 | Dryburgh Abbey and other poems |  |
THE LOST.
The lost! oh, what are they, the dead?
Alas, there is a grave
To which the many Lost have fled,
We might, yet would not save!
Lost time, which never more can be;
Lost joys, whose sun hath set;
Lost friends, whose tomb is Memory,
Whose memory is Regret!
Alas, there is a grave
To which the many Lost have fled,
We might, yet would not save!
Lost time, which never more can be;
Lost joys, whose sun hath set;
Lost friends, whose tomb is Memory,
Whose memory is Regret!
How like a churchyard is the heart,
By buried relics crossed;
The dead are but a tithe, a part
Of what the Heart hath lost!
The dead have an immortal dower,
O'er which the soul may muse;
But, oh, the Lost! there's not an hour
We live yet nothing lose!
By buried relics crossed;
The dead are but a tithe, a part
Of what the Heart hath lost!
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O'er which the soul may muse;
But, oh, the Lost! there's not an hour
We live yet nothing lose!
Ah, me! the mystery of fate,
The sorrow and the thrall,
How quick we learn to estimate
What we can ne'er recall!
Lost hope, that, like an arkless dove,
Hath fled this world of care;
Lost peace, lost happiness, lost love,
Dispers'd, like things of air!
The sorrow and the thrall,
How quick we learn to estimate
What we can ne'er recall!
Lost hope, that, like an arkless dove,
Hath fled this world of care;
Lost peace, lost happiness, lost love,
Dispers'd, like things of air!
Yon sphere that shines from earth so far
Finds yet some earthly trace;
How many a loved and lofty star
Hath perished from its face!
Oh, stars of heaven! and can ye fall?
Can ye by storms be tossed?
Alas for hope! alas for all
We loved, and we have lost!
Finds yet some earthly trace;
How many a loved and lofty star
Hath perished from its face!
Oh, stars of heaven! and can ye fall?
Can ye by storms be tossed?
Alas for hope! alas for all
We loved, and we have lost!
E'en Nature for her Woods deplores,
Earth for her Cities gone,
Ocean for empires, and for shores
O'er which her tides sweep on!
Nor heaven, nor earth, nor man, escapes,
Nor element, nor clime;
All bow before that Hand which shapes
The mysteries of time!
Earth for her Cities gone,
Ocean for empires, and for shores
O'er which her tides sweep on!
Nor heaven, nor earth, nor man, escapes,
Nor element, nor clime;
All bow before that Hand which shapes
The mysteries of time!
| Dryburgh Abbey and other poems | |