University of Virginia Library

THE MEMORY OF DELIGHT.

Oh! Love's deep memory—memory of delight—
What hast to show of beautiful and bright?—
Thou'rt like a theatre—by day-light seen,
Which had the night before resplendent been;
But now the silent empty stage is left,
Of every pomp and ornament bereft!—
The brilliant lights that gleamed in golden showers;
The magic sceneries, and the fairy bowers,
The proud processions, and the stately shows,
Are past, are faded—all is dull repose,
And heavy silence, emptiness, and gloom,
The theatre is shadowy as a tomb!—
Its pealing music now is dumb, and dumb
The sound of multitudes, the murmurous hum,
Nor on the sense now swells and falls again,
The shout of man's excitement—nor the strain
Of the artful singer, ringing sweet and clear,
And thrilling long on the delighted ear;
The echoes of the soft-toned speech are heard,—
Nor plaints of mimic woe, nor whispered word—
The proud and gorgeous robes should dimmed appear
In all their native tinsel—the rich gear
Of chiefs and emperors—and bedaubed and rent
Those canvas folds, that streamed magnificent,
Ere fell on these the keen tale-telling light—
And all the illusion's lost to soul and sight!
Or like a battle-field, when all is o'er—
The strife, the haste, the flash, the mingling roar,—
When the gay banners, trampled are and soiled,
The warriors' harness all is stained and spoiled;
And nought is seen but wretched sufferers round,
Dead, or devoted on the encumbered ground.
Oh! memory of the Past! thou, thou dost strike
My thoughts as mournfully and sternly, like
That dark deserted field, that empty stage,
Where Shows no longer blaze, nor Hosts engage;
Where all is stillness, dreariment, and gloom,
The silence and the shadows of the tomb—
All that once seemed to charm and to delight
Is changed for ever, or hath taken flight;
All that once seemed enchantment to our eyes—
The dubious thought can hardly recognize;
All that seemed full of strength, and pride, and power,
Hath waned indeed from its ascendant hour.
Are these the things we once so prized and loved?
Could these things once have melted us and moved?
Are these the glorious triumphs we desired?
The pomps and vanities we so admired?—
Were these the deep delights that swayed our souls?
One cloud of change o'er all the prospect rolls;
By frowning darkness it is veiled and cross'd,
And all the illusion is for ever lost!