 | [Poems by Duganne in] The floral gift, from nature and the heart |  |
7
CHASTE LOVE.
Life of my soul! the love I bear thee
Is pure and holy, yet as deep
As theirs who nightly hover near thee
To guard thy spirit even in sleep,
And vigils o'er thy slumbers keep.
Is pure and holy, yet as deep
As theirs who nightly hover near thee
To guard thy spirit even in sleep,
And vigils o'er thy slumbers keep.
The angels, who do love thee, dearest,
Might share in holy love with me,
And when their whispering thou hearest,
Be sure my spirit speaks to thee—
For my own language theirs will be!
Might share in holy love with me,
And when their whispering thou hearest,
Be sure my spirit speaks to thee—
For my own language theirs will be!
Dearest! wouldst know how I do love thee?
It is not with an earthly fire—
But as the blessed stars above thee,
Which we may love, yet not desire—
And loving, to be like aspire!
It is not with an earthly fire—
But as the blessed stars above thee,
Which we may love, yet not desire—
And loving, to be like aspire!
Duganne.
21
CHILDISHNESS.
A fairy form is frolicking
In beauty round me now,
With cheek of sunbright loveliness
And fair and beaming brow.
He sporteth now around my feet,
In gambols free and wild—
A thing of youth and gentleness,
A gladsome, winsome, child!
In beauty round me now,
With cheek of sunbright loveliness
And fair and beaming brow.
He sporteth now around my feet,
In gambols free and wild—
A thing of youth and gentleness,
A gladsome, winsome, child!
He spyeth now a butterfly,
And boundeth o'er the green—
The daisies and the buttercups
He heedeth not, I ween—
His little hands he clappeth,
By the winged sprite beguiled,
And laugheth in his gladsomeness,
The happy, thoughtless child.
And boundeth o'er the green—
The daisies and the buttercups
He heedeth not, I ween—
His little hands he clappeth,
By the winged sprite beguiled,
And laugheth in his gladsomeness,
The happy, thoughtless child.
Duganne.
33
DEATH.
Is it so terrible
To die, when we are weary of the world—
To cast away the trials and the cares
Of life, as doth the glorious morning sun
Cast off the clouds of night? [OMITTED]
To die, when we are weary of the world—
To cast away the trials and the cares
Of life, as doth the glorious morning sun
Cast off the clouds of night? [OMITTED]
[OMITTED]What though the ills
And sorrows of humanity do press,
With heavy weight upon us;—like the flow'rs,
That bend at eve beneath the heavy dew,
Yet when the glorious sunlight beameth forth
Spring gladly up, awakened by its rays,
And renovated by the very load
Of moisture which had bowed them to the earth,—
So shall the cares, the sorrows, and the pains
Of human being but invigorate
The soul, when soon the sun of Righteousness
Shall burst in holy splendor.
And sorrows of humanity do press,
With heavy weight upon us;—like the flow'rs,
That bend at eve beneath the heavy dew,
Yet when the glorious sunlight beameth forth
Spring gladly up, awakened by its rays,
And renovated by the very load
Of moisture which had bowed them to the earth,—
So shall the cares, the sorrows, and the pains
Of human being but invigorate
The soul, when soon the sun of Righteousness
Shall burst in holy splendor.
Duganne.
59
HOPE.
Hope on!
Even when thy heaven is clouded,
Seest thou not,
Where the dark night is shrouded,
Stars peep out?—
Though they are hidden, still they shine—
Soon shalt thou see their light divine.
Even when thy heaven is clouded,
Seest thou not,
Where the dark night is shrouded,
Stars peep out?—
Though they are hidden, still they shine—
Soon shalt thou see their light divine.
Hope on—
Often the dark shadow falleth
Over thy soul!—
O'er thee the cloud that appalleth—
Often doth roll:—
Yet but remember, light must be,
Else were the shadow UNSEEN by thee!
Often the dark shadow falleth
Over thy soul!—
O'er thee the cloud that appalleth—
Often doth roll:—
Yet but remember, light must be,
Else were the shadow UNSEEN by thee!
Duganne.
64
SPIRIT VISION.
In the lone and silent midnight,
When the stars are glancing out,
One by one, like holy beacons,
'Mid the darkened sky of doubt—
Then I feel within my spirit,
Breathings of a purer life—
Voices of an inward music,
Calming every thought of strife.
When the stars are glancing out,
One by one, like holy beacons,
'Mid the darkened sky of doubt—
Then I feel within my spirit,
Breathings of a purer life—
Voices of an inward music,
Calming every thought of strife.
Light breaks in upon my chamber,
Light that springeth not in earth—
Soft and sweet come many whispers—
Not in fancy have they birth—
And around me, mute and voiceless,
Forms of more than mortal light,
Move with footsteps soft and noiseless—
Fix on me their glances bright.
Light that springeth not in earth—
Soft and sweet come many whispers—
Not in fancy have they birth—
And around me, mute and voiceless,
Forms of more than mortal light,
Move with footsteps soft and noiseless—
Fix on me their glances bright.
Duganne.
72
MY DESTINY IS IN YOUR HANDS.
Leave me not, thou brightest one—
All is joy when thou art near—
Thou canst teach my soul to shun
Paths of gloom and thoughts of fear.
All is joy when thou art near—
Thou canst teach my soul to shun
Paths of gloom and thoughts of fear.
I am like the cloud of night,
Clothed in gloom and mystery—
Thou the beaming morning light,
Causing all its gloom to flee.
Clothed in gloom and mystery—
Thou the beaming morning light,
Causing all its gloom to flee.
I am like the airy kite,
Soaring in the sky above—
Guided in my lofty flight,
By the thread of my sweet love.
Soaring in the sky above—
Guided in my lofty flight,
By the thread of my sweet love.
Ah! should fate the chord divide
That connects my heart with thine—
Wavering, then, without a guide,
Darkness and despair are mine.
That connects my heart with thine—
Wavering, then, without a guide,
Darkness and despair are mine.
Duganne
74
PENSIVE BEAUTY.
Art thou not near me, with thy earnest eyes,
That weep forth sympathy!—thy holy brow,
Whereon such sweet imaginings do rise:
Art thou not near me, when I call thee now,
Maid of my childhood's vow!
That weep forth sympathy!—thy holy brow,
Whereon such sweet imaginings do rise:
Art thou not near me, when I call thee now,
Maid of my childhood's vow!
Even like an angel, smiling 'mid the storm,
Wert thou amid the darkness of my woes—
Thy pure thoughts clustering around thy form,
Like seraph garments, whiter than the snows
Which the wild sea upthrows.
Wert thou amid the darkness of my woes—
Thy pure thoughts clustering around thy form,
Like seraph garments, whiter than the snows
Which the wild sea upthrows.
Now I behold thee, with thy sorrowing smile,
And thy deep soul uplooking from thy face,
While sweetly crost upon thy breast the while,
Thy white hands do thy holy heart embrace,
In its calm dwelling-place!
And thy deep soul uplooking from thy face,
While sweetly crost upon thy breast the while,
Thy white hands do thy holy heart embrace,
In its calm dwelling-place!
Duganne.
100
MUSIC.
List, list! how sweetly on the night-air floatsThis music, with a soft and thrilling sound,
Breathing the sweetest melody around,
And waking in each bosom kindred notes,
Now, with a martial sound it strikes the ear,
And rouses dreams of fame in every breast;
Now tones of softness lull such dreams to rest,
Calming each passion—soothing every fear.
Thine, Music! is the power divine, to raise
And chasten, with thy gentle charm, the soul;
Thine is the language meet for heaven's praise
Thine accents bless the earth from pole to pole:
And ever to my heart thou'lt welcome be,
And though to passion dead, 'twill ne'er be so to thee!
Duganne.
121
MODESTY.
A simple flower is modesty—
It bloometh in the wild,
Where 'mid the interwoven leaves,
The sun-beam falleth mild,
And silently it there receives
Its nurture undefiled.
It bloometh in the wild,
Where 'mid the interwoven leaves,
The sun-beam falleth mild,
And silently it there receives
Its nurture undefiled.
O, better far that solitude,
Should bosom all its sweets,
Than that upon its form should blow
The wind that roughly greets,
Or fall on it with scorching glow,
The fiery summer heats.
Should bosom all its sweets,
Than that upon its form should blow
The wind that roughly greets,
Or fall on it with scorching glow,
The fiery summer heats.
Duganne.
125
PROSPERITY.
Prosperity attend thee,My fair and gentle friend,
May fortune still befriend thee,
And all its pleasures lend.
Through life as thou dost wend thee,
May heaven its blessings send,
Like seraphs, to attend thee,
For evermore, my friend.
May angel arms defend thee,
And o'er thy pathway bend,
And peace and comfort send thee
In life and death, my friend.
Duganne.
| [Poems by Duganne in] The floral gift, from nature and the heart | |