 | Lays of Leisure Hours |  |
ON A FÊTE HELD IN THE OPEN AIR.
'Tis a Paradise of Labyrinths this where all enchantments blend,
And to the very Soul deep, deep their rich prevailment send!
Oh! Flowers! bright Poetry of Earth! ye are the treasures here,
And the fairest, sweetest, loveliest,—the most exquisite and dear!
And to the very Soul deep, deep their rich prevailment send!
Oh! Flowers! bright Poetry of Earth! ye are the treasures here,
And the fairest, sweetest, loveliest,—the most exquisite and dear!
351
'Tis one Paradise of Labyrinths, this the eye perplexed may stray
From path to path—where fancy's self must fondly lose her way,
But every path is fair and bright, then heed not which you take,
But wander lightly, freely on for careless wandering's sake.
From path to path—where fancy's self must fondly lose her way,
But every path is fair and bright, then heed not which you take,
But wander lightly, freely on for careless wandering's sake.
Oh! 'tis Pleasure is the Sovran here, and Pleasure let us serve,
Nor from her shining path marked out with stars and roses swerve!
Light are her gentle hests in sooth—soft is her silken yoke,
Her honeyed counsels sweet and mild, who e'er such bright bonds broke?—
Nor from her shining path marked out with stars and roses swerve!
Light are her gentle hests in sooth—soft is her silken yoke,
Her honeyed counsels sweet and mild, who e'er such bright bonds broke?—
Oh! enough of cark, enough of care, enough of pain and gloom
Attend us on our journey through this pathway to the tomb,
Let us step aside, one little while to hear the glad birds sing,
To snatch Spring-flowers, Spring-gleams, Spring-sweets, while yet it may be Spring!
Attend us on our journey through this pathway to the tomb,
Let us step aside, one little while to hear the glad birds sing,
To snatch Spring-flowers, Spring-gleams, Spring-sweets, while yet it may be Spring!
352
Oh! Zephirs, Sunshine, Roses, here, weave chains of deep delight,
And we surrender up our Souls to Joy's victorious might,
And graceful works of taste and skill are brightly grouped around,
And in Nature's magic circle and Art's charmed zone we're bound!
And we surrender up our Souls to Joy's victorious might,
And graceful works of taste and skill are brightly grouped around,
And in Nature's magic circle and Art's charmed zone we're bound!
Hail to the festal hour!—'tis well to rest from cark and care,
And bask in Sunshine's smile awhile, and breathe the free fresh air—
Hail to the festal hour!—'tis well from time to time to turn
From graver thoughts, and deeper things, and scenes more dark and stern.
And bask in Sunshine's smile awhile, and breathe the free fresh air—
Hail to the festal hour!—'tis well from time to time to turn
From graver thoughts, and deeper things, and scenes more dark and stern.
Oh! there's wisdom sure in smiling!—how beautiful is Joy
When in a cup of purity 'tis stained with no alloy,
When innocence, young innocence combines with lightsome mirth
Can aught of fairer, lovelier be upon the face of Earth!
When in a cup of purity 'tis stained with no alloy,
When innocence, young innocence combines with lightsome mirth
Can aught of fairer, lovelier be upon the face of Earth!
353
Oh! Beautiful is young Delight, and gladness ev'n sublime,
When we think how we disport ourselves on the precipice of time,
For we hang on the sustaining hand and cast away our care,
And we smile upon a smiling world, and we feel Heaven's eye is there.
When we think how we disport ourselves on the precipice of time,
For we hang on the sustaining hand and cast away our care,
And we smile upon a smiling world, and we feel Heaven's eye is there.
Oh! Beautiful are Festivals—for this fair reason still,
When we think how man is compassed round with danger and with ill;
It is a noble sight to see his cloudless brow and clear,
While armed with blameless confidence he banishes dull fear.
When we think how man is compassed round with danger and with ill;
It is a noble sight to see his cloudless brow and clear,
While armed with blameless confidence he banishes dull fear.
Oh! Beautiful are Festivals! 'Tis well to set apart
Some hours to soften and to soothe the harassed human heart,
So that vanity and luxury still forbear to taint the mirth;
Oh! Beautiful are Festivals on this overshadowed earth.
Some hours to soften and to soothe the harassed human heart,
So that vanity and luxury still forbear to taint the mirth;
Oh! Beautiful are Festivals on this overshadowed earth.
354
The workday cares and toils do sheathe the heart with hardened crust
Of selfishness and cautiousness—those hours lave off the dust;
'Tis as a breath of Eden's bliss, and freshness and repose,
When the sun laughs light on festal hours, and the scenes of turmoil close.
Of selfishness and cautiousness—those hours lave off the dust;
'Tis as a breath of Eden's bliss, and freshness and repose,
When the sun laughs light on festal hours, and the scenes of turmoil close.
Most needful 'tis from time to time to glad the Soul and cheer,
Relaxing from the watch, the march, the attentive mood austere;
Our Earth herself the example gives—with fruits she mingles flowers,
And the fairest yield no increase oft—she holds her festal hours!
Relaxing from the watch, the march, the attentive mood austere;
Our Earth herself the example gives—with fruits she mingles flowers,
And the fairest yield no increase oft—she holds her festal hours!
Oh! Beautiful are Festivals! but loveliest those I call,
Which are not held beneath the dome—within the crowded hall—
Assemble in the garden still, the shaded grove, the field—
Oh! Beautiful are Festivals when in Nature's Temple held.
Which are not held beneath the dome—within the crowded hall—
355
Oh! Beautiful are Festivals when in Nature's Temple held.
'Tis well to build up for ourselves, despite of Fear and Fate,
A light and fleeting happiness that suits our fleeting state,
Tho' no memory may survive of this, still, still the Soul may be
The better for its dream-like bliss, and calm enjoyment free.
A light and fleeting happiness that suits our fleeting state,
Tho' no memory may survive of this, still, still the Soul may be
The better for its dream-like bliss, and calm enjoyment free.
For real and certain Happiness—too seldom may it prove
Our portion here, while yet 'mid cares and trials we must move,
And when 'tis ours, alas!—how oft the Parent 'tis of ill,
Melting the Soul with tenderness that should be strengthened still!
Our portion here, while yet 'mid cares and trials we must move,
And when 'tis ours, alas!—how oft the Parent 'tis of ill,
Melting the Soul with tenderness that should be strengthened still!
No! the joy that o'er its surface gleams like sunlight o'er the Sea,
Haply more fitted to our fate and to our frame may be,
It lasts not!—but doth Happiness last longer? No! in sooth,
Pleasure's fond fiction may survive Felicity's tried truth.
Haply more fitted to our fate and to our frame may be,
It lasts not!—but doth Happiness last longer? No! in sooth,
Pleasure's fond fiction may survive Felicity's tried truth.
356
How Beautiful are Festivals—they win us to forget
With a divine forgetfulness, Time's wrongs and our regret,
They bid us to remember too—with sweet and strong controul,
How capable of Happiness is the ever living Soul.
With a divine forgetfulness, Time's wrongs and our regret,
They bid us to remember too—with sweet and strong controul,
How capable of Happiness is the ever living Soul.
Oh! Beautiful are Festivals, we dream we're blest and free,
And still we are, while thus we can believe ourselves to be,
Perchance our happiest hours are those wherein content we are,
With something like thy shadow—Oh! bright Happiness—Life's Star.
And still we are, while thus we can believe ourselves to be,
Perchance our happiest hours are those wherein content we are,
With something like thy shadow—Oh! bright Happiness—Life's Star.
| Lays of Leisure Hours | |