The poetical works of James Montgomery collected by himself |
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TO CYNTHIA |
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 | The poetical works of James Montgomery |  |
TO CYNTHIA
[_]
A young Lady, unknown to the Author, who, by letter, requested “a stanza,” or “a few lines in his handwriting.”
Spirits in heaven can interchange
Thoughts without voice or sound;
Spirits on earth at will can range,
Wherever man is found;
Their thoughts (as silent and as fleet
As summer lightnings in the west,
When evening sinks to glorious rest,)
In written symbols meet.
Thoughts without voice or sound;
Spirits on earth at will can range,
Wherever man is found;
Their thoughts (as silent and as fleet
As summer lightnings in the west,
When evening sinks to glorious rest,)
In written symbols meet.
The motion of a feather darts
The secrets of sequester'd hearts
To kindred hearts afar;
As, in the stillness of the night,
Quick rays of intermingling light
Sparkle from star to star.
The secrets of sequester'd hearts
To kindred hearts afar;
As, in the stillness of the night,
Quick rays of intermingling light
Sparkle from star to star.
A spirit to a spirit speaks,
Where these few letters stand;
Strangers alike,—the younger seeks
A token from the hand
That traced an unpretending song,
Whose numbers won her gentle soul,
While, like a mountain-rill, they stole
In trembling harmony along:—
What shall the poet's spirit send
To his unseen, unseeing friend?
—A wish as pure as e'er had birth
In thought or language of this earth.
Where these few letters stand;
Strangers alike,—the younger seeks
A token from the hand
That traced an unpretending song,
Whose numbers won her gentle soul,
While, like a mountain-rill, they stole
In trembling harmony along:—
What shall the poet's spirit send
To his unseen, unseeing friend?
—A wish as pure as e'er had birth
In thought or language of this earth.
Cynthia is young,—may she be old;
And fair, no doubt,—may she grow wrinkled;
Her locks, in verse at least, are gold,
May they turn silver, thinly sprinkled;
The rose her cheek, the fire her eye,
Youth, health, and strength, successive fly,
And in the end,—may Cynthia die!
And fair, no doubt,—may she grow wrinkled;
Her locks, in verse at least, are gold,
May they turn silver, thinly sprinkled;
The rose her cheek, the fire her eye,
Youth, health, and strength, successive fly,
And in the end,—may Cynthia die!
“Unkind! inhuman!”—Stay your tears;
I only wish you length of years;
And wish them still, with all their woes,
And all their blessings, till the close;
For hope and fear, with anxious strife,
Are wrestlers in the ring of life,
And yesterday, to-day, to-morrow,
Are but alternate joy and sorrow.
I only wish you length of years;
And wish them still, with all their woes,
And all their blessings, till the close;
For hope and fear, with anxious strife,
Are wrestlers in the ring of life,
And yesterday, to-day, to-morrow,
Are but alternate joy and sorrow.
Now mark the sequel:—may your mind
In wisdom's paths true pleasure find
Grow strong in virtue, rich in truth,
And year by year renew its youth;
Till, in the last triumphant hour,
The spirit shall the flesh o'erpower,—
This from its sufferings gain release,
And that take wing, and part in peace.
In wisdom's paths true pleasure find
Grow strong in virtue, rich in truth,
And year by year renew its youth;
Till, in the last triumphant hour,
The spirit shall the flesh o'erpower,—
This from its sufferings gain release,
And that take wing, and part in peace.
| The poetical works of James Montgomery | |