Poems and miscellanies selected from the writings of Miss Eliza Townsend Printed but not published |
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YESTERDAY, TO-DAY, TO-MORROW. |
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 | Poems and miscellanies selected from the writings of Miss Eliza Townsend |  |
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YESTERDAY, TO-DAY, TO-MORROW.
[1810.]
On Hallow Eve, as late I lay,
And vagrant Fancy chose to stray,
She met the Sisters three
Who realize the tales of yore,
Of fabled Fates in ancient lore,
Who held within their stern decree
What was, what is, and what shall be.
And vagrant Fancy chose to stray,
She met the Sisters three
Who realize the tales of yore,
Of fabled Fates in ancient lore,
Who held within their stern decree
What was, what is, and what shall be.
But theirs was but fictitious power,
The idol of an augur's hour,
Mythology's fantastic scheme,
The pagan's pageant, poet's dream;
Far diff'rent force to those is given
Whom late I met on Hallow Even,
On whom depends, in very truth,
All vice or virtue, joy or ruth,
That man can e'er befall;
All of the scenes that Life we call,
All that makes death invite—appall,
All that in Heaven can hope enthrall,
Or Hell affright withal!
The idol of an augur's hour,
Mythology's fantastic scheme,
The pagan's pageant, poet's dream;
Far diff'rent force to those is given
Whom late I met on Hallow Even,
On whom depends, in very truth,
All vice or virtue, joy or ruth,
That man can e'er befall;
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All that makes death invite—appall,
All that in Heaven can hope enthrall,
Or Hell affright withal!
The elder was of pensive air,
With sable eyes and jetty hair,
And dark brow, darker tinged with care,
That neither joy nor peace could share.
And to the world, she seemed to quit
With ever swift-retreating feet,
Small notice could she spare;
Yet now and then a glance was lent
To mark the steps, which way they bent,
Of her young sister, called To-day;
But as those steps would constant stray,
And reckless take the downward path,
Then, “more in sorrow than in wrath,”
She turned her head away.
With sable eyes and jetty hair,
And dark brow, darker tinged with care,
That neither joy nor peace could share.
And to the world, she seemed to quit
With ever swift-retreating feet,
Small notice could she spare;
Yet now and then a glance was lent
To mark the steps, which way they bent,
Of her young sister, called To-day;
But as those steps would constant stray,
And reckless take the downward path,
Then, “more in sorrow than in wrath,”
She turned her head away.
Slow she receded from my sight,
To distant domes of shadowy night,
To reach the spot where, shrouded, stood
Her family, “beyond the flood;”
Nor to my aching voice or eye,
Or looked regard or deigned reply;
But still that saintly form and mien,
Solemn though mild, though sad serene,
Seemed an embodied voice, to say
Mortal! my name is Yesterday!
To distant domes of shadowy night,
To reach the spot where, shrouded, stood
Her family, “beyond the flood;”
Nor to my aching voice or eye,
Or looked regard or deigned reply;
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Solemn though mild, though sad serene,
Seemed an embodied voice, to say
Mortal! my name is Yesterday!
The second of the kindred race
Received from heaven a livelier grace;
With health's own rose her cheek was dyed,
Bright was her hazel eye,
And graceful activeness supplied
The place of majesty.
Received from heaven a livelier grace;
With health's own rose her cheek was dyed,
Bright was her hazel eye,
And graceful activeness supplied
The place of majesty.
But truly active while she seemed,
What were her aims no soul could guess;
For still, in Wisdom's view, 'twere deemed
But busy idleness.
What were her aims no soul could guess;
For still, in Wisdom's view, 'twere deemed
But busy idleness.
In careless guise she roamed around,
And picked her pebbles from the ground,
And when attained the worthless store
She flung them by and gathered more;
And all her actions, as her thought,
Life's sunny surface only sought,
Nor ever searched the secret springs
That move beneath the face of things,
Though latent pearls beneath the sand
Awaited but her seeking hand,
And sleeping diamonds seemed to say—
Give us the sun's awakening ray!
And picked her pebbles from the ground,
And when attained the worthless store
She flung them by and gathered more;
And all her actions, as her thought,
Life's sunny surface only sought,
Nor ever searched the secret springs
That move beneath the face of things,
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Awaited but her seeking hand,
And sleeping diamonds seemed to say—
Give us the sun's awakening ray!
Thus reckless though she roved, yet near
Methought I traced the frequent tear;
And that she noted not the care
Or sorrows of the elder Fair,
Was not that (captious or severe)
She ceased to deem that sister dear,
But that her fond and eager sight,
(That else its glance had backward turned,
And taught it there to rest,)
Now with extatic ardor burned,
And darted onward on its light,
Where, seeming just from Ida's height,
As Hebe young, as Venus bright,
To-morrow stood confessed!
Methought I traced the frequent tear;
And that she noted not the care
Or sorrows of the elder Fair,
Was not that (captious or severe)
She ceased to deem that sister dear,
But that her fond and eager sight,
(That else its glance had backward turned,
And taught it there to rest,)
Now with extatic ardor burned,
And darted onward on its light,
Where, seeming just from Ida's height,
As Hebe young, as Venus bright,
To-morrow stood confessed!
There in a vista through the shade
Above whose arch the sunbeams played,
The fairest form that e'er was seen
Is pranking o'er the dewy green,
Peeping each mazy walk between,
Or playfully intent to screen
That dazzling hair and angel mien
Amid the boughs that intervene;
Those amber ringlets far behind
Wave in the sportive western wind,
And ever 'mid the green leaves seen,
Sparkle like fairy-light between.
But with her mantle's hues so fair
What tints of Nature could compare?
'Twas April's once—so poets say—
But Proteus stole the robe for May,
And Iris tinged it with her ray,
And Hope had borrowed from the skies
The colors for those azure eyes,
Whose tempered radiance, softened dyes,
Allured but not fatigued the sight;
And seemed a sunny orb to view,
Wreathed by a cloud of faintest blue,
That swam in liquid light!
Above whose arch the sunbeams played,
The fairest form that e'er was seen
Is pranking o'er the dewy green,
Peeping each mazy walk between,
Or playfully intent to screen
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Amid the boughs that intervene;
Those amber ringlets far behind
Wave in the sportive western wind,
And ever 'mid the green leaves seen,
Sparkle like fairy-light between.
But with her mantle's hues so fair
What tints of Nature could compare?
'Twas April's once—so poets say—
But Proteus stole the robe for May,
And Iris tinged it with her ray,
And Hope had borrowed from the skies
The colors for those azure eyes,
Whose tempered radiance, softened dyes,
Allured but not fatigued the sight;
And seemed a sunny orb to view,
Wreathed by a cloud of faintest blue,
That swam in liquid light!
O, matchless maid! forever hail!
Forever thus thy power prevail;
Each former inspiration o'er,
On other forms I gaze no more,
Nor wonder that the world agree
To slight thy sisters—worship thee.
For sure, without thy pitying power,
The first might prove the final hour;
And each his fettered life would free,
But for the blissful hope of thee.
As clouds the present scene o'ercast,
And Memory mourns the buried past,
The future, shown by thee, appears
Of fadeless joys and endless years.
Thou bath'st the Christian's aching eye
With dews from a celestial sky;
Thou calm'st the poet's troubled mind,
Whisp'ring “the world will yet be kind;”
Then bid'st before the patriot's soul
Visions of civic glory roll,
When ransomed realms shall give to fame
His laurelled bust, his pæaned name!
Forever thus thy power prevail;
Each former inspiration o'er,
On other forms I gaze no more,
Nor wonder that the world agree
To slight thy sisters—worship thee.
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The first might prove the final hour;
And each his fettered life would free,
But for the blissful hope of thee.
As clouds the present scene o'ercast,
And Memory mourns the buried past,
The future, shown by thee, appears
Of fadeless joys and endless years.
Thou bath'st the Christian's aching eye
With dews from a celestial sky;
Thou calm'st the poet's troubled mind,
Whisp'ring “the world will yet be kind;”
Then bid'st before the patriot's soul
Visions of civic glory roll,
When ransomed realms shall give to fame
His laurelled bust, his pæaned name!
Fairest and best, accept the song!
To thee my lays—myself belong.
All other thoughts I'd tell to flee,
And consecrate my soul to thee;
All other cherished loves depart,
Thou, only thou, shalt rule my heart!
To thee my lays—myself belong.
All other thoughts I'd tell to flee,
And consecrate my soul to thee;
All other cherished loves depart,
Thou, only thou, shalt rule my heart!
| Poems and miscellanies selected from the writings of Miss Eliza Townsend | |