 | Young Arthur |  |
See the sun, the west adorning,
Dart to other climes his ray,
Which gladly hail their coming morning
Gain'd from our departing day.
Dart to other climes his ray,
Which gladly hail their coming morning
Gain'd from our departing day.
Low twitterings tell the songster parting,
Flocks are penn'd, and herds reclin'd;
Thro' each window tapers darting
Tell the hour to ease resign'd.
Flocks are penn'd, and herds reclin'd;
Thro' each window tapers darting
Tell the hour to ease resign'd.
Now the head of care is pillow'd,
Health an opiate sweet bestows;
Now the brow of grief is willow'd,
To her no pillow brings repose!
Health an opiate sweet bestows;
Now the brow of grief is willow'd,
To her no pillow brings repose!
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Now the nightingale is singing,
Sorrow bids her warbling flow;
Now the bat thro' air is swinging;
Now the night bird screams of woe.
Sorrow bids her warbling flow;
Now the bat thro' air is swinging;
Now the night bird screams of woe.
Now the ruffian, gliding, stooping,
Prowls to rob, and “murder sleep.”
Now the houseless wand'rer, drooping,
'Neath the hedge-row wakes to weep!
Prowls to rob, and “murder sleep.”
Now the houseless wand'rer, drooping,
'Neath the hedge-row wakes to weep!
Now the poet o'er the embers,
Dun-free, hails “extatic light!”
“Tales of wonder” fear remembers—
'Tis the murky “noon of night.”
Dun-free, hails “extatic light!”
“Tales of wonder” fear remembers—
'Tis the murky “noon of night.”
Is the wild wind fiercely howling?
Now it howls with double force;
Tremendous now the thunder's growling;
Terrific is the lightning's course!
Now it howls with double force;
Tremendous now the thunder's growling;
Terrific is the lightning's course!
While sweet sleep is gaily dreaming,
Should light'ning catch the cottage frame—
Horrific is the hopeless screaming
Of sleeping comfort, wak'd by flame!
Should light'ning catch the cottage frame—
Horrific is the hopeless screaming
Of sleeping comfort, wak'd by flame!
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Here, the lusty hind, confounded,
Rapid thro' the casement flies;
There, bed-ridden and surrounded
By the flame, age, helpless, dies!
Rapid thro' the casement flies;
There, bed-ridden and surrounded
By the flame, age, helpless, dies!
See, the mother, rous'd from slumber,
Catching up her children, run;
One is missing of the number!
Thro' the flames she seeks that one.
Catching up her children, run;
One is missing of the number!
Thro' the flames she seeks that one.
Now, too, is the good man dying,
Night more awful makes the hour;
Is the wicked spirit flying?
Night's scene defies the poet's pow'r.
Night more awful makes the hour;
Is the wicked spirit flying?
Night's scene defies the poet's pow'r.
But see, O, see, the day is breaking,
Hope draws the “curtains of her eyes;”
Superstition, stout heart taking,
Sees no longer goblins rise.
Hope draws the “curtains of her eyes;”
Superstition, stout heart taking,
Sees no longer goblins rise.
“See the rosy morn appearing,”
Health's blue eyes have smiles begun;
Even sleepless sickness, cheering,
Hails a balsam in the sun.
Health's blue eyes have smiles begun;
Even sleepless sickness, cheering,
Hails a balsam in the sun.
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Ruddy day, alert and jolly,
Laughing, makes his toil a toy;
Fear sees nothing but her folly;
All is hope, and all is joy.
Laughing, makes his toil a toy;
Fear sees nothing but her folly;
All is hope, and all is joy.
Such life's portrait will display;
Grief is night, and joy is day.
Grief is night, and joy is day.
Grief's night had pass'd at Sir Brandon's board,
And kind smiles brighten'd the face of its lord;
And seldom his features, once form'd to beguile,
Unbent to the play of the careless smile.
There are modes and mischances that warp the mind,
There are cares, there are crosses, that alter the kind:
Yon crabbed old oak, shorn, and crusted with bark,
Yon frowning old ruin, for night birds the mark;
That oak was a sapling, that ruin was gay,
But time, and rude storms, have brought both to decay;
The sap of that oak and the pride of that tow'r
Have pass'd, and, unsightly they moulder and low'r:
The oak and the ruin are, Brandon, like thee;
For thou hast been chang'd like the tow'r and the tree.
And Ernest and Edith met, serene,
For he the true love of his heart had seen;
The maid for whose sake he was doom'd to sigh,
But he griev'd her lost; and the youthful eye
Rests seldom, but roves where the graces lie;
And, hence, lovely Edith his fancy had won;
But Isabel came, and the charm was done—
Sweet dreams disperse with the rising sun.
And kind smiles brighten'd the face of its lord;
And seldom his features, once form'd to beguile,
Unbent to the play of the careless smile.
There are modes and mischances that warp the mind,
There are cares, there are crosses, that alter the kind:
Yon crabbed old oak, shorn, and crusted with bark,
Yon frowning old ruin, for night birds the mark;
That oak was a sapling, that ruin was gay,
But time, and rude storms, have brought both to decay;
The sap of that oak and the pride of that tow'r
Have pass'd, and, unsightly they moulder and low'r:
The oak and the ruin are, Brandon, like thee;
For thou hast been chang'd like the tow'r and the tree.
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For he the true love of his heart had seen;
The maid for whose sake he was doom'd to sigh,
But he griev'd her lost; and the youthful eye
Rests seldom, but roves where the graces lie;
And, hence, lovely Edith his fancy had won;
But Isabel came, and the charm was done—
Sweet dreams disperse with the rising sun.
| Young Arthur | |