Queen Berengaria's Courtesy, and Other Poems By the Lady E. Stuart Wortley. In Three Vols |
 | I, II, III. |
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NOTHING, NOTHING E'ER IS LOST. |
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 | Queen Berengaria's Courtesy, and Other Poems |  |
NOTHING, NOTHING E'ER IS LOST.
Clouds, how fleetly pass ye still,
Floating over wood or hill,
Winged and driven with wild, wild haste,
Wherefore, Clouds, thus swiftly chased?
Floating over wood or hill,
Winged and driven with wild, wild haste,
Wherefore, Clouds, thus swiftly chased?
171
Whither do ye go so fast?
What shall be your goal at last?
Oh! ye hurrying haste along,
But to ruin—vapoury throng!
What shall be your goal at last?
Oh! ye hurrying haste along,
But to ruin—vapoury throng!
Ye shall melt and be no more—
All your restless wanderings o'er;—
Nothing lasts, and nothing stays—
All in Nature's World decays!
All your restless wanderings o'er;—
Nothing lasts, and nothing stays—
All in Nature's World decays!
Yet, ye Clouds, in silvery showers,
Fall ye not to bless the flowers?
To empearl and to make fresh the grass,
To ensure the harvests while ye pass?
Fall ye not to bless the flowers?
To empearl and to make fresh the grass,
To ensure the harvests while ye pass?
Oh! Nature! in thy World so fair—
Death is a true wizard there;
Nothing, nothing wholly dies—
Each thing passes, changes, flies!
Death is a true wizard there;
Nothing, nothing wholly dies—
Each thing passes, changes, flies!
172
Nothing, nothing e'er is lost!
Such is Nature's noblest boast;
Nothing, nothing wholly dies,
Each thing changes—passes—flies!
Such is Nature's noblest boast;
Nothing, nothing wholly dies,
Each thing changes—passes—flies!
Leaves! how soon ye fade and fall,
Nor more your vernal tints recall;
Strewing mournfully around,
With your fairy wrecks, the ground.
Nor more your vernal tints recall;
Strewing mournfully around,
With your fairy wrecks, the ground.
Ye that Nature's Summer-court,
Richly decked—become the sport
Of wildwinds on their ruthless way,
That with ye pitilessly play.
Richly decked—become the sport
Of wildwinds on their ruthless way,
That with ye pitilessly play.
Ye that with your emerald dyes,
Your fair and fluttering tapestries,
Decked the scene—become the prey
Of wild winds on their howling way!
Your fair and fluttering tapestries,
Decked the scene—become the prey
Of wild winds on their howling way!
173
Ye lie strewn the heaped ground o'er,
That ye checquered fair before,
Playing as some soft cloud plays
With the dazzling sunny rays!
That ye checquered fair before,
Playing as some soft cloud plays
With the dazzling sunny rays!
Ye shall dead and withered lie,
Bough-stripped leaves and sere and dry;
Nothing lasts and nothing stays,
All in Nature's world decays!
Bough-stripped leaves and sere and dry;
Nothing lasts and nothing stays,
All in Nature's world decays!
Ye fallen leaves! that strew the ground—
Heap ye not rich mould around—
Do not ye indeed become
Parents of new worlds of bloom?
Heap ye not rich mould around—
Do not ye indeed become
Parents of new worlds of bloom?
Oh! Nature, in thy world so fair,
Death's a wizard—nothing there—
Nothing, nothing wholly dies,
Each thing changes, shifts, and flies.
Death's a wizard—nothing there—
Nothing, nothing wholly dies,
Each thing changes, shifts, and flies.
174
This is Nature's noblest boast,
Nothing, nothing e'er is lost;
Nothing's lost, and nothing dies,
Each thing changes, shifts, and flies.
Nothing, nothing e'er is lost;
Nothing's lost, and nothing dies,
Each thing changes, shifts, and flies.
And Man—the master-piece and crown
Of all her works—shall he sink down—
Lost in ashes and in dust?—
Oh! win and hold a higher trust.
Of all her works—shall he sink down—
Lost in ashes and in dust?—
Oh! win and hold a higher trust.
Easier 'twere to think this World
In shrouds of change so strangely furled,
Is dead and lost—day after day—
While its fair things fade away!
In shrouds of change so strangely furled,
Is dead and lost—day after day—
While its fair things fade away!
And because pass clouds and leaves,
While each a different shape receives,
To think that the Old World is no more,
All its breath and being o'er.
While each a different shape receives,
To think that the Old World is no more,
All its breath and being o'er.
175
Great Nature! in thy World so bright,
Death's a Wizard-Lord of Might!
Nothing wholly fails or dies,
Each thing changes, shifts, and flies.
Death's a Wizard-Lord of Might!
Nothing wholly fails or dies,
Each thing changes, shifts, and flies.
This is Nature's noblest boast,
Nothing, nothing e'er is lost,
Least of all then, he the pride
Of all her works—Man—Heaven-allied!
Nothing, nothing e'er is lost,
Least of all then, he the pride
Of all her works—Man—Heaven-allied!
Nothing, nothing ever dies!
Each thing changes, shifts, and flies;
Man! Death subjects thy poor clay
Himself to feel thy Soul's proud sway!
Each thing changes, shifts, and flies;
Man! Death subjects thy poor clay
Himself to feel thy Soul's proud sway!
| Queen Berengaria's Courtesy, and Other Poems | |