The Poems of Winthrop Mackworth Praed With a Memoir by the Rev. Derwent Coleridge. Fourth Edition. In Two Volumes |
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 | The Poems of Winthrop Mackworth Praed |  |
316
MEMORY.
Nessun maggior dolore
Che ricordarsi del tempo felice
Nella miseria.
Dante.
Che ricordarsi del tempo felice
Nella miseria.
Dante.
Stand on a funeral mound,
Far, far from all that love thee;
With a barren heath around,
And a cypress bower above thee:
And think, while the sad wind frets,
And the night in cold gloom closes.
Of spring, and spring's sweet violets,
Of summer, and summer's roses.
Far, far from all that love thee;
With a barren heath around,
And a cypress bower above thee:
And think, while the sad wind frets,
And the night in cold gloom closes.
Of spring, and spring's sweet violets,
Of summer, and summer's roses.
Sleep where the thunders fly
Across the tossing billow,
Thy canopy the sky,
And the lonely deck thy pillow;
And dream, while the chill sea foam
In mockery dashes o'er thee,
Of the cheerful hearth, and the quiet home,
And the kiss of her that bore thee.
Across the tossing billow,
Thy canopy the sky,
And the lonely deck thy pillow;
And dream, while the chill sea foam
In mockery dashes o'er thee,
Of the cheerful hearth, and the quiet home,
And the kiss of her that bore thee.
317
Watch in the deepest cell
Of the foeman's dungeon tower,
Till hope's most cherished spell
Has lost its cheering power;
And sing, while the galling chain
On every stiff limb freezes,
Of the huntsman hurrying o'er the plain,
Of the breath of the mountain breezes.
Of the foeman's dungeon tower,
Till hope's most cherished spell
Has lost its cheering power;
And sing, while the galling chain
On every stiff limb freezes,
Of the huntsman hurrying o'er the plain,
Of the breath of the mountain breezes.
Talk of the minstrel's lute,
The warrior's high endeavour,
When the honied lips are mute
And the strong arm crushed for ever:
Look back to the summer sun
From the mist of dark December,
Then say to the broken-hearted one—
“'Tis pleasant to remember!”
The warrior's high endeavour,
When the honied lips are mute
And the strong arm crushed for ever:
Look back to the summer sun
From the mist of dark December,
Then say to the broken-hearted one—
“'Tis pleasant to remember!”
April 11, 1829.
| The Poems of Winthrop Mackworth Praed | |