The undying one, and other poems By the Honble Mrs. Norton. New edition |
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| MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. |
 | The undying one, and other poems |  |
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MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.
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ON THE PURPLE AND WHITE CARNATION.
A FABLE.
'Twas a bright May morn, and each opening flower
Lay sunning itself in Flora's bower;
Young Love who was fluttering round, espied
The blossoms so gay in their painted pride;
And he gazed on the point of a feathered dart,
For mischief had filled the boy-god's heart;
And laughed as his bowstring of silk he drew,
And away that arrow at random flew;
Onward it sped like a ray of light,
And fell on a flower of virgin white,
Which glanced all snowy and pure at the sun,
And wept when his glorious course was run:
Two little drops on its pale leaves lay
Pure as pearls, but with diamond ray,
(Like the tear on Beauty's lid of snow,
Which waits but Compassion to bid it flow;)
It rested, that dart; and its pointed tip
Sank deep where the bees were wont to sip;
And the sickening flower gazed with grief
On the purple stains which dimmed each leaf,
And the crystal drops on its leaves that stood
Blushed with sorrow and shame till they turned to blood.
Lay sunning itself in Flora's bower;
Young Love who was fluttering round, espied
The blossoms so gay in their painted pride;
And he gazed on the point of a feathered dart,
For mischief had filled the boy-god's heart;
And laughed as his bowstring of silk he drew,
And away that arrow at random flew;
Onward it sped like a ray of light,
And fell on a flower of virgin white,
Which glanced all snowy and pure at the sun,
And wept when his glorious course was run:
Two little drops on its pale leaves lay
Pure as pearls, but with diamond ray,
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Which waits but Compassion to bid it flow;)
It rested, that dart; and its pointed tip
Sank deep where the bees were wont to sip;
And the sickening flower gazed with grief
On the purple stains which dimmed each leaf,
And the crystal drops on its leaves that stood
Blushed with sorrow and shame till they turned to blood.
It chanced that Flora, wandering by,
Beheld her flow'ret droop and die!
And Love laugh'd in scorn at the flower queen's woe,
As she vainly shook its leaves of snow.
Fled from her lip was the smile of light:—
“Oh! who hath worked thee this fell despite!
Thou who did'st harm, alas! to none,
But joyed'st all day in the beams of the sun!”
“'Twas Love!” said the flower, and a scented sigh
Loaded the gale that murmured by.
'Twas Love! and the dew drops that blushed on the wound
Sank slow and sad to the pitying ground.
Beheld her flow'ret droop and die!
And Love laugh'd in scorn at the flower queen's woe,
As she vainly shook its leaves of snow.
Fled from her lip was the smile of light:—
“Oh! who hath worked thee this fell despite!
Thou who did'st harm, alas! to none,
But joyed'st all day in the beams of the sun!”
“'Twas Love!” said the flower, and a scented sigh
Loaded the gale that murmured by.
'Twas Love! and the dew drops that blushed on the wound
Sank slow and sad to the pitying ground.
“'Twas Love!” said Flora: “accurs'd be the power
That could blight the bloom of so fair a flower.
With whispers and smiles he wins Beauty's ears,
But he leaves her nothing save grief and tears.
Ye gods! shall he bend with such tyranny still
The weak and the strong to his wanton will?
No! the hearts that he joins may rude discord sever;
Accursed be his power for ever and ever.”
That could blight the bloom of so fair a flower.
With whispers and smiles he wins Beauty's ears,
But he leaves her nothing save grief and tears.
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The weak and the strong to his wanton will?
No! the hearts that he joins may rude discord sever;
Accursed be his power for ever and ever.”
She spoke, and wept; and the echo again
Repeated the curse, but all in vain—
The tyrant laughed as he fluttered away,
Spreading his rainbow wings to the day,
And settling at random his feathered darts
To spoil sweet flowers or break fond hearts.
Repeated the curse, but all in vain—
The tyrant laughed as he fluttered away,
Spreading his rainbow wings to the day,
And settling at random his feathered darts
To spoil sweet flowers or break fond hearts.
He fled—and the queen o'er her flower in vain
Poured the evening dew and the April rain,
The purple spots on her heart still were.
And she said, as she wept her fruitless care,
“The blight and the stain may be washed away,
But what Love hath ruined must sink in decay.”
Poured the evening dew and the April rain,
The purple spots on her heart still were.
And she said, as she wept her fruitless care,
“The blight and the stain may be washed away,
But what Love hath ruined must sink in decay.”
And she sent it on earth, to dwell below
In the autumn fog and the winter snow.
And even, 'tis said, on summer eves
O'er that sad lost flower she wails and grieves;
And the drops that by mortals as dew are seen
Are the tears of the mourning flower-queen.
In the autumn fog and the winter snow.
And even, 'tis said, on summer eves
O'er that sad lost flower she wails and grieves;
And the drops that by mortals as dew are seen
Are the tears of the mourning flower-queen.
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And when men are gazing with fond delight
On its varied leaves and call them bright,
And praise the velvet tints and say
There never was flower more pure and gay:
That flow'ret says, as it droops its head,
“Alas! for the day when by love I bled;
When my feathery flowers were pure and white,
And my leaves had no earthly stain or blight,
When no chilling blasts around me blew,
And in Flora's garden of light I grew.
Oh! the blight and the stain may be washed away,
But what Love hath ruined must sink in decay.”
On its varied leaves and call them bright,
And praise the velvet tints and say
There never was flower more pure and gay:
That flow'ret says, as it droops its head,
“Alas! for the day when by love I bled;
When my feathery flowers were pure and white,
And my leaves had no earthly stain or blight,
When no chilling blasts around me blew,
And in Flora's garden of light I grew.
Oh! the blight and the stain may be washed away,
But what Love hath ruined must sink in decay.”
173
THE CARELESS WORD.
A word is ringing through my brain,
It was not meant to give me pain;
It had no tone to bid it stay,
When other things had past away;
It had no meaning more than all
Which in an idle hour fall:
It was when first the sound I heard
A lightly uttered careless word.
It was not meant to give me pain;
It had no tone to bid it stay,
When other things had past away;
It had no meaning more than all
Which in an idle hour fall:
It was when first the sound I heard
A lightly uttered careless word.
That word—oh! it doth haunt me now
In scenes of joy, in scenes of woe;
By night, by day, in sun or shade,
With the half smile that gently played
Reproachfully, and gave the sound
Eternal power thro' life to wound.
There is no voice I ever heard,
So deeply fixed as that one word.
In scenes of joy, in scenes of woe;
By night, by day, in sun or shade,
With the half smile that gently played
Reproachfully, and gave the sound
Eternal power thro' life to wound.
There is no voice I ever heard,
So deeply fixed as that one word.
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When in the laughing crowd some tone,
Like those whose joyous sound is gone,
Strikes on my ear, I shrink—for then
The careless word comes back again.
When all alone I sit and gaze
Upon the cheerful home-fire blaze,
Lo! freshly as when first 'was heard,
Returns that lightly uttered word.
Like those whose joyous sound is gone,
Strikes on my ear, I shrink—for then
The careless word comes back again.
When all alone I sit and gaze
Upon the cheerful home-fire blaze,
Lo! freshly as when first 'was heard,
Returns that lightly uttered word.
When dreams bring back the days of old,
With all that wishes could not hold;
And from my feverish couch I start
To press a shadow to my heart—
Amid its beating echoes, clear
That little word I seem to hear:
In vain I say, while it is heard,
Why weep?—'twas but a foolish word.
With all that wishes could not hold;
And from my feverish couch I start
To press a shadow to my heart—
Amid its beating echoes, clear
That little word I seem to hear:
In vain I say, while it is heard,
Why weep?—'twas but a foolish word.
It comes—and with it come the tears,
The hopes, the joys of former years;
Forgotten smiles, forgotten looks;
Thick as dead leaves on autumn brooks,
And all as joyless, though they were
The brightest things life's spring could share.
Oh! would to God I ne'er had heard
That lightly uttered, careless word!
The hopes, the joys of former years;
Forgotten smiles, forgotten looks;
Thick as dead leaves on autumn brooks,
And all as joyless, though they were
The brightest things life's spring could share.
Oh! would to God I ne'er had heard
That lightly uttered, careless word!
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It was the first, the only one
Of those which lips for ever gone
Breathed in their love—which had for me
Rebuke of harshness at my glee:
And if those lips were here to say,
“Beloved, let it pass away,”
Ah! then, perchance—but I have heard
The last dear tone—the careless word!
Of those which lips for ever gone
Breathed in their love—which had for me
Rebuke of harshness at my glee:
And if those lips were here to say,
“Beloved, let it pass away,”
Ah! then, perchance—but I have heard
The last dear tone—the careless word!
Oh! ye who, meeting, sigh to part,
Whose words are treasures to some heart,
Deal gently, ere the dark days come,
When earth hath but for one a home;
Lest, musing o'er the past, like me,
They feel their hearts wrung bitterly,
And, heeding not what else they heard,
Dwell weeping on a careless word.
Whose words are treasures to some heart,
Deal gently, ere the dark days come,
When earth hath but for one a home;
Lest, musing o'er the past, like me,
They feel their hearts wrung bitterly,
And, heeding not what else they heard,
Dwell weeping on a careless word.
176
THEY LOVED ONE ANOTHER.
They loved one another! young Edward and his wife,
And in their cottage-home they dwelt, apart from sin and strife.
Each evening Edward weary came from a day of honest toil,
And Mary made the fire blaze and smiled a cheerful smile.
Oh! what was wealth or pomp to them, the gaudy glittering show,
Of jewels blazing on the breast, where heaves a heart of woe!
The merry laugh, the placid sleep, were theirs; they hated sloth,
And all the little that they had, belonged alike to both,
For they loved one another!
And in their cottage-home they dwelt, apart from sin and strife.
Each evening Edward weary came from a day of honest toil,
And Mary made the fire blaze and smiled a cheerful smile.
Oh! what was wealth or pomp to them, the gaudy glittering show,
Of jewels blazing on the breast, where heaves a heart of woe!
The merry laugh, the placid sleep, were theirs; they hated sloth,
And all the little that they had, belonged alike to both,
For they loved one another!
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They loved one another; but one of them is gone,
And by that vainly cheerful hearth poor Edward sits alone.
He gazes round on all which used to make his heart rejoice,
And he misses Mary's gentle smile, he misses Mary's voice.
There are many in this chilly world who would not care to part,
Tho' they dwell together in one home, and ought to have one heart,
And yet they live! while never more those happy ones may meet;
And the echo from her home is gone of Mary's busy feet:
And they loved one another!
And by that vainly cheerful hearth poor Edward sits alone.
He gazes round on all which used to make his heart rejoice,
And he misses Mary's gentle smile, he misses Mary's voice.
There are many in this chilly world who would not care to part,
Tho' they dwell together in one home, and ought to have one heart,
And yet they live! while never more those happy ones may meet;
And the echo from her home is gone of Mary's busy feet:
And they loved one another!
They loved one another! but she hath passed away,
And taken with her all the light, the sunshine of his day;
And Edward makes no loud lament, nor idly sits and mourns,
But quietly goes forth at morn, and quietly returns.
The cottage now is still and dark, no welcome bids him home,
He passes it and wanders on, to sit by Mary's tomb.
Oh! weep my friends—for very sad and bitter it must be
To yearn for some familiar face we never more may see—
When we loved one another!
And taken with her all the light, the sunshine of his day;
And Edward makes no loud lament, nor idly sits and mourns,
But quietly goes forth at morn, and quietly returns.
The cottage now is still and dark, no welcome bids him home,
He passes it and wanders on, to sit by Mary's tomb.
Oh! weep my friends—for very sad and bitter it must be
To yearn for some familiar face we never more may see—
When we loved one another!
178
MY HEART IS LIKE A WITHERED NUT!
My heart is like a withered nut,
Rattling within its hollow shell;
You cannot ope my breast, and put
Any thing fresh with it to dwell.
The hopes and dreams that filled it when
Life's spring of glory met my view,
Are gone! and ne'er with joy or pain
That shrunken heart shall swell anew.
Rattling within its hollow shell;
You cannot ope my breast, and put
Any thing fresh with it to dwell.
The hopes and dreams that filled it when
Life's spring of glory met my view,
Are gone! and ne'er with joy or pain
That shrunken heart shall swell anew.
My heart is like a withered nut;
Once it was soft to every touch,
But now 'tis stern and closely shut:—
I would not have to plead with such.
Each light-toned voice once cleared my brow,
Each gentle breeze once shook the tree
Where hung the sun-lit fruit, which now
Lies cold, and stiff, and sad, like me!
Once it was soft to every touch,
But now 'tis stern and closely shut:—
I would not have to plead with such.
Each light-toned voice once cleared my brow,
Each gentle breeze once shook the tree
Where hung the sun-lit fruit, which now
Lies cold, and stiff, and sad, like me!
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My heart is like a withered nut—
It once was comely to the view;
But since misfortune's blast hath cut,
It hath a dark and mournful hue.
The freshness of its verdant youth
Nought to that fruit can now restore;
And my poor heart, I feel in truth,
Nor sun, nor smile shall light it more!
It once was comely to the view;
But since misfortune's blast hath cut,
It hath a dark and mournful hue.
The freshness of its verdant youth
Nought to that fruit can now restore;
And my poor heart, I feel in truth,
Nor sun, nor smile shall light it more!
180
MY CHILDHOOD'S HOME.
I have tasted each varied pleasure,
And drunk of the cup of delight;
I have danced to the gayest measure
In the halls of dazzling light.
I have dwelt in a blaze of splendour,
And stood in the courts of kings;
I have snatched at each toy that could render
More rapid the flight of Time's wings.
But vainly I've sought for joy or peace,
In that life of light and shade;
And I turn with a sigh to my own dear home—
The home where my childhood played!
And drunk of the cup of delight;
I have danced to the gayest measure
In the halls of dazzling light.
I have dwelt in a blaze of splendour,
And stood in the courts of kings;
I have snatched at each toy that could render
More rapid the flight of Time's wings.
But vainly I've sought for joy or peace,
In that life of light and shade;
And I turn with a sigh to my own dear home—
The home where my childhood played!
When jewels are sparkling around me,
And dazzling with their rays,
I weep for the ties that bound me
In life's first early days.
I sigh for one of the sunny hours
Ere day was turned to-night;
For one of my nosegays of fresh wild flowers,
Instead of those jewels bright.
I weep when I gaze on the scentless buds
Which never can bloom or fade;
And I turn with a sigh to those gay green fields—
The home where my childhood played.
And dazzling with their rays,
I weep for the ties that bound me
In life's first early days.
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Ere day was turned to-night;
For one of my nosegays of fresh wild flowers,
Instead of those jewels bright.
I weep when I gaze on the scentless buds
Which never can bloom or fade;
And I turn with a sigh to those gay green fields—
The home where my childhood played.
182
ESCAPE FROM THE SNARES OF LOVE.
Young Love has chains of metal rare,
Heavy as gold—yet light as air:
It chanced he caught a heart one day
Which struggled hard, as loth to stay.
Heavy as gold—yet light as air:
It chanced he caught a heart one day
Which struggled hard, as loth to stay.
Prudence, poor thing, was lingering near—
She whispered in the captive's ear,
“Cease, little flutterer; bear thy chain,
And soon thou shalt be free again!”
She whispered in the captive's ear,
“Cease, little flutterer; bear thy chain,
And soon thou shalt be free again!”
No; I assert my right to fly—
The chain shall break, and Love shall die.
What! I remain a willing slave?
No—freedom, freedom, or the grave!
The chain shall break, and Love shall die.
What! I remain a willing slave?
No—freedom, freedom, or the grave!
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Meanwhile Love slumbered by his prize.
His languid limbs and closing eyes
Prudence beheld—she spoke again,
“Oh! yet a moment bear thy chain!”
His languid limbs and closing eyes
Prudence beheld—she spoke again,
“Oh! yet a moment bear thy chain!”
Unheeded prayer! the struggling heart
Strove still the slender links to part,
While timid Prudence gazed and sighed,
Weary of strife and loath to chide.
Strove still the slender links to part,
While timid Prudence gazed and sighed,
Weary of strife and loath to chide.
One moment more the links had broke,
But slumbering Love, alarmed, awoke;
With iron rivets bound the chain,
And turned secure to sleep again.
But slumbering Love, alarmed, awoke;
With iron rivets bound the chain,
And turned secure to sleep again.
Let hearts which now in bondage weep,
Repose, till wearied Love shall sleep:
Oh! struggle not, lest he should wake!—
Slip off the chain—it will not break.
Repose, till wearied Love shall sleep:
Oh! struggle not, lest he should wake!—
Slip off the chain—it will not break.
184
IFS.
Oh! if the winds could whisper what they hear,
When murmuring round at sunset through the grove;
If words were written on the streamlet clear,
So often spoken fearlessly above:
If tell-tale stars, descending from on high,
Could image forth the thoughts of all that gaze,
Entranced upon that deep cerulean sky,
And count how few think only of their rays!
When murmuring round at sunset through the grove;
If words were written on the streamlet clear,
So often spoken fearlessly above:
If tell-tale stars, descending from on high,
Could image forth the thoughts of all that gaze,
Entranced upon that deep cerulean sky,
And count how few think only of their rays!
If the lulled heaving ocean could disclose
All that has passed upon her golden sand,
When the moon-lighted waves triumphant rose,
And dashed their spray upon the echoing strand.
If dews could tell how many tears have mixed
With the bright gem-like drops that Nature weeps,
If night could say how many eyes are fixed
On her dark shadows, while creation sleeps!
All that has passed upon her golden sand,
When the moon-lighted waves triumphant rose,
And dashed their spray upon the echoing strand.
If dews could tell how many tears have mixed
With the bright gem-like drops that Nature weeps,
If night could say how many eyes are fixed
On her dark shadows, while creation sleeps!
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If echo, rising from her magic throne,
Repeated with her melody of voice
Each timid sigh—each whispered word and tone,
Which made the hearer's listening heart rejoice.
If Nature could, unchecked, repeat aloud
All she hath heard and seen—must hear and see—
Where would the whispering, vowing, sighing crowd
Of lovers and their blushing partners, be?
Repeated with her melody of voice
Each timid sigh—each whispered word and tone,
Which made the hearer's listening heart rejoice.
If Nature could, unchecked, repeat aloud
All she hath heard and seen—must hear and see—
Where would the whispering, vowing, sighing crowd
Of lovers and their blushing partners, be?
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AS WHEN FROM DREAMS AWAKING.
As when from dreams awaking
The dim forms float away
Whose visioned smiles were making
Our darkness bright as day;
We vainly strive while weeping,
From their shining spirits rack,
(Where they fled while we were sleeping,)
To call those dear ones back!
The dim forms float away
Whose visioned smiles were making
Our darkness bright as day;
We vainly strive while weeping,
From their shining spirits rack,
(Where they fled while we were sleeping,)
To call those dear ones back!
Like the stars some power divides them
From a world of want and pain;
They are there, but daylight hides them,
And we look for them in vain.
For a while we dwell with sadness,
On the beauty of that dream,
Then turn, and hail with gladness
The light of morning's beam.
From a world of want and pain;
They are there, but daylight hides them,
And we look for them in vain.
For a while we dwell with sadness,
On the beauty of that dream,
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The light of morning's beam.
So, when memory's power is wringing
Our lonely hearts to tears,
Dim forms around us bringing
That brightened former years:
Fond looks and low words spoken,
Which those dreamy days could boast,
Rise; till the spell be broken,
We forget that they are lost!
Our lonely hearts to tears,
Dim forms around us bringing
That brightened former years:
Fond looks and low words spoken,
Which those dreamy days could boast,
Rise; till the spell be broken,
We forget that they are lost!
But when the hour of darkness rolls
Like heavy night away;
And peace is stealing o'er our souls,
Like the dawn of summer day:
The dim sweet forms that used to bless,
Seem stealing from us too;
We loved them—but joy's sunniness
Hath hid them from our view!
Like heavy night away;
And peace is stealing o'er our souls,
Like the dawn of summer day:
The dim sweet forms that used to bless,
Seem stealing from us too;
We loved them—but joy's sunniness
Hath hid them from our view!
Oh, could day beam eternally,
And Memory's power cease,
This world, a world of light would be,
Our hearts were worlds of peace:
But dreams of joy return with night,
And dwell upon the past—
And every grief that clouds our light,
Reminds us of the last!
And Memory's power cease,
This world, a world of light would be,
Our hearts were worlds of peace:
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And dwell upon the past—
And every grief that clouds our light,
Reminds us of the last!
189
OLD FRIENDS.
How they are waned and faded from our hearts,
The old companions of our early days!
Of all the many loved, which name imparts
Regret when blamed, or rapture at its praise?
What are their several fates, by Heaven decreed,
They of the jocund heart, and careless brow?
Alas! we scarcely know and scarcely heed,
Where, in this world of sighs, they wander now.
The old companions of our early days!
Of all the many loved, which name imparts
Regret when blamed, or rapture at its praise?
What are their several fates, by Heaven decreed,
They of the jocund heart, and careless brow?
Alas! we scarcely know and scarcely heed,
Where, in this world of sighs, they wander now.
See, how with cold faint smile, and courtly nod,
They pass, whom wealth and revelry divide—
Who walked together to the house of God,
Read from one book, and rested side by side;
No look of recognition lights the eye
Which laughingly hath met that fellow-face;
With careless hands they greet and wander by,
Who parted once with tears and long embrace.
They pass, whom wealth and revelry divide—
Who walked together to the house of God,
Read from one book, and rested side by side;
No look of recognition lights the eye
Which laughingly hath met that fellow-face;
With careless hands they greet and wander by,
Who parted once with tears and long embrace.
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Oh, childhood! blessed time of hope and love,
When all we knew was Nature's simple law,
How may we yearn again that time to prove,
When we looked round, and loved whate'er we saw.
Now dark suspicion wakes, and love departs,
And cold distrust its well-feigned smile displays;
And they are waned and faded from our hearts,
The old companions of our early days!
When all we knew was Nature's simple law,
How may we yearn again that time to prove,
When we looked round, and loved whate'er we saw.
Now dark suspicion wakes, and love departs,
And cold distrust its well-feigned smile displays;
And they are waned and faded from our hearts,
The old companions of our early days!
191
THE BRIDE.
She is standing by her loved one's side,
A young and a fair and a gentle bride,
But mournfulness hath crost her face
Like shadows in a sunny place,
And wistfully her eye doth strain
Across the blue and distant main.
My home! my home!—I would I were
Again in joyous gladness there!
My home! my home!—I would I heard
The singing voice like some small bird,
Of him, our mother's youngest child,
With light soft step, and features mild.—
I would I saw that dear one now,
With the proud eye and noble brow,
Whose very errors were more loved
Than all our reason most approved.
And she my fairy sister, she,
Who was the soul of childish glee;
Who loved me so—oh, let me hear
Once more those tones familiar, dear,
Which haunt my rest; and I will smile
Even as I used to do erewhile.
I know that some have fall'n asleep—
I know that some have learnt to weep—
But my heart never feels the same
As when those light steps round me came;
And sadness weighs my heavy eye
Beneath this cheerless stranger sky:
Tho' fewer now might round me come—
It is my home—my own old home!
A young and a fair and a gentle bride,
But mournfulness hath crost her face
Like shadows in a sunny place,
And wistfully her eye doth strain
Across the blue and distant main.
My home! my home!—I would I were
Again in joyous gladness there!
My home! my home!—I would I heard
The singing voice like some small bird,
Of him, our mother's youngest child,
With light soft step, and features mild.—
I would I saw that dear one now,
With the proud eye and noble brow,
192
Than all our reason most approved.
And she my fairy sister, she,
Who was the soul of childish glee;
Who loved me so—oh, let me hear
Once more those tones familiar, dear,
Which haunt my rest; and I will smile
Even as I used to do erewhile.
I know that some have fall'n asleep—
I know that some have learnt to weep—
But my heart never feels the same
As when those light steps round me came;
And sadness weighs my heavy eye
Beneath this cheerless stranger sky:
Tho' fewer now might round me come—
It is my home—my own old home!
She is back again in her sunny home,
And thick and fast the beatings come
Of that young heart, as round she sees
The same sweet flowers the same old trees;
But they the living flowers she loved,
Are they the same? are they unmoved?—
No—time which withers leaf and stem
Hath thrown his withering change o'er them.
Where there was mirth, is silence now—
Where there was joy, a darkened brow—
The bounding step hath given place
To the slow-stealing mournful pace;
The proud bright eye is now less proud,
By time, and thought, and sickness bowed.
And the light singing voice no more
Its joyful carols echoes o'er,
But whispers; fearful some gay tone
May wake the thought of pleasures gone.
It is her home—but all in vain
Some lingering things unchanged remain
The present wakes no smile—the past
Hath tears to bid its memory last.
She knew that some were gone—but oh!
She knew not—youth can never know
How furrowed o'er with silent thought
Are brows which grief and time have taught.
The murmuring of some shadowy word,
Which was a name—which now, unheard,
May wander thro' the clear cold sky,
Or wake the echo for reply:
The lingering pause in some bright spot
To dream of those who now are not:
The gaze that vainly seeks to trace
Lost feelings beaming on a face
Where time and sorrow, guilt and care,
Have past and left their withering there:—
These are her joys; and she doth roam
Around her dear but desert home;
Peopling the vacant seats, till tears arise,
And blot the dim sweet vision from her eyes.
And thick and fast the beatings come
Of that young heart, as round she sees
The same sweet flowers the same old trees;
But they the living flowers she loved,
Are they the same? are they unmoved?—
No—time which withers leaf and stem
Hath thrown his withering change o'er them.
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Where there was joy, a darkened brow—
The bounding step hath given place
To the slow-stealing mournful pace;
The proud bright eye is now less proud,
By time, and thought, and sickness bowed.
And the light singing voice no more
Its joyful carols echoes o'er,
But whispers; fearful some gay tone
May wake the thought of pleasures gone.
It is her home—but all in vain
Some lingering things unchanged remain
The present wakes no smile—the past
Hath tears to bid its memory last.
She knew that some were gone—but oh!
She knew not—youth can never know
How furrowed o'er with silent thought
Are brows which grief and time have taught.
The murmuring of some shadowy word,
Which was a name—which now, unheard,
May wander thro' the clear cold sky,
Or wake the echo for reply:
The lingering pause in some bright spot
To dream of those who now are not:
The gaze that vainly seeks to trace
Lost feelings beaming on a face
194
Have past and left their withering there:—
These are her joys; and she doth roam
Around her dear but desert home;
Peopling the vacant seats, till tears arise,
And blot the dim sweet vision from her eyes.
195
THE PILGRIM OF LIFE.
Pilgrim, who toilest up life's weary steep,To reach the summit still with pleasure crown'd;
Born but to sigh and smile; to sin and weep,
Dost mark the busy multitudes around?
Dost mourn, with those who tread with fainting feet,
And blighted worn-out heart, the self same road?
Dost laugh with those who think their travel sweet,
And deem existence no unwelcome load?—
Ah, no! unconscious of their joy or woe,
Quick hurrying onward still, or gazing back,
With feeble lustre round their planet glow
A few beloved, connected with thy track;
Dear links of life, for whom to toil is bliss;
Circlet of stars in young hope's diadem;
Gay lightsome hearts who know no joy but this—
To be together is enough for them.
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No power of love relumes the torch of life;
Whate'er it was, 'tis lost—and vain regret
Pursues the rosy babe, or faithful wife.
'Tis past—'tis gone—the brightness of those eyes
Can cheer no more thy melancholy home:
But grief may not endure—new joys arise;
The past is not—but thou hast years to come!
New joys arise—eager thou pressest on,
Hope's brillant mockery deceiving still.
And now thou weepest o'er delusions gone,
Now hail'st with transport days devoid of ill.
Yet ever as thou goest on thy way,
However bright may be the present hour,
Clings to thy mind with brightest, purest ray,
The joy thou couldst not hold, the faded flower—
Still dearest seems the past; and as each light,
Extinguished, leaves thee lone, through memory's tears
More dim the future rises to thy sight,
More bright the visions of thine early years.
Pilgrim of Life! why slackenest thou thy speed?
Why is that brow of eager hope o'ercast?
A pause—a struggle—and the hour decreed
Mingles for aye the present with the past!
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THE CAPTIVE PIRATE.
The captive pirate sate alone,
Musing over triumphs gone,
Gazing on the clear blue sky
From his dungeon window high.
Dreamingly he sate, and thought
Of battles he had seen and fought;
And fancy o'er him threw her spell.
He deemed he had not bid farewell
To the friends who loved him best;
O'er the white wave's snowy crest
Seems he now once more to sail,
Borne by the triumphant gale:
Cheerily the light bark bounds,
In his ears the music sounds
Of hoarsely mingling waves and voices,
And his inmost soul rejoices!
He gives the signal of command,
He waves—he drops—the lifted hend!
It was a sound of clashing steel—
Why starts he thus? what doth he feel?
The clanking of his iron chain
Hath made him prisoner again!
He groans, as memory round him brings
The shades of half-forgotten things.
His friends! his faithful friends! a sigh
Bursts from that bosom swelling high.
His bark! his gallant bark!—a tear
Darkens the eye that knew not fear.
And another meaner name
Must lead his men to death or fame!
And another form must stand
(Captain of his mourning band)
On the deck he trod so well,
While his bark o'er ocean's swell
Is sailing far, far out at sea,
Where he never more may be!
Oh! to be away once more
From the dark and loathsome shore!
Oh! again the sound to hear
Of his ship's crew's hearty cheer!
Souls who by his side have stood,
Careless of their ebbing blood,
Wiped the death-dew from their brow,
And feebly smiled their truth to show!
Little does the pirate deem
Freedom now were but a dream;
Little does the chieftain think
That his lost companions drink
Strugglingly the salt sea wave,
Once their home, and now their grave!
And the bark from which they part,
(While his sad and heavy heart
Yearns to tread her gallant deck,)
Helpless lies, a heaving wreck!
Musing over triumphs gone,
Gazing on the clear blue sky
From his dungeon window high.
Dreamingly he sate, and thought
Of battles he had seen and fought;
And fancy o'er him threw her spell.
He deemed he had not bid farewell
To the friends who loved him best;
O'er the white wave's snowy crest
Seems he now once more to sail,
Borne by the triumphant gale:
Cheerily the light bark bounds,
In his ears the music sounds
Of hoarsely mingling waves and voices,
And his inmost soul rejoices!
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He waves—he drops—the lifted hend!
It was a sound of clashing steel—
Why starts he thus? what doth he feel?
The clanking of his iron chain
Hath made him prisoner again!
He groans, as memory round him brings
The shades of half-forgotten things.
His friends! his faithful friends! a sigh
Bursts from that bosom swelling high.
His bark! his gallant bark!—a tear
Darkens the eye that knew not fear.
And another meaner name
Must lead his men to death or fame!
And another form must stand
(Captain of his mourning band)
On the deck he trod so well,
While his bark o'er ocean's swell
Is sailing far, far out at sea,
Where he never more may be!
Oh! to be away once more
From the dark and loathsome shore!
Oh! again the sound to hear
Of his ship's crew's hearty cheer!
Souls who by his side have stood,
Careless of their ebbing blood,
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And feebly smiled their truth to show!
Little does the pirate deem
Freedom now were but a dream;
Little does the chieftain think
That his lost companions drink
Strugglingly the salt sea wave,
Once their home, and now their grave!
And the bark from which they part,
(While his sad and heavy heart
Yearns to tread her gallant deck,)
Helpless lies, a heaving wreck!
And little will they deem, who roam
Hereafter in their floating home,
While their sunlit sail is spread,
That it gleams above the dead—
That the faithless wave rolls on
Calmly, as they were not gone,
While its depths warm hearts doth cover,
Whose beatings were untimely over!
And little will they deem, who stand
Safe upon the sea-girt land,
That to the stranger all it gave
Was—a prison and a grave!
That the ruin'd fortress towers
Number'd his despairing hours,
And beneath their careless tread,
Sleeps—the broken-hearted dead!
Hereafter in their floating home,
While their sunlit sail is spread,
That it gleams above the dead—
That the faithless wave rolls on
Calmly, as they were not gone,
While its depths warm hearts doth cover,
Whose beatings were untimely over!
And little will they deem, who stand
Safe upon the sea-girt land,
That to the stranger all it gave
Was—a prison and a grave!
200
Number'd his despairing hours,
And beneath their careless tread,
Sleeps—the broken-hearted dead!
201
I WAS NOT FALSE TO THEE.
I was not false to thee, and yet
My cheek alone looked pale;
My weary eye was dim and wet,
My strength began to fail.
Thou wert the same; thy looks were gay,
Thy step was light and free;
And yet with truth my heart can say,
I was not false to thee!
My cheek alone looked pale;
My weary eye was dim and wet,
My strength began to fail.
Thou wert the same; thy looks were gay,
Thy step was light and free;
And yet with truth my heart can say,
I was not false to thee!
I was not false to thee, yet now
Thou hast a cheerful eye,
With flushing cheek and drooping brow
I wander mournfully.
I hate to meet the gaze of men,
I weep where none can see;
Why do I only suffer, when
I was not false to thee?
Thou hast a cheerful eye,
With flushing cheek and drooping brow
I wander mournfully.
I hate to meet the gaze of men,
I weep where none can see;
Why do I only suffer, when
I was not false to thee?
202
I was not false to thee; yet oh!
How scornfully they smile,
Who see me droop, who guess my woe,
Yet court thee all the while.
'Tis strange! but when long years are past,
Thou wilt remember me;
Whilst I can feel until the last,
I was not false to thee!
How scornfully they smile,
Who see me droop, who guess my woe,
Yet court thee all the while.
'Tis strange! but when long years are past,
Thou wilt remember me;
Whilst I can feel until the last,
I was not false to thee!
203
THE GREEK GIRL'S LAMENT FOR HER LOVER.
Imra! thy form is vanished
From the proud and patriot band;
Imra! thy voice is silent,
'Mongst the voices of the land.
And bravely hast thou fallen;
In joy didst thou depart;
Their chains shall never bind thee,
Young hero of my heart!
From the proud and patriot band;
Imra! thy voice is silent,
'Mongst the voices of the land.
And bravely hast thou fallen;
In joy didst thou depart;
Their chains shall never bind thee,
Young hero of my heart!
But with thee the dream is over
That bound my soul so long;
And the words of fame and glory
Have vanished from my song:
My heart which bounded proudly
Is as sad as sad can be;
I thought it beat for freedom,
But I feel it beat—for thee.
That bound my soul so long;
And the words of fame and glory
Have vanished from my song:
My heart which bounded proudly
Is as sad as sad can be;
I thought it beat for freedom,
But I feel it beat—for thee.
204
I thought the victory's triumph
Would have made my soul rejoice,
But that was when I listened
To the music of thy voice.
The dreams of fame and conquest,
Of my country being free;
What love were they to Zoë,
But most blessed dreams of thee?
Would have made my soul rejoice,
But that was when I listened
To the music of thy voice.
The dreams of fame and conquest,
Of my country being free;
What love were they to Zoë,
But most blessed dreams of thee?
It is past—thy voice may never
Speak of triumph or of love;
And the bright hope that was burning
Hath flown with thee above.
This earth contains no dwelling,
No land of rest for me;
When Hellas was my country,
I dwelt in it with thee!
Speak of triumph or of love;
And the bright hope that was burning
Hath flown with thee above.
This earth contains no dwelling,
No land of rest for me;
When Hellas was my country,
I dwelt in it with thee!
205
OH! LIFE IS LIKE THE SUMMER RILL.
Oh! life is like the summer rill, where weary daylight dies;
We long for morn to rise again, and blush along the skies.
For dull and dark that stream appears, whose waters in the day,
All glad in conscious sunniness, went dancing on their way.
But when the glorious sun hath 'woke and looked upon the earth,
And over hill and dale there float the sounds of human mirth;
We sigh to see day hath not brought its perfect light to all.
For with the sunshine on those waves, the silent shadows fall.
We long for morn to rise again, and blush along the skies.
For dull and dark that stream appears, whose waters in the day,
All glad in conscious sunniness, went dancing on their way.
But when the glorious sun hath 'woke and looked upon the earth,
And over hill and dale there float the sounds of human mirth;
We sigh to see day hath not brought its perfect light to all.
For with the sunshine on those waves, the silent shadows fall.
Oh! like that changeful summer rill, our years go gliding by,
Now bright with joy, now dark with tears, before youth's eager eye.
And thus we vainly pant for all the rich and golden glow,
Which young hope, like an early sun, upon its course can throw.
Soon o'er our half-illumined hearts the stealing shadows come,
And every thought that woke in light receives its share of gloom.
And we weep while joys and sorrows both are fading from our view,
To find, wherever sunbeams fall, the shadow cometh too!
Now bright with joy, now dark with tears, before youth's eager eye.
206
Which young hope, like an early sun, upon its course can throw.
Soon o'er our half-illumined hearts the stealing shadows come,
And every thought that woke in light receives its share of gloom.
And we weep while joys and sorrows both are fading from our view,
To find, wherever sunbeams fall, the shadow cometh too!
207
WHEN POOR IN ALL BUT HOPE AND LOVE.
When, poor in all but hope and love,
I clasped thee to my faithful heart;
For wealth and fame I vowed to rove,
That we might meet no more to part!
Years have gone by—long weary years
Of toil, to win thee comfort now—
Of ardent hopes—of sickening fears—
And wealth is mine—but where art thou?
I clasped thee to my faithful heart;
For wealth and fame I vowed to rove,
That we might meet no more to part!
Years have gone by—long weary years
Of toil, to win thee comfort now—
Of ardent hopes—of sickening fears—
And wealth is mine—but where art thou?
Fame's dazzling dreams, for thy dear sake,
Rose brighter than before to me;
I clung to all I deemed could make
My burning heart more worthy thee.
Years have gone by—the laurel droops
In mockery o'er my joyless brow:
A conquered world before me stoops,
And Fame is mine—but where art thou?
Rose brighter than before to me;
I clung to all I deemed could make
My burning heart more worthy thee.
Years have gone by—the laurel droops
In mockery o'er my joyless brow:
A conquered world before me stoops,
And Fame is mine—but where art thou?
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In life's first hours, despised and lone,
I wandered through the busy crowd;
But now that life's best hopes are gone,
They greet with pride and murmurs loud.
Oh! for thy voice! thy happy voice,
To breathe its laughing welcome now;
Wealth, fame, and all that should rejoice,
To me are vain—for where art thou?
I wandered through the busy crowd;
But now that life's best hopes are gone,
They greet with pride and murmurs loud.
Oh! for thy voice! thy happy voice,
To breathe its laughing welcome now;
Wealth, fame, and all that should rejoice,
To me are vain—for where art thou?
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WE HAVE BEEN FRIENDS TOGETHER.
We have been friends together,
In sunshine and in shade;
Since first beneath the chesnut trees
In infancy we played.
But coldness dwells within thy heart,
A cloud is on thy brow;
We have been friends together—
Shall a light word part us now?
In sunshine and in shade;
Since first beneath the chesnut trees
In infancy we played.
But coldness dwells within thy heart,
A cloud is on thy brow;
We have been friends together—
Shall a light word part us now?
We have been gay together—
We have laughed at little jests;
For the fount of hope was gushing
Warm and joyous in our breasts.
But laughter now hath fled thy lip,
And sullen glooms thy brow;
We have been gay together—
Shall a light word part us now?
We have laughed at little jests;
For the fount of hope was gushing
Warm and joyous in our breasts.
But laughter now hath fled thy lip,
And sullen glooms thy brow;
We have been gay together—
Shall a light word part us now?
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We have been sad together,
We have wept with bitter tears,
O'er the grass-grown graves, where slumbered
The hopes of early years.
The voices which are silent there
Would bid thee clear thy brow;
We have been sad together—
Oh! what shall part us now?
We have wept with bitter tears,
O'er the grass-grown graves, where slumbered
The hopes of early years.
The voices which are silent there
Would bid thee clear thy brow;
We have been sad together—
Oh! what shall part us now?
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THE BOATSWAIN'S SONG.
“So we cheered to keep our hearts up.”
Lord Nugent.
A cheer to keep our hearts up,
A cup to drown our tears,
And we'll talk of those who perished,
Our mates in former years.
The Betsey was a vessel
As tight as ship could be—
And we cheered to keep our hearts up,
As she tossed upon the sea.
A cup to drown our tears,
And we'll talk of those who perished,
Our mates in former years.
The Betsey was a vessel
As tight as ship could be—
And we cheered to keep our hearts up,
As she tossed upon the sea.
Thro' one dark day we struggled
To stem the foaming tide;
Night came—the straining vessel
All helplessly did ride.
The storm was raging loudly,
The angry heavens did frown—
A cheer to keep your hearts up—
The Betsey, she went down!
To stem the foaming tide;
Night came—the straining vessel
All helplessly did ride.
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The angry heavens did frown—
A cheer to keep your hearts up—
The Betsey, she went down!
The morning broke which many
Might never see again,
And thick and blind and heavy
Came down the drenching rain:
We got the smallest boat out,
Jack, Tom, and I, and gave
A cheer to keep our hearts up,
As we toiled against the wave.
Might never see again,
And thick and blind and heavy
Came down the drenching rain:
We got the smallest boat out,
Jack, Tom, and I, and gave
A cheer to keep our hearts up,
As we toiled against the wave.
Three days we struggled onward,
Without a sight of land;
And we grew so faint and failing,
We could scarcely bear a hand.
It's a bitter thing to battle
With the ocean for your foe:
We cheered to keep our hearts up,
But the cheer was hoarse and low.
Without a sight of land;
And we grew so faint and failing,
We could scarcely bear a hand.
It's a bitter thing to battle
With the ocean for your foe:
We cheered to keep our hearts up,
But the cheer was hoarse and low.
Then we thought, with sinking spirits,
Of the shore we'd never see:
Tom wept, and thought of Mary—
Jack talked of home with me.
Each brawny arm grew fainter,
The boat was thinly stored:
A cheer to keep your hearts up—
Poor Jack went overboard!
Of the shore we'd never see:
Tom wept, and thought of Mary—
Jack talked of home with me.
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The boat was thinly stored:
A cheer to keep your hearts up—
Poor Jack went overboard!
At last, somehow we landed
Where the cliff was steep and high;
We told Jack's poor old mother,
(We were too much men to cry.)
They'd ha' liked to see me Boatswain,
The Betsey's gallant crew.
Come, a cheer to keep our hearts up,
We shall all of us die too.
Where the cliff was steep and high;
We told Jack's poor old mother,
(We were too much men to cry.)
They'd ha' liked to see me Boatswain,
The Betsey's gallant crew.
Come, a cheer to keep our hearts up,
We shall all of us die too.
THE END.
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