University of Virginia Library

Search this document 
Lays of Leisure Hours

By The Lady E. Stuart Wortley

collapse section 
  
collapse sectionI. 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
collapse sectionII. 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
CHANGES.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

CHANGES.

It was a brilliant Summer's day,
Unclouded shone the Sunny ray,
And gaily sang the feathered throng,
The air was all one gush of Song!
Oh! smiling was that day and fair,
The Rose burnt dark upon the air,
'Twas so transparent and so clear,
And not a wreath of cloud was near.

461

The Rose burnt dark upon the air,
(So silvery glancing 'twas and rare)—
The Atmosphere around ev'n blushed,
Rose! with thy glorious shadows flushed.
Ah! glorious is the Rose full blown,
All Beauty in its form is shown!
The South and all its Sun-gifts seem
Burnt into its deep core, to beam.—
Burnt deep into its deepest heart,
Not to decline or to depart!—
Yet, Ah! how soon in pale decay
The Rose of Beauty fleets away!
Methought “no, never yet on Earth
So bright a day has leaped to birth,
Never have Earth and Heaven and Air
Yet been so beauteous and so fair!”

462

The scene had found in mine own Soul
To smile back its enchanted whole,
A mirror stainless and serene
That flung new glory o'er that scene.
For every beauty, clear, and fair,
Redoubled seemed and deepened there,
Another Heaven—another Earth
There quickened into radiant birth.
Oh! many a lovely Summer's day
Hath shone forth since with smiling sway,
But not o'er me their power retained,
The mirror shattered is and stained!
No longer spreads it smooth and clear,
The Heavens—the Earth—therein appear
But mighty Ruins—changed and crushed,
O'er which a storm-black cloud hath rushed.

463

And wherefore?—whence this change so dire,
Ah! little boots it to enquire,
Submit in patient silence still—
My Soul—and all thy fate fulfill!