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,
When the wavy shadows float by, and part:
Visions of aspects, now loved, now strange,
Glimmering and mingling in ceaseless change.
Thou art like a city of the past,
With its gorgeous halls in fragments cast,
Amidst whose ruins there glide and play
Familiar forms of the world's to day.
Thou art like the depths where the seas have birth,
Rich with the wealth that is lost from earth,-
All the sere flowers of our days gone by,
And the buried gems in thy bosom lie.
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 woe.
But for me, O thou picture-land of sleep!
Thou art all one world of affections deep,-
And wrung from my heart is each flushing dye, That sweeps o'er thy chambers of imagery.
And thy bowers are fair-e'en as Eden fair;
All the beloved of my soul are there!
The forms of my spirit most pines to see,
The eyes, whose love hath been life to me:
They are there, and each blessed voice I hear,
Kindly, and joyous, and silvery clear;
But under-tones are in each, that say,-
"It is but a dream; it will melt away!"
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;
All the home-faces are met by the blaze,-
And the eyes of the mother shine soft, yet say
"It is but a dream; it will melt away!"
And away, like a flower's passing breath, 'tis gone,
And I wake more sadly, more deeply lone!
Oh! a haunted heart is a weight to bear,-
Bright faces, kind voices! where are ye, where ?
Shadow not forth, O thou land of dreams,
The past, as it fled by my own blue streams!
Make not my spirit within me burn
For the scenes and the hours that may ne'er return!
Call out from the future thy visions bright,
From the world o'er the grave, take thy solemn
And oh! with the loved, whom no more I see, Show me my home, as it yet may be !
As it yet may be in some purer sphere,
No cloud, no parting, no sleepless fear;
So my soul may bear on, through the long, long day,
Till I go where the beautiful melts not away!
No mistress of the hidden skill,
No wizard gaunt and grim,
Went up by night to heath or hill,
To read the stars for him;
The merriest girl in all the land
Of vine-encircled France
Bestow'd upon his brow and hand
Her philosophic glance :
"I bind thee with a spell," said she,
"I sign thee with a sign;
No woman's love shall light on thee,
No woman's heart be thine!
"And trust me, 'tis not that thy cheek
Is colorless and cold,
Nor that thine eye is slow to speak
What only eyes have told;
For many a cheek of paler white
Hath blush'd with passion's kiss:
And many an eye of lesser light
Hath caught its fire from bliss;
Yet while the rivers seek the sea,
And while the young stars shine,
No woman's love shall light on thee,
No woman's heart be thine!
"And 'tis not that thy spirit, awed
By beauty's numbing spell,
Shrinks from the force or from the fraud Which beauty loves so well;
For thou hast learn'd to watch and wake, And swear by earth and sky;
And thou art ever bold to take
What we must still deny;
I cannot tell the charm was wrought
By other threads than mine,
The lips are lightly begg'd or bought,
The heart may not be thine!
"Yet thine the brightest smile shall be
That ever beauty wore,
And confidence from two or three,
And compliments from more;
And one shall give, perchance hath given,
What only is not love,—
Friendship, oh! such as saints in heaven Rain on us from above.
If she shall meet thee in the bower,
Or name thee in the shrine,
Oh! wear the ring, and guard the flower,— Her heart may not be thine!
"Go, set thy boat before the blast,
Thy breast before the gun,-
The haven shall be reach'd at last,
The battle shall be won;
Or muse upon thy country's laws,
Or strike thy country's lute,
And patriot hands shall sound applause,
And lovely lips be mute:
Go, dig the diamond from the wave,
The treasure from the mine,
Enjoy the wreath, the gold, the grave,-
No woman's heart is thine!
"I charm thee from the agony
Which others feel or feign;
From anger, and from jealously,
From doubt, and from disdain ;
I bid thee wear the scorn of years
Upon the cheek of youth,
And curl the lip at passion's tears,
And shake the head at truth:
While there is bliss in revelry,
Forgetfulness in wine,
Be thou from woman's love as free
As woman is from thine!"
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