Oft in their meek blue light enshrined, And sometimes there my wayward mind And sometimes Pity-soft and deep, And quivering through a tear; And oh my spirit needs that balm, Look on me thus, when hollow praise For one true tone of other days, One glance of love like thine! Look on me thus, when sudden glee In vain, in vain!-too soon are felt Sweet face, that o'er my childhood shone, Thus ever shadowing back my own, Wakes in my soul a feeling too prfoound, I hear thy whisper-and the warm tears gush The past looks on me from thy mournful eye, Shut out the sunshine from my dying room, The jasmine's breath, the murmur of the bee; Let not the joy of bird-notes pierce the gloom! They speak of love, of summer, and of thee, Too much-and death is here! Doth our own spring make happy music now, If I could but draw courage from the light Whence are they charmed—those earnest eyes? Leave me!-thou com'st between my heart and -I know the mystery well! In mine own trembling bosom lies The spirit of the spell! Of Memory, Conscience, Love, 'tis born Oh! change no longer, thou! For ever be the blessing worn Heaven! But thou, my friend, my brother! Thou 'rt speeding to the shore Where the dirgelike tone of parting words Shall smite the soul no more! And thou wilt see our holy dead; The lost on earth and main; Into the sheaf of kindred hearts, Thou wilt be bound again! Tell, then, our friend of boyhood, That yet his name is heard On the blue mountains, whence his youth Are on me still-Oh! still I trust And tell our fair young sister, The rose cut down in spring, That yet my gushing soul is filled With lays she loved to sing. Her soft, deep eyes look through my dreams, Tell her my heart within me burns And tell our white-haired father, Rests on my soul like dew, And tell our gentle mother, That on her grave I pour The sorrows of my spirit forth, As on her breast of yore. Happy thou art that soon, how soon, Our good and bright will see!Oh! brother, brother! may I dwell, Ere long, with them and thee! 'Midst those green wilds how many a fount lies gleaming Fringed with the violet, coloured with the skies! My boyhood's haunt, through days of summer dreaming, Under young leaves that shook with melodies. My home! the spirit of its love is breathing There am I loved-there prayed for-there my mother Sits by the hearth with meekly thoughtful eye; There my young sisters watch to greet their brother -Soon their glad footsteps down the path will fly. There, in sweet strains of kindred music blending, All the home-voices meet at day's decline; One are those tones, as from one heart ascending,There laughs my home-sad stranger! where is thine? Ask'st thou of mine ?-In solemn peace 'tis lying, Far o'er the deserts and the tombs away; T is where I, too, am loved with love undying, And fond hearts wait my step-But where are they? Ask where the earth's departed have their dwell ing! Ask of the clouds, the stars, the trackless air! And what is home, and where, but with the lov. ing? Happy thou art, that so canst gaze on thine! Go to thy home, rejoicing son and brother! THE TWO HOMES. Oh! if the soul immortal be, Is not its love immortal too? SEEST thou my home!-'tis where yon woods are waving, In their dark richness, to the summer air; Where yon blue stream, a thousand flower-banks laving, THE SOLDIER'S DEATH-BED. Wie herrlich die Sonne dort untergeht! da ich noch ein Bube war-war's mein Lieblingsgedanke, wie sie zu leben, wie sie zu sterben! Die Rauber. Like thee to die, thou sun!-My boyhood's dreamn Leads down the hills a vein of light,-'tis there! Bears back upon me, with a terrent's power, Nature's deep longings:-Oh! for some kind eye, Sweet friends! it may be that a softer tone, Smile for you ever!-May no winter come, tears For my sake, full of long-remembered years, And I depart.-The brave are gone to rest, THE LAND OF DREAMS. And dreams, in their development, have breath, Byron. O SPIRIT-LAND! thou land of dreams! A world thou art of mysterious gleams, Of startling voices, and sounds at strife,A world of the dead in the hues of life. Like a wizard's magic glass thou art, Thou art like a city of the past, With its gorgeous halls into fragments cast, Thou art like the depths where the seas have birth, Yes! thou art like those dim sea-caves, A realm of treasures, a realm of graves! And the shapes through thy mysteries that come and go, Are of beauty and terror, of power and wo. But for me, O thou picture-land of sleep! And thy bowers are fair-even as Eden fair They are there, and each blessed voice I hear, I walk with sweet friends in the sunset's glow; I listen to music of long ago; But one thought, like an omen, breathes faint through the lay, "It is but a dream; it will melt away!" I sit by the hearth of my early days; And away, like a flower's passing breath, 'tis gone. Shadow not forth, O thou land of dreams, For the scenes and the hours that may ne'er return! Call out from the future thy visions bright, And oh! with the loved, whom no more I see, As it yet may be, in some purer sphere, Till I go where the beautiful melts not away! WOMAN ON THE FIELD OF BATTLE. Where hath not woman stood, Strong in affection's might? a reed, upborne By an o'ermastering current! GENTLE and lovely form, What didst thou here, Banner and shivered crest, Yet strangely, sadly fair, O'er the wild scene, Low lies the stately head,- Slumberer! thine early bier Friends should have crowned, Soft voices clear and young, And the swift charger sweep, In full career, Trampling thy place of sleep,Why camest thou here? Why?-ask the true heart why Woman hath been Ever, where brave men die, Unto this harvest ground Proud reapers came,— Some, for that stirring sound A warrior's name; Some, for the stormy play And joy of strife;— And some, to fling away A weary life: But thou, pale sleeper, thou, With the slight frame, And the rich locks, whose glow Only one thought, one power, So, through the tempest's hour, Only the true, the strong, THE DESERTED HOUSE. GLOOM is upon thy lonely hearth, O silent house! once filled with mirth; Sorrow is in the breezy sound, Of thy tall poplars whispering round. The shadow of departed hours Hangs dim upon thine early flowers; Even in thy sunshine seems to brood Something more deep than solitude. Fair art thou, fair to a stranger's gaze, Mine own sweet home of other days! My children's birth place! yet for me, It is too much to look on thee. Too much! for all about thee spread, The looks, the smiles, all vanished now, Till my heart dies, it dies away What now is left me, but to raise Oh! many are the mansions there,* And they are there, whose long-ved mien We miss them when the board is spread; We miss them when the prayer is said ; Upon our dreams their dying eyes In still and mournful fondness rise. But they are where these longings vain Ye are at rest, and I in tears,t But, by your life of lowly faith, Holy ye were, and good, and true! In my Father's house there are many mansions. ↑ From an ancient Hebrew dirge: "Mourn for the mourner, and not for the dead, For he is at rest, and we in. tears!" |