 | Poems |  |
[When tortured life, and visionary schemes]
Non havea pianto, ma che di sospiri
Che l'aura eterna facea tremare,
E cio avenea di duoi senza matiri.—
Dante.
Che l'aura eterna facea tremare,
E cio avenea di duoi senza matiri.—
Dante.
When tortured life, and visionary schemes,
And gilded hopes, and gay illusions wane,
When from the soul the momentary beams
Of joy shed beauty o'er the rack of pain,
And madness of infuriate agony,
No more—when fond affection dies for aye,
And the wrung heart recoils in mystery,
And shrinks aghast from every genial ray
Of love, or beauty, fearful 'tis the flame
Of lowering wrath, the volcan's fire serene
But herald of the lava flood—the name
Of her, who erst did diadem the scene
Of raptured transport, and enthrilling love,
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The aching ear—and all the myrtle grove,
That whilom heard the heartless vows, which won
The joyous soul's devotion, and entwined
Each fond delight with heaven, deeply sighs
Through all its platted foliage to the wind,
And hoarsely calls the shade of death to rise,
And, with his darkling shadow, shroud in gloom
The Eden, where the faithless voice of guile
Developed hope illusive; dark the tomb,
But envy, hate, ambition, ire, the wile
Of cunning, and the fires of fury wring
No heart, that slumbers there in grim repose;
Pierced by the poisoned shaft, the venom sting,
Still fond of being, hoping though the close,
Amid the mirth and hum of reckless souls,
Who plume themselves in folly and deceit,
And soan the laws proud Lucifer unrolls,—
And in a miasmatic slime surfeit
Their base souls insatiate—in loneliness,
In dismal solitude, I dwell, unknown
To all the fairy charms of life, that bless
Our wayward, sad existence; the soft tone
Of some inviting voice, that calls from far
The toil-oppressed traveller, when the fires
Of death flash round, and elemental war
Toils on, till nature's wanton bloom expires,
Beguiles, like syrens' music floating o'er
The necromantic strand—or hope appears
In solitary bloom; the sea-girt shore,
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An evanescent robe of terror—love
Glows in the deep blue fields of ether—peace
Floats on her pinions from the arch above;
But, when the clouds in gath'ring rage increase,
And flake on flake, in slow, but awful gloom,
Curtain the heavens in blackness, and portend
The issue terrible; when fires illume
The sky in momentary glare, and blend,
Like death and sin, along the welkin's bound,
With loud, tumultuous torrents; when wrath
Wails in the unremitted blast, and round
The concave, no bright aperture to path
A track for hope salutes the moveless gaze;
When fiery billows, in dread mountain piles,
Sweep heaven, and disclose death—and a dark haze
Veils nature in wild desolation—smiles
Sit not graceful on the frantic mien;
And O! how faint, how feeble is this sketch
To mental agony! the inward scene
Of more than mortal war—O! hope will stretch
Her waxen wings, and find her Eden death;
Eternal death to all terrestrial love!
Our dearest pleasures are the sportive breath
Of fascinating wo; alas! we rove,
The storm-lashed wanderers of a gloomy hour,
Gazing on every fleet, and vapoury sail,
That lives in wild imaginative power,
And ply our highest force and might to hail
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Of unknown miseries! immerged in gloom,
By hope deluded, shudd'ring when the brand
Of death hangs flashing o'er us—the Simoom
Of envy blighting all but dreary life,
Imagination glowing with the joys
Of youth,—that never can return—the strife
Of worldly pomp pursuing—with the toys
Of more than low infantile manhood lured,
By vaunted ken recked fortune's darling minions,
Our skies by clouds and tempests e'er obscured,
We drag our chains—and plume for death our pinions.
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