 | [The minstrel, in] The token ; a Christmas and New Year's present |  |
243
THE MINSTREL.
So quick bright things come to confusion.
Shakspeare.
Shakspeare.
I knew him, when the morning sun
Of childhood laughed above his way;
When every scene he looked upon
Seemed decked for Pleasure's gala-day;
There came no hovering cloud of care
To shroud his brow or veil his eye;
And incense blessed the cloudless air,
While Hope's rich phantoms glittered by.
Of childhood laughed above his way;
When every scene he looked upon
Seemed decked for Pleasure's gala-day;
There came no hovering cloud of care
To shroud his brow or veil his eye;
And incense blessed the cloudless air,
While Hope's rich phantoms glittered by.
His was a heart, whose finest chord
Would thrill, like an Æolian lyre,
When southern winds at eve are poured,
Or sunset lifts its sky of fire;
And sweet affections, lingering there
Like living waters, freshly played;
And Fancy's visions, new and fair,
Thronged bright where'er his footsteps strayed.
Would thrill, like an Æolian lyre,
When southern winds at eve are poured,
Or sunset lifts its sky of fire;
And sweet affections, lingering there
Like living waters, freshly played;
And Fancy's visions, new and fair,
Thronged bright where'er his footsteps strayed.
It was not long, ere on his brow
The shades of disappointment fell;
For the free spirit's radiant glow
Bade his tumultuous heart farewell.
A sickness o'er his bosom crept,
His early dreams unreal were;
And friends, once loved, around him slept
In many a noiseless sepulchre.
The shades of disappointment fell;
For the free spirit's radiant glow
Bade his tumultuous heart farewell.
244
His early dreams unreal were;
And friends, once loved, around him slept
In many a noiseless sepulchre.
Then midst his heritage of grief
There came a fond, a gentle one,
Pure as the rose's bursting leaf,
Ere the spring-gales its sweets have won;
A being, like to those that bow
In many a white-robed, praising throng,
Where crystal waves in music flow,
And hallowed skies are rich with song.
There came a fond, a gentle one,
Pure as the rose's bursting leaf,
Ere the spring-gales its sweets have won;
A being, like to those that bow
In many a white-robed, praising throng,
Where crystal waves in music flow,
And hallowed skies are rich with song.
And while the stars begirt them round,
In Evening's soft and holy hours,
He breathed his tale of love profound,
And heard, like birds in summer bowers,
His passion answered! pure as heaven,
Which bent at eve above their way,
Ere to the maiden's eye was given
The film of darkness and decay.
In Evening's soft and holy hours,
He breathed his tale of love profound,
And heard, like birds in summer bowers,
His passion answered! pure as heaven,
Which bent at eve above their way,
Ere to the maiden's eye was given
The film of darkness and decay.
Early she faded; Sickness came,
And o'er her eye of heavenly blue,
While her cheek flushed with fever's flame,
The haze of wasting nature threw;
And with pale roses in the gold,
The clustering richness of her hair,
The pall caressed her in its fold;
On her wan lip, the worm was there!
And o'er her eye of heavenly blue,
While her cheek flushed with fever's flame,
The haze of wasting nature threw;
And with pale roses in the gold,
The clustering richness of her hair,
The pall caressed her in its fold;
On her wan lip, the worm was there!
245
Then did the waste of life appear,
Unto the Minstrel's vacant eye,
A thick and shadowed atmosphere,
Where buds are nurtured but to die:
The glow, the eloquence had gone
Which fired erewhile his glad harp-strings,
For Death had o'er his rapture thrown
The midnight of his cloudy wings!
Unto the Minstrel's vacant eye,
A thick and shadowed atmosphere,
Where buds are nurtured but to die:
The glow, the eloquence had gone
Which fired erewhile his glad harp-strings,
For Death had o'er his rapture thrown
The midnight of his cloudy wings!
And now he sleeps! That lofty soul
Hath passed unto another sphere,
Where Love is free from Death's control,
And Eden-scenes of rest appear:
To another land, where thoughts are calm,
Where hearts are light, and all is well;
Where the rich air is sweet with balm,
Like the gay flowers of Asphodel!
Hath passed unto another sphere,
Where Love is free from Death's control,
And Eden-scenes of rest appear:
To another land, where thoughts are calm,
Where hearts are light, and all is well;
Where the rich air is sweet with balm,
Like the gay flowers of Asphodel!
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