Poems By Edward Quillinan. With a Memoir by William Johnston |
 |
|
| I. |
| II. |
| I. |
| II. |
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| I. |
| II. |
|
| I. |
| II. |
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
LINES COMPOSED IN THE ENGLISH BURIAL-GROUND AT OPORTO. |
 | Poems |  |
257
LINES COMPOSED IN THE ENGLISH BURIAL-GROUND AT OPORTO.
I wear a smile upon my lip,
I teach my voice a careless tone,
My cup of woe I lightly sip,
Nor let its harsh contents be known.
I teach my voice a careless tone,
My cup of woe I lightly sip,
Nor let its harsh contents be known.
I will not droop to worldly eyes
As if my grief their pity craves,
Though here I breathe my lonely sighs,
Within this solemn field of graves.
As if my grief their pity craves,
Though here I breathe my lonely sighs,
Within this solemn field of graves.
For mine are woes that dwell apart,
And human sympathy reject;
Too sacred to the jealous heart
To seek compassion's cold respect.
And human sympathy reject;
Too sacred to the jealous heart
To seek compassion's cold respect.
258
But when such shades as these I find,
Where nature fondly smiles on death,
It checks the pulse, and soothes the mind
To humour sorrow's plaintive breath.
Where nature fondly smiles on death,
It checks the pulse, and soothes the mind
To humour sorrow's plaintive breath.
Praised be the hand whose skill contrived
To make a Golgotha so fair;
While nature at the fraud connived,
And lent her robe for death to wear.
To make a Golgotha so fair;
While nature at the fraud connived,
And lent her robe for death to wear.
Within this pensive place of trees,
This green elysium for the dead,
If I might now my fancy please
I'd choose my own sepulchral bed.
This green elysium for the dead,
If I might now my fancy please
I'd choose my own sepulchral bed.
I think my spirit less forlorn
Would feel, if it were certain now
That when my heart should cease to mourn
'Twould sleep beneath a greenwood bough.
Would feel, if it were certain now
That when my heart should cease to mourn
'Twould sleep beneath a greenwood bough.
Vain fancy! can religion draw
No thoughts of healthier sorrow bred,
No life of death from nature's law,
Within this garden sown with dead?
No thoughts of healthier sorrow bred,
No life of death from nature's law,
Within this garden sown with dead?
259
That in due season every seed,
However deeply hid it lie,
Will yet come up a flower or weed,
Is seen by faith's prophetic eye.
However deeply hid it lie,
Will yet come up a flower or weed,
Is seen by faith's prophetic eye.
Weeds only are we all, alas;
But hence, by Christ's transforming power,
No weed so mean but it may pass
Through death to life and be a flower.
But hence, by Christ's transforming power,
No weed so mean but it may pass
Through death to life and be a flower.
| Poems | |