University of Virginia Library

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.

SONG.—TO NINA.

FROM THE SPANISH.

SONG. FROM THE GERMAN “DU, DU,” ETC. ETC.

ANNA MARIE.

SONG.

Anna Marie.
The Death hath gone down to my heart,—dear and dearest!—
My thoughts, like changed leaves, are the saddest and serest;
I believe, but I die,—I forgive, but I feel,—
And the wound thou hast given, not even thou, Love!—canst heal.

Anna Marie.
Too late—'tis too late,—for the stern doom is spoken,—
Hope and Joy scarce may wake, in the heart that is broken;
I forgive thee and bless,—yet, Ah!—cannot bless more,
In this short glimpse of peace, than in anguish before!

THE PEARL LILY.

ADDRESSED TO MISS LOUISA H. SHERIDAN, ON HER RECEIVING FROM HER FEMALE FRIENDS A BEAUTIFUL REPRESENTATION OF A LILY IN PEARLS, “AS A TRIBUTE TO HER TALENTS AND VIRTUES.”

LINES WRITTEN SHORTLY BEFORE LEAVING MAR LODGE (IN THE HIGHLANDS OF SCOTLAND), 1840.

Farewell to thee, Mar!—and thy proud scenes around,
With the pomp of their Mountain-Magnificence crowned;
To the heather-robed wild, and the solemn firwood,
To the rock, and the cliff, and the many-voiced flood.
Farewell!—Oh—Farewell!—I must leave ye ere long,—
Noble land of the Chase—of Romance—and of Song,
Shall forgetfulness follow that dark word, Farewell?
No!—long in my soul all your glories shall dwell.
Mighty Nature!—so great and so wondrous around,
Thou seem'st ev'n, with a three-fold sublimity crowned;
Here we own,—while to thee, all our souls still are given,
More majestic thy Earth,—more majestic thy Heaven!—
And we feel,—as we hail thee, in gloom or in light,
More magnificent, Day,—more magnificent, Night!—
For a thousand wild splendours exalt every scene,
That now starts to our eyes, where thou reign'st all a queen;
And they gather, and grow, and improve, and increase,
As they never should change, and they never could cease!
And all parts of these regions,—all hours of all time,—
Seem to wear a new mystery of beauty sublime.
Whether Sunshine and Peace, smile like angels of love,
On the glad-brightened earth, from the fair vault above,
Or Storm walks in Grandeur of Terrors along,
With its train of destructions,—the mighty and strong;—
When the clouds sweep in triumph, o'er yonder dark sky,
And a wild March of Mountains appeareth on high!
(Aye,—those clouds take the shapes, and the semblance they wear,
Of the high haughty hills that rise proudly in air)!—
Farewell!—Ben-y-vraughten,—nay, Parting's vain sigh,
Cannot climb thy far height,—cannot soar to the sky!
Too near to The Heavens is thy crest, free and fair,
For the cold word of Earth and of Grief, to sound there!
Too near to The Heavens, is thy beautiful brow,
For the sad word of Earth to obscure it, or bow,
Yet who but must feel a regret of the heart,
From these scenes in their towering transcendance to part;—
Where such wonders and glories, are scattered abroad,
Darkness seems more a Grandeur,—and Light more a God;
Each element ev'n, like a spirit, and life,
Shall appear, in the strength of repose, or of strife!
How lately pealed loud on mine ear, undismayed,
The Torrent, Glen Coic!—that thrills thy deep shade,—
For the beautiful banks, are all glowing and green,
Where that speeds like a Conqueror, darkening the scene!—
(When the Legions of Strife, through some bright sunny realm,
Move with loud-clashing faulchion, and far-beaming helm;)
Through its verdant embowerings, it dashes away,
And it ruffles the sunshine, and shivers the day.
But vain is its fury, to blight all the bliss,
Or to chase all the charm, of a scene fair as this!
No!—it adds by its contrast of wildness and wrath,
To the beauty, that fair spot of loveliness hath.
Lin of Dee!—Fare thee well!—how thy rush and thy roar
Woke my soul as from sleep—thrilled my heart to the core;—
Like thy far-sweeping waves, that go chiming along,
In their path of all triumph—the chainless, the strong,—
Swept those proud waves of soul!—yet more chainless,—more free,—
In a full-gushing current,—a wide-spreading sea!—
Noble Water!—thou roll'st in thy strength without bound,
In terrific defiance of all things around;
Thy cataract-clarion, sounds loud in our ear,
And startles the soul, with a rapture of fear!
Oh!—wondrous thou art—thou, the Shadowy,—the Bright,—
A Voice and a Vision—A Life and a Light!
Still thou shoutest and toilest,—till thou break'st far away,
To beautify nature, and brighten the day;
The Life of the Waters!—they struggle and strive,
And the rocks immemorial, they rend and they rive,—
They roll on like a river of thunder!—and rage,
In the march of their might, ever age after age;
The Death of the Waters!—they dash themselves down,
As though ruined and conquered,—o'erpowered and o'erthrown;
No!—once more they burst forth, with a shout and a shock,
With a giant's derision,—and bound past the rock!—
All marshalled their forces,—unmeasured their might,—
As they fling wide their spray, in disdain and delight!
The Chaos of Waters!—they plunge and they part,
They reel to and fro, till far forward they dart;
But the victory is gained,—and the conflict is done,—
Their struggle is over—their triumph is won!
The starred Heaven of the Waters!—they glide on in peace,
And their thunders are silenced,—their labours shall cease;
In the beauty and blessing of quiet, they pass,
And spread out to the sky's smiling azure, their glass!
Farewell to the proud hills, that swarm with the deer,
That vast antlered army!—encamped far and near;
Free as thought in their might, and more wild than the wind,
How they seem e'en to leave, the swift lightning behind!
Bold Kings of the Mountains, that blacken round Mar,
Lords of Steep Ben-y-vraughten, and dark Lochnagarr!—
Farewell to these scenes of enchantment sublime,
That my heart shall retain, till its last hour of time!
Ah!—a power and a charm, to these regions is given,—
Earth ariseth in Mountains, to melt into Heaven;
(And our souls rise and swell!—and exult more and more,—
In those Shapes of Stupendousness cloathed, Lo!—they soar!—)
Earth ariseth in Mountains!—her fair crest she rears,—
Till herself too all Heaven, then divinely appears.
But farewell to these prospects, unmatched and sublime,
Where Eternity's sea, seems engulphing all time:
Where we own,—while their beauties, still bound to new birth,
More magnificent, Heaven!—more magnificent, Earth!
Farewell to yon glad vale of peace and delight,
Where the beautiful River, flows onward in light;
Farewell to thee—Lady of mountainous Mar!—
Who hast led my glad footsteps in freedom so far;
Farewell to thee, Lady!—Farewell, gentle guide!
Well thou know'st these fair scenes, in their fulness of pride,—
Well thy soul can reflect—while thine eye can revere,
All the glory of nature, throned evermore here!
Thine enthusiast soul, 'midst these scenes I admired,
And the lay I have written,—thy words have inspired!

THE POET.

ON READING SHELLEY'S SONG, “I ARISE FROM DREAMS OF THEE.”

THE BIRTH OF A FEELING.

LINES WRITTEN AFTER READING A MS. POEM BY --- ---. 1841.

Thy thoughts still teem with all things, high and bright,
Thou lov'st fair nature, in her power and might,
Thou lift'st thy voice to speak in her deep praise
Two different Spirits rule thy bright young days!—
How different!—one still points and prompts on high,
And one leads every dream from yon fair sky,—
One seems the Soul of Truth, and Light, and Power,
And One, the Phantom of Life's worldlier hour.
Yet say I not—give ear to my faint voice,
I dare not hope, that this, might prompt thy choice,
Nor bid I thee to mark each lettered page,
That rolls the tide of truth from age to age!
Take thy fair Thoughts for Counsellors!—the best,
The clear, proud promptings of thine own young breast!
Whate'er thou dost on earth, I know and see,
Must bear the stamp of thy high heart, and free!
I know whate'er thou dost, beneath the sun,
Must be enthusiastically done;
The strength of zeal with such a fiery flow,
Still bids thy rushing fancy, soar and glow,
And sets,—while full and high thy life-pulse plays,
Thy young imaginations all ablaze;—
Aye!—thou hailest Nature, in her power and might,
And all the Heaven within her, meets thy sight!—
And canst thou slight her spells?—Canst turn away
From Her magnificently-proud array?—
Canst shut thy soul against her?—and disown
Thine own high worship at her Starry Throne?—
The Power is thine to bid her breathe and blaze,
Through Painting's hues, or Poetry's deep lays;—
Still thou hast the envied power to bid her shine,
In conscious colours,—or the living line!
Some may have far less blame, in whose cold mind,
No glorious light, burns deathlessly enshrined!
But thou!—thine every noble thought in time,
Shall trumpet stern reproach,—and speak of crime!
The crime of self-neglect!—thou must not turn,
From those high thoughts, that in thee live and burn,
The quick Life lightens through thy veins!—for thee
No medium, and no stagnant pause may be.
Speak!—were it not a shame,—a strange, foul blot,—
If thou shouldest be so high,—and yet art not?
Too noble is thy mind, to be thus driven,
From every path, that leads to Light and Heaven,
Thou need'st no judges but the thoughts within,
High trumpets!—heard through all Life's pealing din,
The Avengers or the Exalters they must be,
Strong in their towering immortality!—
Two Destinies dispute thy bright young days,
One high and glorious!—meet for pride and praise,—
One dull and earthly-tainted!—choose between!
But canst thou to the vain and worldly lean?
Oh!—answer it to that still mounting mind,
That chained and checked, would yet leave Earth behind!
Born thus to be a child of Light and Song,
Say,—Should'st thou scorn thy doom, and cling to wrong?
How oft have I, and others, listening found,
What power hath zeal, that never knew a bound!—
What power to animate, convince, surprise,
And wing the hour with triumph as it flies;
How oft have loftiest sentiments inspired,
From lips, Enthusiasm's self hath fired!
Genius hath hailed and claimed thee for her own,
Her glorious light far round Her son is thrown.
Canst thou resign that empire vast and proud,
Of Thought, and Will, and Mind,—too vainly bowed,
To all the idols of Life's common crowd?
Then never dare, thus let high feelings start,
Like giants—to reveal thy true, deep heart!
Nor let those noble impulses have power
To sway and guide thee, in thy brighter hour;
Hide,—hide thy better nature in the shade,
'Tis all too sad, to see its truth displayed,—
Too sad!—when after-hours the proof still bring,
That best thou lov'st to check its glorious spring!
That best thou lov'st to wrong its priceless trust,
And stoop its winged ambition, to the dust!
Hide it from us,—and from thyself,—at least,
And shroud those useless fires, from thy breast,
That light it,—but to perish and to pale,
As thou would'st wish to fall,—and choose to fail!—
Aye!—hide the lofty heart,—the aspiring soul,—
If these must sink beneath a dark controul,
Nor let us hail such stars,—if born to set,—
If so much hope, must bring so much regret!
Yet no! it shall not be! avert it, thou,—
By all that soars most noble in thee,—now!
Now vindicate thyself, thy mind, thy heart,
Tread the fair path, and act the firmer part,
O'er all the Present fling such floods of light,
That even Thy Past's worst, darkest clouds grow bright!