 | Lays of Leisure Hours |  |
167
LIFE'S PEACEFUL HOURS.
A soft splendour o'er Earth was full tenderly glowing,
Not dazzling—not deep—but all mellowed and mild,
'Twas a splendour serene of the Eve's Sky's bestowing,
And one ray ev'n the more had that pure charm defiled.
Not dazzling—not deep—but all mellowed and mild,
'Twas a splendour serene of the Eve's Sky's bestowing,
And one ray ev'n the more had that pure charm defiled.
With an Echo's still voice seemed the clear fountain falling,
Like an Angel's bright shadow the Evening appeared,
The Scene and the Season alike were enthralling,
No past hour could be mourned, and no future be feared.
Like an Angel's bright shadow the Evening appeared,
The Scene and the Season alike were enthralling,
No past hour could be mourned, and no future be feared.
There are hours in this Life—calm and happy and holy,
Which seem all to themselves—and set sweetly apart—
Free from Memory's fond fever—and Hope's fatal folly—
Like a lovely Eternity lent to the Heart!
Which seem all to themselves—and set sweetly apart—
Free from Memory's fond fever—and Hope's fatal folly—
Like a lovely Eternity lent to the Heart!
168
There are hours in this Life when the Soul seems escaping
From the trammels and thraldom it long had endured,
When each thought for itself a bright course is out shaping,
When each care is forgotten at least, if not cured!
From the trammels and thraldom it long had endured,
When each thought for itself a bright course is out shaping,
When each care is forgotten at least, if not cured!
And of such was that hour, which too fleetly departed,
And left me once more to my pangs and my woes,
Oh! when shall peace come to the passionate-hearted,
A changeless, a deathless, a real Repose?
And left me once more to my pangs and my woes,
Oh! when shall peace come to the passionate-hearted,
A changeless, a deathless, a real Repose?
| Lays of Leisure Hours | |