Poems By John Moultrie. New ed |
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TO SYLVIA. |
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 | Poems |  |
327
TO SYLVIA.
I
Maiden, on thy vaunted beautyNever yet mine eye hath fed;
But, between young love and duty,
Thou, I know, art sore bested.
Love indeed hath been to thee
No vain trick of phantasy.
II
Haply childhood's visions told theeHe was mild, and bland, and fair;
Would, with soft embrace, enfold thee
From the touch of pain and care;
Strew thy path with brightest flowers,
Twine above thee myrtle bowers.
III
Such, in Eden's blissful valleys,Love perchance might still have been,
Had not hell's triumphant malice
Marr'd his sweetness, dimm'd his sheen;
Such doth Fancy paint him still
To the longing heart and will.
328
IV
Tell us, maiden, hast thou found himThus delicious, thus divine?
Doth such witchery breathe around him?
Is his spirit so benign?
Doth he shed, o'er heart and brain,
More of pleasure or of pain?
V
Dreams there be of brain-sick passion,Sentimental groan and sigh,
Heart-aches aped for very fashion,—
Of such whimsies ask not I:
Let them trouble fops and fools,
Reign supreme o'er boarding-schools.
VI
But with fiercer pain and anguishLove like thine must oft contend;
Oft the breaking heart must languish
Till, with life, its sorrows end.
Well our Shakspere spake, in sooth,
“True love's course did ne'er run smooth.”
VII
Mammon spreads his glittering treasuresTo entrap parental eyes;
Laughs to scorn our purest pleasures,
Revels in our tears and sighs.
How should true love flourish here,
In this earth's chill atmosphere?
VIII
Hard thy task;—yet meet it, maiden,With a true and steadfast will,
329
Faint beneath the burden still.
Through thy worst temptations prove
Firm in duty, firm in love.
IX
Better 'twere to wither slowlyOn the lonely virgin stalk,
Than, fast bound in ties unholy,
Through a desert world to walk,
Dragging still, with toil and pain,
Sordid Mammon's golden chain.
X
Better far that maids should sprinkleFlowers upon thy virgin grave,
When the star-beams faintly twinkle,
And the moon is on the wave,
Than thy brow with wreaths adorn
For a loveless bridal morn.
XI
Better go a saint unspotted,To thy glorious home above,
Than, by this world's gauds besotted,
Lose for ever life and love;
Throned in empty state and show,
Empress of a world of woe.
XII
Yet, perchance, at length victoriousO'er this danger and distress,
We shall hail thy triumph glorious
With loud songs of happiness;
Lead thee home in bridal pomp,
With the sound of harp and trump;
330
XIII
Come, with shouting, forth to meet thee,Wife and husband, sire and son;
As our new-found sister greet thee,
Boldly woo'd and nobly won.
Meet rejoicings then shall be
In our festive family.
XIV
Keep thy love, a guarded treasureIn thine inmost heart laid by;
All its pain and all its pleasure
Shall thy spirit purify;
If thou rein wild fancy still
With a firm and temperate will.
XV
Murmur not;—bethink thee rather,When these pangs thy patience try,
That thou hast another Father
In thy home above the sky.
When thine eyes with tears grow dim,
Turn them patiently to Him.
XVI
Welcome His consoling Spirit,Then, whate'er thy mortal doom,
Doubt not that thou shalt inherit
Endless bliss beyond the tomb:
Where, redeem'd from earthly thrall,
Heavenly love is all in all.
| Poems | |