold,
But, wrapt in beauty's charms, I scorn the lore,
And lightly all such withering knowledge hold;
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And rose-wreathed bowers are breathing balm,
O who would know the mysteries
Of heaven—and all the glorious scene uncharm?
Let man, lone habitant of this dark sphere,
Deem you bright orbs the starry halls of love,
Where souls congenial meet that sorrowed here,
And through elysian groves in rapture rove!
Rend not away the magic veil
That brightens beauties seen afar;
Belie not fancy's fairy tale,
That sees a paradise in every star!
Deem you bright orbs the starry halls of love,
Where souls congenial meet that sorrowed here,
And through elysian groves in rapture rove!
Rend not away the magic veil
That brightens beauties seen afar;
Belie not fancy's fairy tale,
That sees a paradise in every star!
Thou Evening Star! o'er yon blue mountain sinking,
Thy radiant beams along the white clouds burn,
And, as I gaze, my wandering soul is thinking
Of past delights that never can return;
Thou art a friend beloved, and long
I've told my sorrows all to thee,
For I, a feeling son of song,
Have been the sport of wayward destiny.
Thy radiant beams along the white clouds burn,
And, as I gaze, my wandering soul is thinking
Of past delights that never can return;
Thou art a friend beloved, and long
I've told my sorrows all to thee,
For I, a feeling son of song,
Have been the sport of wayward destiny.
Oft on the hill-top 'mid embowering woods
I sit when night relieves my heart from care,
And nothing sensual on my soul intrudes,
As in the world's rude strife and day-light's glare,
And watch thy light, sweet Evening Star!
And think how dear a home thou art,
Shrined in the ethereal sky afar,
To the sad spirit and the suffering heart.
I sit when night relieves my heart from care,
And nothing sensual on my soul intrudes,
As in the world's rude strife and day-light's glare,
And watch thy light, sweet Evening Star!
And think how dear a home thou art,
Shrined in the ethereal sky afar,
To the sad spirit and the suffering heart.
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Well have the wild-souled bards of Yemen deemed
Thine orb the dwelling of the great and good,
Where Indra's glory hath for ever beamed
Since from the skies rolled Ganges' holy flood,
And 'mid the Swerga's hallowed bowers
Dwelt suras pure and glendoveers,
Happy as heaven's own living flowers,
Unchanging as the lapse of endless years.
Thine orb the dwelling of the great and good,
Where Indra's glory hath for ever beamed
Since from the skies rolled Ganges' holy flood,
And 'mid the Swerga's hallowed bowers
Dwelt suras pure and glendoveers,
Happy as heaven's own living flowers,
Unchanging as the lapse of endless years.
There pure ones dwell, for ever blest—and there
Chant songs, whose music sometimes steals away,
And faintly floats along the moonlight air,
Like the low warblings of a seraph's lay;
Around the holy shrine they throng
In sacred groups, while soft perfume
Waves in the breath of glowing song,
And soars to God, like spirits from the tomb.
Chant songs, whose music sometimes steals away,
And faintly floats along the moonlight air,
Like the low warblings of a seraph's lay;
Around the holy shrine they throng
In sacred groups, while soft perfume
Waves in the breath of glowing song,
And soars to God, like spirits from the tomb.
Now in the budding springtime of the year
Young hearts will blossom in the smiles of love,
And soul-lit eyes, gem of the starry sphere!
Delight in thee;—lone wandering through the grove
Where fanning airs 'mid green leaves play,
Lovers entranced gaze on thy beams,
And paint a paradise far away
Of groves and flowers and birds and murmuring streams.
Young hearts will blossom in the smiles of love,
And soul-lit eyes, gem of the starry sphere!
Delight in thee;—lone wandering through the grove
Where fanning airs 'mid green leaves play,
Lovers entranced gaze on thy beams,
And paint a paradise far away
Of groves and flowers and birds and murmuring streams.
And, oh, how lovely are their visions! Light
Descends from heaven on love's first blissful dream,
And on the heart falls all that meets the sight
In rainbow hues with ever-varying gleam.
If e'er on earth we can define
The joys that prophets tell of heaven,
'Tis when young hearts in love divine
Blend like the blue and purple hues of even.
Descends from heaven on love's first blissful dream,
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In rainbow hues with ever-varying gleam.
If e'er on earth we can define
The joys that prophets tell of heaven,
'Tis when young hearts in love divine
Blend like the blue and purple hues of even.
But love is madness in a world like this—
It smiles to agonize—it charms to slay!
Demons watch o'er earth's holiest scenes of bliss,
And laugh at sorrow nothing can allay.
Fame, knowledge, wealth and pride and power,
And love and joy are all in vain;
They live and bloom one little hour,
Then fade like Evening's Star and sink to pain.
It smiles to agonize—it charms to slay!
Demons watch o'er earth's holiest scenes of bliss,
And laugh at sorrow nothing can allay.
Fame, knowledge, wealth and pride and power,
And love and joy are all in vain;
They live and bloom one little hour,
Then fade like Evening's Star and sink to pain.
| Mina, a dramatic sketch : with Other Poems | |