 | Areytos or songs and ballads of the South |  |
188
THE AMULET.
I.
Here's a spell of power I've wove—Woven at night, in the moonlight pale:
It was wrought to rouse to a happy love,
And to cure a heart of its hapless ail!
Take it, and make it thine, I pray;
Bind its leaves to thy wounded heart—
Every pang it will steal away,
Every sorrow 'twill make depart!
II.
More than this, when thy soul is sad,A mystic pleasure 'twill quickly bring—
Wingéd fancies, to make thee glad,
Fresh from the wizard's haunted spring!
'Twill make thy drooping eye to glow,
Bright with fresh hopes and youthful fire!
'Twill make thy bosom once more to know
The purple gush of its young desire!
III.
Mine's the alchemist's charm, to giveTo the withering heart all its native powers;
To bid, with a voice of song, revive
Every grace of thy youthful hours!
Buried treasures, and banish'd joys,
What the Fate preys on evermore,
And Hate pursues, and Time destroys—
Mine are the powers that still restore!
189
IV.
Then, if thine eyes would again beholdThe long-lost dear one, too early blest;
The loved, that in living were never cold,
Won back again from their sainted rest—
Lo! as you lift your tearful eyes,
Softly stooping, each starry wing,
Won, at a word, from the opening skies,
By the sacred force of the spell I bring!
V.
Sovereign for hurt of heart the spell,Woven by midnight, in moonlight pale;
Strove the auspicious spirits well,
That its virtues of healing should never fail.
They taught me to rear the flower whose fruit
Hath given me power the sad to free,
Whenever Love shall make mournful suit,
For healing and hope, to Memory!
| Areytos or songs and ballads of the South | |