Oh! that hallow'd form is ne'er forgot,
Which first-love traced;
Still it lingering haunts the greenest spot
On memory's waste!
'Twas odour fled
As soon as shed;
'Twas morning's winged dream;
'Twas a light that ne'er can shine again
On life's dull stream!
Oh! 'twas light that ne'er can shine again
On life's dull stream.
WHEN TWILIGHT DEWS.
WHEN twilight dews are falling soft
Upon the rosy sea, love!
I watch the star, whose beam so oft
Has lighted me to thee, love!
And thou too, on that orb so clear,
Ah! dost thou gaze at even,
And think, though lost for ever here,
Thou'lt yet be mine in Heaven?
There's not a garden walk I tread,
There's not a flower I see, love!
But brings to mind some hope that's fled,
Some joy I've lost with thee, love!
And still I wish that hour was near,
When, friends and foes forgiven,
The pains, the ills we've wept through here,
May turn to smiles in Heaven!
THE Young May-moon is beaming, love!
The glow-worm's lamp is gleaming, love!
How sweet to rove
Through Morna's grove,
While the drowsy world is dreaming, love!
Then awake! the heavens look bright, my dear! "Tis never too late for delight, my dear! And the best of all ways
Is to steal a few hours from the night, my dear!
Now all the world is sleeping, love!
But the sage, his starwatch keeping, love:
And I, whose star,
More glorious far,
Is the eye from that casement peeping, love!
Then awake! till rise of sun, my dear;
The sage's glass we'll shun, my dear!
Or, in watching the flight
He might happen to take thee for one, my dear!
THE minstrel boy to the war is gone,
In the ranks of death you'll find him;
His father's sword he has girded on,
And his wild harp slung behind him.
"Land of song!" said the warrior-bard,
"Though all the world betrays thee,
One sword, at least, thy rights shall guard,
One faithful harp shall praise thee!"
The minstrel fell! but the foeman's chain
Could not bring his proud soul under!
The harp he loved ne'er spoke again,
For he tore its chords asunder;
And said, "No chains shall sully thee,
Thou soul of love and bravery!
Thy songs were made for the pure and free,
They shall never sound in slavery!"
I SAW THY FORM IN YOUTHFUL PRIME.
I SAW thy form in youthful prime,
Nor thought that pale decay
Would steal before the steps of Time,
And waste its bloom away, Mary!
Yet still thy features wore that light
Which fleets not with the breath;
And life ne'er look'd more truly bright
Than in thy smile of death, Mary!
As streams that run o'er golden mines,
Yet humbly, calmly glide,
Nor seem to know the wealth that shines
Within their gentle tide, Mary!
So, veil'd beneath the simplest guise,
Thy radiant genius shone,
And that which charm'd all other eyes
Seem'd worthless in thy own, Mary!
If souls could always dwell above,
Thou ne'er hadst left that sphere;
Or, could we keep the souls we love,
We ne'er had lost thee here, Mary!
Though many a gifted mind we meet,
Though fairest forms we see,
To live with them is far less sweet
Than to remember thee, Mary!
SHE IS FAR FROM THE LAND.
SHE is far from the land where her young hero sleeps,
And lovers are round her sighing;
But coldly she turns from their gaze, and weeps,
For her heart in his grave is lying!
She sings the wild song of her dear native plains,
Every note which he loved awaking:
Ah little they think, who delight in her strains,
How the heart of the minstrel is breaking!
He had lived for his love, for his country he died,
They were all that to life had entwined him;
Nor soon shall the tears of his country be dried,
Nor long will his love stay behind him.
Oh! make her a grave where the sunbeams rest,
When they promise a glorious morrow;
They'll shine o'er her sleep like a smile from the
From her own loved Island of Sorrow!
FAREWELL ! BUT, WHENEVER YOU WELCOME THE HOUR.
FAREWELL! but, whenever you welcome the hour
That awakens the night-song of mirth in your bower,
Then think of the friend who once welcomed it too,
And forgot his own griefs to be happy with you.
His griefs may return—not a hope may remain
Of the few that have brighten'd his pathway of pain-
But he ne'er will forget the short vision, that threw
Its enchantment around him while lingering with
you!
And still on that evening, when pleasure fills up
To the highest top sparkle each heart and each cup,
Where'er my path lies, be it gloomy or bright,
My soul, happy friends! shall be with you that night;
Shall join in your revels, your sports, and your wiles,
And return to me beaming all o'er with your smiles;
Too bless'd if it tells me that, mid the gay cheer,
Some kind voice had murmur'd, "I wish he were
here!"
Let Fate do her worst, there are relics of joy,
Bright dreams of the past, which she cannot destroy:
Which come, in the nighttime of sorrow and care, And bring back the features that joy used to wear. Long, long be my heart with such memories fill'd! Like the vase in which roses have once been distill'd; You may break, you may ruin the vase if you will, But the scent of the roses will hang round it still.
I'D MOURN THE HOPES.
I'D mourn the hopes that leave me,
If thy smiles had left me too;
I'd weep when friends deceive me,
If thou wert, like them, untrue.
But, while I've thee before me,
With heart so warm and eyes so bright,
No clouds can linger o'er me-
That smile turns them all to light!
"Tis not in fate to harm me,
While fate leaves thy love to me;
"Tis not in joy to charin me,
Unless joy be shared with thee.
One minute's dream about thee
Were worth a long, an endless year
Of waking bliss without thee,
My own love, my only dear!
And, though the hope be gone, love,
That long sparkled o'er our way,
Oh! we shall journey on, love,
More safely without its ray.
Far better lights shall win me
Along the path I've yet to roam ;
The mind that burns within me,
And pure smiles from thee at home.
Thus, when the lamp that lighted
The traveller at first goes out,
He feels a while benighted,
And looks around in fear and doubt.
|