University of Virginia Library

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170

FAREWELL TO THE HARP,

ADDRESSED TO A FRIEND IN AFFLICTION.

I.

The harp, whose angel tones beguiled
My soul to transport, when a child;
The harp, that with unchanging truth
Has been the solace of my youth,
And lent its seraph-voice to bless
Those days of dreamy loneliness,
When in the silence of the wood,
When 'neath the mountain's hermit tree,
On the cragged heath's wide solitude,
That harp was all the world to me.
And though my new-born spirit then,
Strange to the crowded seats of men,
Knew not what forms of heaven's pure mould,
Mingling with those impure and cold,

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171

Were cast on earth's wide, novel seat,
Where Paradise and misery meet,
It told of bosoms still unknown,
That throbb'd with feelings like my own;
And gave me, with prelusive power,
The dreams of life's advancing hour,
Ere yet 'twere mine, in truth, to know
The world of bliss—the world of woe,
That every gentler heart must trace,
Which loves, and seeks its kindred race.
The joy, the smiles, the tumult sweet,
When souls of love and lightning meet;
The pang, the cloud, the dying pain,
When they are forced apart again;
Life's summer glow, its sun's gay shining,
When bonds of faith and hope are twining;
The charms of hours, pursued by years
Of daily thought, and daily tears;
Watching for comet-beams that run
But once for ever near the sun,
Then glide into a track of shade
No mortal vision can pervade.
The harp, that even now can please,
When I have felt somewhat of these;
The harp, the dearest joy of mine,
I now, perhaps for aye, resign.

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172

III.

Friend of my youth! thy voice has been
The balm of many an anguish keen;

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173

And if, for once, my conscious soul
Could all melodious powers control,
My lyre's last tones, that flow to soothe
The sorrows of thy filial love,
In music of past times should steal
O'er thy sad heart, its woes to heal.
Oh! could I burst the withering spell,
That, fraught with visions horrible,
Has o'er thy heart a ruin hurl'd,
Dread as the death-hour of a world.
Oh! could I wake thee to a morning,
Whose beams, all shades of sadness scorning,
Would ope thy placid eye to know
Peace such as thine a year ago.
The fragile visions of the night
Are born in peace, and end in light;
Their beauty breaks in brighter day;
Or morning wafts their woes away.
But ah! these dreams of day impart
Such lingering sadness to the heart,
Cast in a moment on the eye,
Alas! they haste not swiftly by,
But dimly drags each faltering day,
And still the hateful objects stay.
They will not pass—but on we tread
Midst tombs of friends, and pleasures dead.

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174

The sun but lightens to make known
How desolate our path is grown;
Or, if night slumbers on the air,
The ghosts of former times are there.

IV.

Yet, in the twilight valley cast
'Twixt heaven to come, and heaven that's past,
There is a voice so small and low,
The maniac ear of boisterous woe
Arrests it not—yet there 'tis known
When pain is left by passion gone.
'Tis hope;—though rather dark despair
Than any hope seem dwelling there;
'Tis hope—disguised like light that springs
From watchful knowledge of past things;
Proving from changes that have been,
From pleasure, good, and triumph seen,
That still some happier time shall be;
That still our eyes shall gladness see.
Oh! let not then thy tortur'd sense
Dwell in delirium on the past,
Firmly on heaven thy wishes cast,
And draw down power and solace thence.
And while thy thoughtful head is laid
Upon the bosom of that maid,

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175

Who, in affliction's ordeal flame,
Has found love's pure celestial glow;
Whilst round thee thou canst spirits name,
Whose worth the ear can never know—
Think! for it cannot be forgot
There was a day thou knew'st them not—
Think! how life's blessings sometimes crowd,
Like angels from a hovering cloud.

V.

Tell me, was it within the scope
Of the far-prescient eye of hope,
To promise, in an hour unknown,
A ray of heaven, like that which shone
Full on thy breast, with sudden flame,
When Rufford's beam of beauty came?
No! 'twas the bliss (the fount of bliss,
Tinging all other joys with this)
Of hearts, that through long years have grown
Warm for each other, though unknown;
Without one dream, yet many a sigh
For that which drew in secret nigh;
Till, in an instant glance, has shone
The flash that melts two hearts to one:
To sever, when shall cease to be
God's mystic throne, eternity!

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176

Oh, 'twas an hour of that blest cast,
When, though ne'er seen till felt when past,
For ever stands the radiant pole
Of each beloved magnetic soul!
That hour has left for thee a light
That fears no power of storm or night.
Distance may grieve, or years entwine
The bonds of absence, but to thine
Shall ever turn that light of love
On earth; or if in worlds above,
Down shall its gladdening beams be sent,
To guide thee by the way it went.

VI.

Thus hast thou found, in parted years,
Good undivined, unhoped for light;
Joy bathing in the dew of tears,
Wept by despair that self-same night.
Thus hast thou met the sudden glow
Of souls so pure, so formed for bliss,
That reason never yet could know
Why they were in a world like this.
Why they, without one lingering stain,
Should dwell with darkness and with crime;
Why they, all heaven, should share the pain,
Without the mildew teints of time,

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177

Except it be to level low
All pride and charms of mortal years,
Leading athwart this vale of woe
The radiant forms of happier spheres:
Except it be to glean afar
All hearts devote to social bliss,
Luring their footsteps by a star
Whose every beam wakes ecstacies.
That when those hearts are won, and find
Nothing on earth but that worth viewing,
That star may flee, and leave behind
No hope, no pleasure but pursuing.

VII.

This then shall close my votive strain;
Whate'er has been, may be again.
Springs not the lightning from a cloud
Midst weeping showers, and murmurs loud?
Comes not the sun's all-quickening mien
Midst mists and wreaths of darkness seen?
Smiles not the moon's loved, pensive light
Upon the very couch of night?
And hast thou seen joy spring from sorrow?
And shalt thou doubt the coming morrow?

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178

Well do I know the gloom profound,
The blasted scene that hems thee round.
But is there not a power alive
That bids gloom flee, and hope revive?
And yet, whate'er besides departs,
Thou hast a treasure of true hearts,
Enough from grief thy soul to win,
And soothe the love of life within.
But ere we part, raise now thine eye,
And cast a look on nature's face;
Tell me, in all its wide expanse,
Canst thou a tint but beauty's trace?
A scene where light and rapture dance;
A scene where ear, and heart, and glance,
Meet life, and melody, and peace;
A feast of millions from the hand
Of him whose mercies never cease.
Oh! canst thou think that his command
Shall thus the streams of gladness roll
O'er all creation's millions wide,
Alike their God and thine, nor guide
One rill of comfort to thy soul?
Then fare thee well! that guide divine
Shall lead alike thy steps and mine;

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179

And know, that from my conscious heart
The treasured past shall ne'er depart:
In grief or pleasure, pain or prayer,
Thy imaged presence shall be there;
And 't will a pensive pleasure be,
My lyre's last notes were spent on thee!