Part 4

They were friends in that sweet season, When the heart is foe to Reason: Loving fondly, loving kindly, Blind to fate—yet loving blindly; Happy in the passing minute; Naught the next, though Death were in it.

3.

They were friends whom fortune parted, Severing sad and broken hearted: God’s own law their trothal hind’red, For their souls were near a-kindred; Lovers not—twin-children rather Of the same all-glorious Father.

4.

Worlds there are, above all sorrow, And that world is theirs to-morrow: There where love is brighter, purer, Shall their friendship be the surer; And when dreary life is over, Each shall be the happier lover.

* * * * *

CAUTION.

1.

Break not tryste with tender hearts, They ask not oaths for trust; A look—a smile—to them imparts What—answered with a tear that starts, Is sealed, if thou art just!

2.

Learn this lesson, not too late; ’Twill save some gentle eye, That often at her garden gate, Strains sight and ear to watch and wait, And droops—she tells not why.

* * * * *

OH WHERE’S THE HOPE.

1.

Oh where’s the hope like morning’s star, that lit my childhood’s hours, And smiled upon my dawn of life like sunrise over flowers! ’Tis gone, alas—or faintly seen, is as a rainbow’s ray, Far—far afield! and as I chase, the phantom flies away.

2.

Sure never have I been too young to sigh o’er vanished hopes; As if life’s wishes all were made, before an eyelid opes! Sure never came an hour to me, that brought not in its train, Some blight to fair and fond desire, and longings nursed in vain.

3.

They dream who tell of life’s long hours, its brightest is its first, When o’er the sparkling dews of youth, the hues of morning burst; Those morning hues dispel the mists that made its flowers so gay, And boyhood’s joys are only bright, as they are borne away.

4.

And all the hopes those dews inspired, like dews dissolve in air, And melt in fickle forms away, and leave unveiled the glare: And childhood mourns like hoary Eld a thousand pleasures gone, And weeps o’er disappointed hours, while yet ’tis early dawn!

5.

Oh can it be that we have lived, before we wept on earth, And measured out our spirit’s path, before our body’s birth! Howe’er it be—the babe new-born, begins its life with tears, And age that weeps o’er childhood gone, but mimics childhood’s years.

* * * * *

CANZONET.

To the Music of Von Weber’s last Waltz.

1.

I’d die mid soft music, And whispering the lay, I’d breathe in sweet singing My spirit away. Bend o’er me, though weeping, Thou beautiful one With thy long flowing tresses Till sinks my life’s sun: Then round me, ye lovely, Sigh sad to the lute, And warble your sorrow While breathes the soft flute. I’d die, &c.

2.

I’ve lived mid the lovely, And dying, I’d hear The voice of the lovely Sound last on mine ear. In life, and in blooming I’ve loved the soft lyre, And music shall soothe me Till faint I expire. Till Earth’s music failing I join as I rise, The far fading echoes That float from the skies. I’d die, &c.

* * * * *

I’VE LEFT THE GIDDY THRONG.

1.

I’ve left the giddy throng: The dance is o’er: mine ear Hears but a phantom song, And I am lonely here. Oh, in the dark still night When shadows round us be, How vain all earth’s delight! Whom have I, Lord, but thee?

2.

It is a fearful thing To be with self alone; To bear a closeting, With conscience on her throne: For who but feels, when still The heavy night hangs round, The boding dews that chill The sleepers under ground!

3.

Oh, who but thinks how soon Such sleep his own must be; The cold damp sod aboon, And earth-worms feasting free: Oh, who but feels full oft His body rotting there, His robes of beauty doffed, The winding-sheet, his wear!

4.

And who but trembles then, At what we dare to be, When mixt with thoughtless men, We too live thoughtlessly! Poor pilgrims unto death, Poor insects of a day, How dare we spend our breath As if we lived for aye.

* * * * *

MARCH.

Man goeth to his long home.

WORDS TO STRANGE MUSIC.

1.

March—march—march! Making sounds as they tread, Ho-ho! how they step, Going down to the dead! Every stride, every tramp, Every footfall is nearer; And dimmer each lamp, As darkness grows drearer: But ho! how they march, Making sounds as they tread; Ho-ho! how they step, Going down to the dead!

2.

March—march—march! Making sounds as they tread, Ho-ho, how they laugh, Going down to the dead! How they whirl—how they trip, How they smile, how they dally, How blithesome they skip, Going down to the valley; Oh ho, how they march, Making sounds as they tread; Ho-ho, how they skip, Going down to the dead!

3.

March—march—march! Earth groans as they tread! Each carries a skull; Going down to the dead! Every stride—every stamp, Every footfall is bolder; ’Tis a skeleton’s tramp, With a skull on his shoulder; But ho, how he steps With a high tossing head, That clay-covered bone, Going down to the dead!

* * * * *

LAKE BYROM,

In the County of Westchester, N. Y.

1.

By thy still waters, lonely Lake, The wild-dove builds her hermit home, And there her matin-song doth make, Where mornings all like Sabbaths come: O’er thee she flits with silent wing, Or lulls thee with its silken sound, Thee—sleeping like a holy thing, And hid from all the world around.

2.

No voice along thy leafy shore, But nature’s hymns are rising there, Nor oft the echo-waking oar Disturbs thy breast, and haunted air! A fane upon thy water side With lights ablaze in every cell, How bright ’twould seem at even tide, How soft be heard its Vesper Bell!

3.

By thy still waters, lonely Lake, I too could build a hermit home, Where mornings all like Sabbaths break, And Earth’s alarm can never come; And there, this bosom, Heavenly Dove, A cell for thy repose might be, Forsaking all for worlds above, And all the world forsaking me.

* * * * *

STANZAS.

Quæ nunc abibis in loca.

1.

When first the soul’s dark chains unbind, And bursts from clay the prison’d mind, What thoughts—what visions on it press, Floating through ether—bodiless, And borne away in calmest air, Or falling, falling to despair, What are its thoughts to find it there!

2.

Oh, when the struggling gasp is o’er, And Earth hath naught to charm it more, And it is free, and fixt its fate, Flitting through space—all desolate, With none its wilderment to share, In silence borne—it knows not where, What are its thoughts to find it there!

3.

Oh rising, when it first doth hear Heaven’s far-off music drawing near, And gazeth now on heavenly light, That brighter grows, and still more bright; Oh, when it gains that purer air, And first beholds those regions fair, What are its thoughts to find it there!

4.

Or sinking, sinking, when more near Deep groans assail its spirit ear, And Earth is gone—its little day Pass’d as a slighted dream away; When round it frowns at length the glare, The glimmering darkness of despair, What are its thoughts to find it there!

* * * * *

LAMENT.

The years draw nigh when thou shalt say, I have no pleasure. _Eccles._

1.

Years are coming hither When this heart so gay, Much I fear will wither! Youth is gone away. Men are brothers—brothers! Oh! I tremble then, Lest I grow as others Of my fellow-men.

2.

Those of whims and wrinkles, Once were blithe as I; Heads that frost besprinkles, Once look’d bonnily; And where winter lingers Upon the old man’s curls, Have play’d the taper fingers Of well-beloved girls.

3.

Oh, must the years come on me When these are no delight! Must frost-work fall upon me, And deadliness and blight; This heart that loves the summer, Be chilly as the cold; And I be dim, and dumber Than the mummies of the Old!

4.

And am I surely growing In soul and senses seal’d, Like him who, all unknowing, Is frozen and congeal’d! I know it—ah, I know it; Of all the world ’tis true; And the fibres of the poet Must break—or toughen too.

5.

Thank God with all my spirit For my only, only cheer, Since I learn’d that I inherit A destiny so drear. But now I care not for it, And welcome is the grave; Oh why should I abhor it, Since only it can save!

6.

I’ve seen a worm that weaveth His shroud as with delight; Then sleeps, as who believeth, He only bids good night. Then up again he springeth, A wing’d and elfin form; Away, away he wingeth, An angel from a worm!

7.

Wise worm! and I, his brother, Will learn from him to live! A lesson that no other So beautiful can give. Oh, weave in life thy swathing, And then in Christ repose! Who maketh life a plaything Is born to many woes.

* * * * *

THE ZENAIDA DOVE.

1.

When the wounded buccaneer Moors alone, his pirate prore, Seeking, in his flight of fear, Alabama’s woody shore, Oft reclined at heat of day, In the green palmetto grove, Sad, he lists the roundelay Of the sweet Zenaida Dove.

2.

He is far from kin and kind, He has seen his comrades die; Now the bold and dark of mind, Is as dim and dark of eye. She is singing, in her home, Innocent and soft as love; Ne’er a wish or wing to roam Hath the sweet Zenaida Dove.

3.

Then, as soft the carol pours, Will he turn his languid eye Round the cypress-shaded shores, Feeling it is hard to die. Tears, as gentle as a child, Pay the minstrelsy above, And the pirate’s heart grows mild, Listening the Zenaida Dove.

4.

Lady, when mine erring heart Made my dark and gloomy brow, We had been for years apart, Guilty I—but holy thou. But—by chance, we met agen, Thou all innocence and love! I beheld abash’d—and then Thou wast my Zenaida Dove.

5.

Youth was fever in my blood, And a frenzy in mine eye: Thou hadst bloomed to maidenhood, Guileless all as infancy: Dear thy voice, as childhood seemed, And thine eye was mild as love, With a soft rebuke it beamed: Thou wast my Zenaida Dove.

* * * * *

REMEMBER.

Eccles. xii.

1.

Remember thy Creator now When youth and years are bright, Ere evil days draw nigh, when thou Shalt find them no delight: Now, when the moon and stars above Are pleasant things to see; Now, when thy days are soft as love, And all is joy and glee.

2.

The voice of song and mirth must cease, And Music’s daughters die; The bird’s sweet voice be hushed to peace, And earth’s best beauty fly; And almond buds shall blossom white, Where now thy locks are dark, To dim thy young eye’s sapphire light, Or hyacinthine spark.

3.

Or ever then the silver cord Shall loose the golden bowl, Remember thy Creator Lord With overflowing soul: For dust to dust must mingle then, And Earth its earth shall claim, And thy free spirit flit again To God, from whom it came.

* * * * *

CHRISTMAS.

Written in 1830.

1.

Hark, through the skies the glad anthem is ringing, The glory effulgent of heaven is shown; Angels of light the loud chorus are singing, Jehovah’s dear son the Messiah, to own.

2.

Lo, the rude Shepherds their flocks while attending, And wearied of watching, are startled with fright; For see a bright angel—in clouds is descending, While darkness gives place to a heavenly light!

3.

And hearken the message—good tidings I bring! The Saviour long promised in Juda, is born; Oh hasten to greet him, and worship your king, Ere burst o’er the mountains, the beams of the morn.

4.

And sudden, all heaven with melody fired, In rapt adoration the chorus prolong: And cherub, and seraph with rapture inspired, The glad allelluia attune in their song:

5.

To God in the Highest all glory be given; And peace be to men of good-will upon earth, For down his Redeemer is stooping from heaven, Rejoice all ye lands—’tis the morn of his birth.

* * * * *

OH WOULD I WERE HAPPY.

1833.

1.

Oh would I were happy! If wealth can but buy The favour of heaven, and peace from on high, My riches I’ll give to the helpless and poor, And load him with kindness, that begs at my door; The widow and orphan my bounty shall share, And all the afflicted partake of my care.

2.

Oh would I were happy! the sorrows and cares, Which each new-born hour to my troubled heart bears, Disgust me with all the gay pleasures of earth, And weary me with its vain-glory and mirth; If penance can wash out my guiltiness deep, In sackcloth and ashes my crimes I will weep.

3.

But hearken! what voice is it falls on mine ear! How gracious the message, the tidings how dear; ’Tis the voice of the Saviour that promiseth rest, To the children of sorrow in mercy addrest, Oh hear and be happy, yes happy in truth, ’Twill solace thine age, and ’twill strengthen thy youth.

4.

Oh come to the waters! come taste of the wave, The waters of life, ever potent to save! Who drinks of this fountain, shall thirst never more: It springeth within, till his journey is o’er; Ho! each one that thirsteth; the lofty, the low, Come all to the fount I have bidden to flow.

5.

Oh these are the tidings so sweet to mine ear; My sorrows are vanished, my spirit is clear! Mine alms are worth little; my labour is vain, My penance, unable this peace to obtain; The treasures of Ophir, too poor a reward, To purchase this peace—’tis the gift of the Lord.

* * * * *

THE MIRAGE.

1833.

1.

Oft in the desert dreary A stream, the pilgrim spies, And joyous then, though weary, He speedeth to the prize: But onward as he goeth, The stream, the shining stream Is vanish’d, and he knoweth ’Twas but an idle dream.

2.

So pleasure, bright appearing, Oft tempts frail man astray: And off, with joy careering, He runs his giddy way: But ah too soon perceiveth, How false she is, and vain: Her painted face deceiveth, And cheats us into pain.

3.

Oh pleasure! What is pleasure! A phantom of the mind; We seize it as a treasure, ’Tis emptiness we find: The heart for pleasure sigheth, But who hath pleasure known! Ere it is born, it dieth; Ere it is caught—’tis flown!

* * * * *

MEDITATION.

1833.

1.

When evening from the starry skies, Its blessed dews doth send, And all the landscape stilly lies, Calm contemplation’s friend: Oh, then when moonlight beams are shed, And gales so quiet blow, And when from heaven’s fountain-head Such varied mercies flow;

2.

Dear Saviour, bending at thy throne, ’Tis then my prayer I pour, ’Tis then my sorrows all I own, And weep while I adore: ’Tis then I know the starry skies Will listen to my prayer, Accept my spirit’s sacrifice, And charm away despair.

* * * * *

LINES.

1833.

1.

As o’er the desert’s scorching sands The Arah pilgrim strays, And pants for green Idume’s lands, Beneath the sultry rays:

2.

As he her spicy hills desires, With flocks, and fruitage graced, And onward hastens through the fires That parch the dreary waste;

3.

So, pilgrim through Earth’s desert wild, As fainting, and o’erspent, Thou too art travelling, and exiled, And in the noontide bent.

4.

Oh think not of the dismal earth, But stretch thy longing eyes, To hills, and homes of holy mirth, That in the distance rise.

5.

Then take fresh courage to thy soul, And onward speed thy way; For there the living waters roll, And there is endless day!

* * * * *

HYMN.

1834.

1.

Soldier, to the contest pressing, Onward, let thy watchword be; God upon thee pours his blessing; What though man derideth thee!

2.

Onward, though the faggot’s burning, By thy pathway’s only light: Onward, death and danger spurning: Onward in the path of right!

3.

God, for all thy wants providing, Armor trusty hath for thee; Gird thyself, in him confiding, With the goodly panoply:

4.

Righteousness thy breast defending, And thy feet with justice shod: Onward; with the foe contending, Wield thy sword, the word of God.

5.

Thine the helmet of salvation, Faith thy mighty shield shall be; And let prayer and supplication, Lance, and glorious faulchion be:

6.

Still the standard o’er thee streaming Be the banner pure, of love, Where in glorious blazon beaming, Float thy pinions, Holy Dove!

7.

Onward then, with bold contending, In the path the martyrs trod: God to thee his strength is lending; Onward, in the strength of God.

* * * * *

HYMN.

1.

Oh, shine, my Redeemer, My light o’er my way! For faint is the pilgrim, And lone, and astray. No ray o’er the desert, No light from afar, Shine forth in thy glory, Bright Bethlehem’s Star!

2.

Long blazed the fierce sunlight, And toiling I went; Now night falleth chilling, My courage is spent: These shadows of darkness, How fearful they are! Shine forth in thy glory, Bright Bethlehem’s Star!

3.

’Tis said—and the midnight Is breaking away: See, soft through the shadows, Pours mercy’s mild ray! Now smileth the pilgrim To greet thee from far; All hail to thy glory, Bright Bethlehem’s Star!

* * * * *

HOME MUSIC.

1.

Let Music lull thee, spirit mine, And songs and harmonies divine, When thou art sore distrest! The viol and the tabret bring, With lute and lyre of magic string That charm the soul to rest, And harps whose holy carolling Becalms the breast.

2.

And let some angel shape be near, With dewy lip, and voice as dear, All loveliness and soul, To wake the chords, and shed along The joy of bosom-heaving song, And music’s rippling roll; While warbling their enchantment strong, Soft flutes condole.

3.

Let music lull thee, spirit mine, Sweet music, and the dear eyes shine, Of gentle ones we love! From Eden, when poor Eve was driven, Sweet music by our God was given With her the world to rove, And lure her children back to Heaven, Her home above!

* * * * *

TO ALL THAT’S GLORIOUS AND BRIGHT.

He hath made everything beautiful in his time. _Eccles._ iii. 11.

1.

To all that’s glorious and bright The poet vows his shell; To youth, and beauty’s fair delight, And fancy’s warmer spell: The world of loveliness is his, And his the summer’s bloom, And his the wildwood’s harmonies, And birds of faery plume.

2.

These lovely things, like him, must die! They vanish while he sings; And what has pleased the poet’s eye, Must grieve his pensive strings. And ever was his song—a tear, A sigh for beauty fled: And harps that woke to charm and cheer, Must soon lament the dead!

3.

I’ve seen the loveliness I loved, Like frailest flowers decay: And while the Spring’s young joys I proved, My spring-time passed away. And boyhood’s mirth is but a name, Ere boyhood’s tears are dried, And hopes in golden hues that came, Like golden dreams have died.

4.

And false thy promise, empty Earth, I trust thy show no more; I’ve learned of my immortal birth, And spurn this stranger shore; And Heaven, my home, my haven bright, To Heaven be vowed my shell; My soul to its inspiring light, And fancy’s hallowed spell.

* * * * *

THERE IS A LAND.

And I said, O that I had wings like a dove, then would I fly away and be at rest! _Psalter._

1.

There is a land, like Eden fair, But more than Eden blest; The wicked cease from troubling there, The weary are at rest.

2.

There is a land of calmest shore, Where ceaseless summers smile, And winds, like angel whispers, pour Across the shining isle.

3.

There is a land of purest mirth, Where healing waters glide; And there the wearied child of Earth Untroubled may abide.

4.

There is a land, where Sorrow’s sons, Like ocean’s wrecks, are tossed; But there revive those weeping ones, And Life’s dull sea is crossed!

5.

There is a land, where small and great Before the Lord appear, The spoils of fortune, and of fate, Whom Heaven alone can cheer.

6.

There is a land, where star-like shine The pearls of Christ’s renown: And gems, long buried in the mine, Are jewels in his crown.

7.

There is a land, like Eden fair, But more than Eden blest; Oh! for a wing to waft me there, To fly, and be at rest!

* * * * *

THE HEART’S SONG.

Behold I stand at the door.

1.

In the silent midnight watches, List thy bosom-door; How it knocketh—knocketh—knocketh, Knocketh evermore! Say not ’tis thy pulse’s beating, ’Tis thy heart of sin; ’Tis thy Saviour stands entreating, Rise and let me in.

2.

Death comes down with equal footstep To the hall and hut; Think you Death will stand a-knocking Where the door is shut! Jesus waiteth—waiteth—waiteth; But thy door is fast: Griev’d, at length away he turneth; Death breaks in at last!

3.

Then ’tis thine to stand entreating Christ to let thee in; At the door of Heaven beating, Wailing for thy sin. Nay, alas, thou foolish virgin, Hast thou then forgot, Jesus waited long to know thee, But—he knows thee not!

* * * * *

LAMENT.

From the Latin of Mary Queen of Scots.

1.

Oh blessed, my Jesu, I’ve trusted in thee; Oh Saviour, my Jesu, Now liberate me. In horrible prison And gloom have arisen, My sighs, oh my Jesu, incessant to thee; But, oh on my sorrow, Has brightened no morrow, Yet hear me, my Jesu, and liberate me.

2.