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 | [Poems by Hoffman in] Charles Fenno Hoffman |  |
289
TO ---
They tell me that my trusting heart
Thy fondness is deceived in,
They say that thou as fickle art
As others I've believed in;
I heed not, reck not, what they say
So earnestly about thee,
I'd rather trust my soul away,
Than for a moment doubt thee.
Thy fondness is deceived in,
They say that thou as fickle art
As others I've believed in;
I heed not, reck not, what they say
So earnestly about thee,
290
Than for a moment doubt thee.
I do not in thy presence yet
A former passion smother,
Nor in thy tenderness forget
The coldness of another.
Oh; no, my heart is thine alone,
And memory, can never
Recall a dream forever flown,
My thoughts from thee to sever.
A former passion smother,
Nor in thy tenderness forget
The coldness of another.
Oh; no, my heart is thine alone,
And memory, can never
Recall a dream forever flown,
My thoughts from thee to sever.
Like mine, thy fondest hopes were crost,
Thy best affections slighted,
Thy peace in Passion's tempest lost,
Thy dearest prospects blighted;
Devotion is most deep and pure
In hearts by sorrow shaded,
And love like ours will still endure,
When brighter ties have faded.
Thy best affections slighted,
Thy peace in Passion's tempest lost,
Thy dearest prospects blighted;
Devotion is most deep and pure
In hearts by sorrow shaded,
And love like ours will still endure,
When brighter ties have faded.
And Dearest, had we sooner met,
Ere both were broken hearted;
Or could we even now forget
The ties which Fate has parted—
Our souls would never be so true,
So tenderly united,
Nor should we feel as now we do—
The bliss of love requited.
Ere both were broken hearted;
Or could we even now forget
The ties which Fate has parted—
Our souls would never be so true,
So tenderly united,
Nor should we feel as now we do—
The bliss of love requited.
Caspar
291
TO ---
Thy cheek is pale! Has feeling thereOne moment marked the hue of care?
Can care itself in secret prey
And steal thy youthful bloom away?
Oh no! that mien can never hide
Suppressed emotion's swelling tide—
Tis far too cold, too calm to cover
A generous suffering for another—
And though consuming care could not,
To revel, choose a lovelier spot,
In features more divine—
I will not think his wasting blight
Thus early, can remorseless light
On such a heart as thine—
Thy gentle bosom ne'er could know,
The havoc made by stormy woe;
In sterner hearts alone appears
In lapse of hours, the wreck of years;
And only such can still endure
The wounds which Death alone can cure—
The paleness then upon thy cheek
Does not the silent waste bespeak
Of Health or Hope within,
But thought has left a transient place,
A lighter mood will soon efface—
A cloud that will a moment stay,
Then pass like woman's love away,
As if it ne'er had been.
Caspar
292
ON THE GRAVE OF A FRIEND
Why pause to gaze upon this spot?
Seek'st thou in idle mood the name
Of him whose form is laid to rot
Beneath this turfen frame?
Seek'st thou in idle mood the name
Of him whose form is laid to rot
Beneath this turfen frame?
Or does the weed which rankly waves
Above this mound attract thine eye?
It blooms as fresh o'er other graves,
Why not to them pass by?
Above this mound attract thine eye?
It blooms as fresh o'er other graves,
Why not to them pass by?
If thou art one whose morbid mind,
O'er scenes like this delights to brood,
To waste thy grief upon the wind,
On all thy tearful mood.
O'er scenes like this delights to brood,
To waste thy grief upon the wind,
On all thy tearful mood.
The mouldering form that slumbers here,
If conscious of thy lavished sighs,
Would hardly prize the random tear,
That falls from Strangers eyes.
If conscious of thy lavished sighs,
Would hardly prize the random tear,
That falls from Strangers eyes.
The pulse of life that here was stilled,
With human passion ne'er beat high;
No restless dreams this bosom filled,
With vain ambitious sigh.
With human passion ne'er beat high;
No restless dreams this bosom filled,
With vain ambitious sigh.
The heart that here at last was hushed,
With faithful Friendship throb'd alone;
It ne'er with shame his features flushed—
Perchance unlike thine own.
With faithful Friendship throb'd alone;
It ne'er with shame his features flushed—
Perchance unlike thine own.
A dog—nay, check that scornful smile,
A Dog's remains are buried here—
The only friend whom worldly guile,
Or rivalry, or woman's wile,
Cannot make less sincere.
A Dog's remains are buried here—
The only friend whom worldly guile,
Or rivalry, or woman's wile,
Cannot make less sincere.
Caspar
293
SONG
Farewell! we part, we part forever;
'Twere better had we never met,
But still the dream that's past, I never,
Never can on earth forget.
'Twere better had we never met,
But still the dream that's past, I never,
Never can on earth forget.
Like flowers that spring on rocks to perish,
Has been each hope I ever nurst
The one my heart would fondest cherish;
Was always sure to fade the first.
Yet love around that heart will twine,
Corroding as it is away,
As closer clings the ivy vine,
Whene'er its leaves enwrap decay.
Has been each hope I ever nurst
The one my heart would fondest cherish;
Was always sure to fade the first.
Yet love around that heart will twine,
Corroding as it is away,
As closer clings the ivy vine,
Whene'er its leaves enwrap decay.
The lingering sun is forced to vanish,
At night's approach beyond the West;
But sorrow's night can never banish,
Thine image from my brain or breast,
As waves will in the moonbeams shine,
While all is dark and cold beneath,
Each look I've loved and lost of thine,
Will beam o'er memory's tide till death.
At night's approach beyond the West;
But sorrow's night can never banish,
Thine image from my brain or breast,
As waves will in the moonbeams shine,
While all is dark and cold beneath,
Each look I've loved and lost of thine,
Will beam o'er memory's tide till death.
Farewell! we part, we part forever,
'Twere better we had never met;
Yet still the dream that's past, I never,
Never can on earth forget.
'Twere better we had never met;
Yet still the dream that's past, I never,
Never can on earth forget.
Caspar
294
STANZAS
It is not Friendship that would here record
The hacknied tribute of elegiac wo—
The sacred tear, by mute affection poured,
The silent offerings that in secret flow,
Are, in the realms to which thy soul has soared,
As grateful still as once they were below.
'Tis not that vanity thy modest name
Would wreathe with chaplets, which it never earned—
And empty honors idly strive to claim
For one whose mind their fleeting shadows spurned.
The hacknied tribute of elegiac wo—
The sacred tear, by mute affection poured,
The silent offerings that in secret flow,
Are, in the realms to which thy soul has soared,
As grateful still as once they were below.
'Tis not that vanity thy modest name
Would wreathe with chaplets, which it never earned—
And empty honors idly strive to claim
For one whose mind their fleeting shadows spurned.
It is the man—'tis character, that here
Exacts the tribute unto merit due—
'Tis singleness of heart—piety sincere,
A soul unto itself, as others, true.
'Tis while we ripen'd intellect revere,
To human excellence we in homage sue.
And one to cold obscurity consign'd,
From which in dreams alone he e'er has sighed,
Would snatch the memory of thy noble mind,
From dark Oblivion's swift effacing tide.
Exacts the tribute unto merit due—
'Tis singleness of heart—piety sincere,
A soul unto itself, as others, true.
'Tis while we ripen'd intellect revere,
To human excellence we in homage sue.
And one to cold obscurity consign'd,
From which in dreams alone he e'er has sighed,
Would snatch the memory of thy noble mind,
From dark Oblivion's swift effacing tide.
Few of the qualities, to few belong,
Which here were all within one breast combined—
The gentle temper, and the judgment strong—
The chastened humor, and the taste refined—
The indignation, when audacious wrong
Excited feeling deep, as well as kind.
Such minds can ne'er that impious cant approve,
Which names this life one miserable breath,
Measures the Creator's, by a mortal's love,
And makes Religion odious as Death.
Which here were all within one breast combined—
The gentle temper, and the judgment strong—
The chastened humor, and the taste refined—
The indignation, when audacious wrong
Excited feeling deep, as well as kind.
Such minds can ne'er that impious cant approve,
Which names this life one miserable breath,
Measures the Creator's, by a mortal's love,
And makes Religion odious as Death.
295
Not as the vulture, but the peaceful dove,
The soul to solace, not the mind molest—
She comes, embassadress of heavenly love,
To the wild empire of the human breast:
And bears a mission from the realms above,
To soothe its jarring elements to rest.
And thou hast realized her promise, when
The bitter struggles of this world are o'er,
Nor cold suspense nor torturing despair,
With doubt or fear distract thy bosom more.
The soul to solace, not the mind molest—
She comes, embassadress of heavenly love,
To the wild empire of the human breast:
And bears a mission from the realms above,
To soothe its jarring elements to rest.
And thou hast realized her promise, when
The bitter struggles of this world are o'er,
Nor cold suspense nor torturing despair,
With doubt or fear distract thy bosom more.
FROM “DIARY OF A YOUNG MAN ABOUT TOWN”
The night-breeze that at random sweeps,
Across some long neglected lute,
May chance to wake one lonely chord,
While every string beside is mute.
Across some long neglected lute,
May chance to wake one lonely chord,
While every string beside is mute.
And tones that oft unheeded fall
On those whom they were meant to bless,
May from some faithful bosom call
One mournful thrill of tenderness.
On those whom they were meant to bless,
May from some faithful bosom call
One mournful thrill of tenderness.
296
FROM “DIARY OF A YOUNG MAN ABOUT TOWN”
Farewell! that parting word at least
I still may speak unchecked by thee,
Though even cold regard has ceased,
Love's latest task is left to me—
And long my lips would lingering dwell
Upon that word—Farewell! Farewell!
I still may speak unchecked by thee,
Though even cold regard has ceased,
Love's latest task is left to me—
And long my lips would lingering dwell
Upon that word—Farewell! Farewell!
Farewell? that word I may not speak—
The thought it breathes is not for me.
Farewell? it now were worse than weak
To whisper it alone to thee,—
But could I as I'd speak be heard,
I'd pour my soul in that one word.
Farewell!
The thought it breathes is not for me.
Farewell? it now were worse than weak
To whisper it alone to thee,—
But could I as I'd speak be heard,
I'd pour my soul in that one word.
Farewell!
EXTEMP. TO A LADY
This heart of mine—this heart of mine—
Both you and I have schooled it well
In coldness—but those eyes of thine,
When near it they one moment dwell,
Prove that in that moment yet
It will the task of years forget.
Both you and I have schooled it well
In coldness—but those eyes of thine,
When near it they one moment dwell,
Prove that in that moment yet
It will the task of years forget.
Those eyes of thine—those eyes of thine—
Both you and I have known full well
Their power—but this heart of mine
On their deluding light will dwell
As eagerly as fondly yet
As if the past we could forget.
Both you and I have known full well
Their power—but this heart of mine
On their deluding light will dwell
As eagerly as fondly yet
As if the past we could forget.
297
This heart of mine—this heart of mine—
Oh! could they once but read it well
Those eyes of thine—those eyes of thine—
Upon a withered scroll would dwell,
Where deeply written lingers yet
Devotion it cannot forget.
Oh! could they once but read it well
Those eyes of thine—those eyes of thine—
Upon a withered scroll would dwell,
Where deeply written lingers yet
Devotion it cannot forget.
C.
Sunday night.
HEARTS.—Impromp. to a Lady
Yes! it were well,—unless she meant us
To make so much ado about them,—
If Nature in this world had sent us
One and all alike without them.
To make so much ado about them,—
If Nature in this world had sent us
One and all alike without them.
For now they here so strangely fall
One knows not how or where to choose them,
To some they seem not given at all,
To others only lent to lose them.
One knows not how or where to choose them,
To some they seem not given at all,
To others only lent to lose them.
H.
298
A SYBILLINE LEAF
Thou askest thy Fate? No Astrologer I,
To read what they tell us is writ in the sky—
Yet thy Fortune sweet Ella I know I can trace
While the lore of the heavens I read in thy face.
To read what they tell us is writ in the sky—
Yet thy Fortune sweet Ella I know I can trace
While the lore of the heavens I read in thy face.
“Bright—bright as the splendor of tropical skies,
“Or the soul that beams out from those love-lighting eyes,
“Will sparkle the stream of thy life's happy hours,
“Like a brook which sings through one long summer of flowers.”
“Or the soul that beams out from those love-lighting eyes,
“Will sparkle the stream of thy life's happy hours,
“Like a brook which sings through one long summer of flowers.”
This, this I know,
But still there's something darkly hid,
At times beneath that pensive lid,
That says 'twill not be so,
Yet, lovely girl, do not revere,
As truth, these idle bodings here.
“Rashly, rashly, wilt thou give
“That young heart away,
“Sadly, sadly, wilt thou live,
Through each weary day,
“Watching wilted hopes to bloom,
“That never will,
“Disbelieving half thy cruel doom,
Still, oh still.
Thou wilt love as woman loves,
“Fondly and true.
“Blindly as woman trusts,
“Wilt thou trust too.
“Thou wilt be loved as men love
“Lightly alone—
Thy joys be shared by others,
“Thy griefs be all thine own.”
But still there's something darkly hid,
At times beneath that pensive lid,
That says 'twill not be so,
299
As truth, these idle bodings here.
“Rashly, rashly, wilt thou give
“That young heart away,
“Sadly, sadly, wilt thou live,
Through each weary day,
“Watching wilted hopes to bloom,
“That never will,
“Disbelieving half thy cruel doom,
Still, oh still.
Thou wilt love as woman loves,
“Fondly and true.
“Blindly as woman trusts,
“Wilt thou trust too.
“Thou wilt be loved as men love
“Lightly alone—
Thy joys be shared by others,
“Thy griefs be all thine own.”
H.
Tuesday night
301
[WHO, MAIDEN?]
Who, Maiden, makes this river flow?
The Spirit—he makes its ripples glow—
But I have a charm that can make thee, dear,
Steal over the wave to thy lover here.
The Spirit—he makes its ripples glow—
But I have a charm that can make thee, dear,
Steal over the wave to thy lover here.
302
Who, Maiden, makes this river flow?
The Spirit—he makes its ripples glow—
Yet every blush, that my love would hide,
Is mirror'd for me in the tell-tale tide.
The Spirit—he makes its ripples glow—
Yet every blush, that my love would hide,
Is mirror'd for me in the tell-tale tide.
And though thou should'st sleep on the farthest isle,
Round which these dimpling waters smile—
Yet I have a charm that can make thee, dear,
Steal over the wave to thy lover here.
Round which these dimpling waters smile—
Yet I have a charm that can make thee, dear,
Steal over the wave to thy lover here.
306
THE WATCHERS
'Tis midnight, and the Watchers are on high—The living Watchers from the throne of grace—
Starring the dark and lustrous canopy
With drops of diamond glory!—Who can gaze
Upon their wild and melancholy light,
Nor deem them sent—not the mere lamps of night—
As lanthorns to his soul, to guide his steps aright?
H.
[OH CHERISH THEM ALL]
Oh cherish them all—the early ties
That first in youth were wove,
For life, it never in after-time
Can knit such links of love.
You must gather the osiers lithe and young,
If a buckler's frame ye would strongly braid
And the stoutest shield against mortal ill,
From the hearts that are twined in youth is made.
That first in youth were wove,
For life, it never in after-time
Can knit such links of love.
You must gather the osiers lithe and young,
If a buckler's frame ye would strongly braid
And the stoutest shield against mortal ill,
From the hearts that are twined in youth is made.
Oh cherish them all—the flowers of love
That in life's spring put forth,
For age it never, with all its fruits,
Can match them in their worth.
And oh, when over the flood of years
The soul amid drowned joys would roam,
The first best branch on her questing track
Is that which grew in the bower of home.
That in life's spring put forth,
For age it never, with all its fruits,
Can match them in their worth.
And oh, when over the flood of years
307
The first best branch on her questing track
Is that which grew in the bower of home.
308
ENIGMA
It must tremble on earth! for it dies off in air,
And ocean forbids it to have a place there;
Yet it haunts the rough shores of a storm-harass'd lake,
And where sea-surfs are foaming, its image will break,
While the quietest dew-drop on bowery spray
Will perish at once if you steal it away.
And ocean forbids it to have a place there;
Yet it haunts the rough shores of a storm-harass'd lake,
And where sea-surfs are foaming, its image will break,
While the quietest dew-drop on bowery spray
Will perish at once if you steal it away.
The lawn and the meadow its presence may spare,
But no shrub can e'er sprout save it ministers there!
In the odor of blossoms it floats on the breeze,
It freshens the verdure of moss-covered trees,
And no flower can flourish in rock-shelter'd nook,
But it shares of its fragrance by forest and brook.
But no shrub can e'er sprout save it ministers there!
In the odor of blossoms it floats on the breeze,
It freshens the verdure of moss-covered trees,
And no flower can flourish in rock-shelter'd nook,
But it shares of its fragrance by forest and brook.
The knight from his pennon may blot it in vain,
With the stream of the battle it pours o'er the plain;
It climbs the rough rampart, it springs the broad arch,
And marshals the army wherever it march:
'Mid the broadside of navies it rides on each spar,
And gives life in each charge to the cheering hurrah.
With the stream of the battle it pours o'er the plain;
It climbs the rough rampart, it springs the broad arch,
And marshals the army wherever it march:
'Mid the broadside of navies it rides on each spar,
And gives life in each charge to the cheering hurrah.
It loves not the chase; yet at sound of the horn
It will rouse with the hunter at break of the morn:
It shares not the feast,—though it sits at the board,—
Yet when music is breathing it strings every chord,
And when beakers are brimming, and healths offered up,
It floats on the bumper, but dies in the cup.
It will rouse with the hunter at break of the morn:
It shares not the feast,—though it sits at the board,—
Yet when music is breathing it strings every chord,
And when beakers are brimming, and healths offered up,
It floats on the bumper, but dies in the cup.
It delights in the churchyard, the bier, and the grave,
Yet without it no birth, and no bridal you have,
And when orisons rise to the Father above,
It hovers around every offering of love;
For, rife in all hearts, though for aye linked with care,
It begins our repentance, and ends every prayer.
Yet without it no birth, and no bridal you have,
And when orisons rise to the Father above,
309
For, rife in all hearts, though for aye linked with care,
It begins our repentance, and ends every prayer.
HEART—AUGURY
(SUGGESTED BY A BROKEN APOLLO)
One moment, and the omen seemed
Too dread, too fearful to withstand,
That brow whence light and glory beamed,
Dashed to the earth by mine own hand!
Proud type of life, and light, and power,
How did it shattered lie!
Yet beautiful in that dark hour,
Gleamed up the godlike eye.
Too dread, too fearful to withstand,
That brow whence light and glory beamed,
Dashed to the earth by mine own hand!
Proud type of life, and light, and power,
How did it shattered lie!
Yet beautiful in that dark hour,
Gleamed up the godlike eye.
Oh, is it thus within the heart,
The voice of song must mute be lying?
Thus from its shattered cords depart
Each cadence, like the wind-harp's dying?—
Thus lowly bowed in grief to earth,
Their glory in the dust,
Must hearts forget their twin-like birth,
Forget their love and trust?
The voice of song must mute be lying?
Thus from its shattered cords depart
Each cadence, like the wind-harp's dying?—
Thus lowly bowed in grief to earth,
Their glory in the dust,
Must hearts forget their twin-like birth,
Forget their love and trust?
Oh never thus!—with grasp of power
A higher omen let us seize!
Command that Fate a brighter dower
Bring forth from fragments such as these;
Here, glorious in their mute decay,
Are emblems of the past,
Baseless and shadowless were they—
Too glittering to last!
A higher omen let us seize!
Command that Fate a brighter dower
Bring forth from fragments such as these;
Here, glorious in their mute decay,
Are emblems of the past,
Baseless and shadowless were they—
Too glittering to last!
310
A type was this—what need of such,
When life and light within are breathing?
When love, by its own magic touch,
New glories round the brow is wreathing?
The semblance well may scattered lie,
When Truth herself is here!
Apollo's lute in ruin lie,
Lost to the outer ear.
When life and light within are breathing?
When love, by its own magic touch,
New glories round the brow is wreathing?
The semblance well may scattered lie,
When Truth herself is here!
Apollo's lute in ruin lie,
Lost to the outer ear.
When hymning melodies divine
Within the new-born soul are swelling,
Immortal garlands round it twine,
Immortal lays the chords are telling!
While thou dost list, well pleased to hear,
My beautiful! my true!
I would not that another ear
The song of rapture knew!
Within the new-born soul are swelling,
Immortal garlands round it twine,
Immortal lays the chords are telling!
While thou dost list, well pleased to hear,
My beautiful! my true!
I would not that another ear
The song of rapture knew!
311
THE FAIR STUDENT
The hair, the brow, the soft, yet earnest eyes—
Yes! although lip and cheek be fuller—rounder—
My own loved Blanche—how doth her image rise,
As o'er her book I often thus have found her!
Yes! although lip and cheek be fuller—rounder—
My own loved Blanche—how doth her image rise,
As o'er her book I often thus have found her!
I'll call thee Blanche, sweet maiden, all unheeding,
And deem the volume which now rests before thee
Love's holy Missal, where an Angel reading
Might turn the pages as he hovered o'er thee.
And deem the volume which now rests before thee
Love's holy Missal, where an Angel reading
Might turn the pages as he hovered o'er thee.
“Holier than Love!”, Ah! is aught more holy
Than the pure thought which maiden heart may wear,
When Prayer but utters Love in melancholy,
And Love in gladness takes the voice of Prayer?
Than the pure thought which maiden heart may wear,
When Prayer but utters Love in melancholy,
And Love in gladness takes the voice of Prayer?
314
THE MARRIAGE RING
(“Tell her only,” said the dying husband, “to replace our ring upon her finger when I am no more.”—
(The Divorced.)
Thoughts, through Infinitude bleakly roving,
Thoughts, that to both were else forbidden,
Thoughts full—oh, full, to pain—of loving,
Were in its circle shrined and hidden,
By Faith and Reason there unchidden.
Thoughts, that to both were else forbidden,
Thoughts full—oh, full, to pain—of loving,
Were in its circle shrined and hidden,
By Faith and Reason there unchidden.
It gave the right to serve—to serve
One chosen being, loved so dearly
That we must thrill in every nerve
At aught which moved her soul sincerely,
At aught which touched her welfare nearly.
One chosen being, loved so dearly
That we must thrill in every nerve
At aught which moved her soul sincerely,
At aught which touched her welfare nearly.
The right to feel—in soul to feel
That howe'er wanting we may be
To God—to man—we still can kneel
And thank him there is one that we
Make happy by our ministry.
That howe'er wanting we may be
To God—to man—we still can kneel
And thank him there is one that we
Make happy by our ministry.
Then wear the ring when I'm no more!
Wear it, though thou shouldst love again,
'Twill teach one truth till life is o'er—
He lived, who living but in pain,
While thou wast blest lived not in vain.
Wear it, though thou shouldst love again,
'Twill teach one truth till life is o'er—
He lived, who living but in pain,
While thou wast blest lived not in vain.
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