 | Areytos or songs and ballads of the South |  |
315
STANZAS AT SEA.—SHADOWS.
I.
The night is wild, but sweet to meThe uncertain music that it brings;
And, o'er the darkly heaving sea,
I hear the rushing might of wings:
That wailing wo that seems to brood
Along the bosom of the deep,
Wakes in my soul a kindred mood,
And I must watch, and may not sleep.
II.
Let me but muse—and with no sound,Save that which sleepless ocean bears,
To break the silence settling round,
And vex my sense, and check my tears;
Be but this hour of gloom my own,
Give but my bosom's mood its way,
And with my wayward thoughts alone,
Let memory have her holy sway.
III.
A thousand shadows cross my sight,A thousand voices fill mine ears;
Eyes, perish'd now, that once were bright,
Crowd, gathering round me, dim with tears!
Ghosts of a former day, they come,
With thousand fancies dear as they;
They lift me high, they bear me home—
I'm in the morning of the day!
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IV.
The roaring of the sea is still,The wind is music, as when first,
By Ashley's wave and Cooper's hill,
On childhood's eager ear it burst:
No more a wanderer on the deep,
A homeless, hopeless child of care,
Eyes watch me now, with pride that weep,
And sweetest lips proclaim me dear.
V.
A word has brought them all once more—The white-hair'd sire, the brother tall,
The gentle mother—she who bore,
Yet bless'd the pang, the worst of all,
That none but mothers ever know!—
The sturdy friend, as true as brave,
That stood between me and the foe,
And pluck'd me from the greedy wave.
VI.
Sweet, holy phantoms!—how they rise!They pass, they smile, they wave their hands,
And beckon, blessing, to the skies,
That open at their high commands!
Ah! wherefore seek the wizard's power,
To bring us back the loved and lost,
When, by a prayer, and in an hour,
We scale the heavens and hail the host!
VII.
The heart hath in itself a spell,More strong than wizard ever knew:
'Tis but to cherish memory well,
And keep the faith forever true;
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Yield the whole soul to thought and love,
And Heaven's blue portals open wide,
And Pity watches from above.
VIII.
She watches, and her children come:White-wingéd Charity and Truth—
Hope, seraph of celestial bloom,
As true as time and warm as youth;
They bear the boon the prisoner prays,
God's first and fondest gift they bring—
Primeval love!—whose blesséd rays
Send healing on affliction's wing.
IX.
Their light is on my heart: the weightThat bore me down—the cold, cold gloom,
Are gone! The raging hell of hate,
That vex'd my spirit, gives it room;
The sunlight warms my dungeon now,
No more the sufferer sighs alone;
The fever passes from his brow,
The sorrow and the night are gone.
X.
If now to die, when from the heartThe hate and bitterness have fled—
When selfish hopes and fears depart,
And love and truth remain instead:
'Twere now to join that happy train,
That beckoning bless and upward fly;
To triumph in the past again,
And win the future, in the sky!
| Areytos or songs and ballads of the South | |