The glories of fair April's prideAre smiling round on every hand,And springtide beauties, far and wide,As with a garment clothe the land.
In shady nooks, in lonely glades,In forest alleys wild flowers spring,In budding stalls, in twilight shades,In lonely woods the birdies sing.
The violet's bloom on many a bankIs mirror'd in the waters sheen;And 'mong the grasses long and rankThe yellow primrose flower is seen.
In yon dim wood the trestle sings'Mong boughs that clasp hands overhead,And through the air his glad song rings,As in that April long since dead.
The brook has still the same soft flow,Whose murmur filled the evening airIn those old days of long ago,Though I may never wander there.
I shut my eyes, and see no moreThe hurrying throng of city waysAnd call to life that dream of yore,And feel the thrall of bygone days.
The passion'd yearning for the time,The glorious time that was to be,The restless young heart's dreams sublime,Of all the future held for me.
Ah! fair the blossoms Hope's tree bore!I dreamed of Autumn's golden grain—Oh! fatal blooms! ye brought a storeOf deep remorse, of life-long pain!
Oh! dream of youth, I see you nowWith calmer eyes, and world-taught mind,And know these care-lines on my browMy waking hour has left behind.
All false the glow that round you shone,Though fair as Fancy's dream-land light:—With all your rainbow decking goneI view your naked wreck to-night.
I look and bless the sudden blastThat tore my idol from its throne;And bless the keen pain of the past—If pain for error could atone.
False love! bereft of all your wilesDead dream whose sweetness all is o'er,The memories of your tears or smilesCan touch my wakened heart no more.
I lay you in your grave to-nightAnd seal the stone without a sigh,Rejoicing that your gloom and blightNo more can cloud my brightening sky.
Only relics, yet precious and pureAre the dreams of the days of old,Though they tell of wounds that no charm can cure,And of bright hopes, dead and cold.Only visions of forest ways,Only thoughts of happier days,Only the glow of Life's sunrise hazeWhen the morning sun was shining.
Only, it may be, a lock of hair,Or a flower sere and dry;Only a pictured face, how fairIn the light of the times gone by!Only a sigh for what may not be,Only a yearning wish to seeThe light beyond the mysteryThat for weary souls is shining.
Only thoughts of the gladsome timeWhen the world of youth was bright;Only memories of joys sublime—The gleams of youth's fairy light,Only sweet flashes that come and go,Only the thrall that sets heart aglow,Only the spells we were wont to knowWhen Fancy's rays were shining.
Only voices we hear no more,But the echoes haunt our ears;Only dreams that are past and o'erThat we mourn through the lonely yearsOnly to find that the sunny gleamOf earth's love fades like a passing dream,Only to wait for that deathless beamThat "beyond the tide" is shining.
Only the clasp of a parting handOn the silent rivers' shore,As the dear one sails for the unseen LandAnd we see his face no more,—Only to gaze o'er the waters drear,Only to wait till the call we hear,"Come over now, for rest is nearWhere the true life light is shining."
Only the burden all must bear,Only earth's weight of woe;Only to learn from each dreary careThe patience the pure must know.Only this:—but what welcomes waitTo hail us home at the pearly gate;Only to toil until night is lateAnd awake where the Morn is shining.
How blessed are they who turn their stepsFrom paths the wicked choose,Who stand not in the sinners ways,And scorners' seats refuse.
Who take their solace and delightIn meditation pure—The law of God—its depth and height,Its wisdom, might, and power.
They, like the trees on verdant banksWhereby sweet rivers flow,Shall bring forth fruit, and fadeless leaves,And prosperously grow.
But such is not the sinners' end—Like the light chaff are they,Which when the softest winds arise,Are quickly swept away.
They shall not in the judgment stand,Nor sinners, scorning graceBe in the congregation foundWhere righteous men find place.
The Lord himself the righteous knows—He marks them from their birth,But godless ways of sinful menShall perish from the earth.
The purple heather on the braeWas all abloom; by glen and weldThe wild birds sang the live-long day,The corn-fields ripened into gold.
The garden blooms were wonderous fair;Red roses blushed in regal glow;Carnations scented all the air,Pure was the lilies' virgin snow.
But fairer than the garden flowers,Or all the summer blooms, weanWas she, whose smiles beguiled the hours—Was she, whose presence charmed the scene.
Oh! pleasant were the sylvian glades,Oh! sweet the hush of summer noon;Roaming 'neath tangled green-wood shadesWe deemedthattwilight came too soon!
Our home-ward way lay through the wood,We lingered by the streamlet's side,—False vows were made what time we stoodThere, 'neath the elms, that eventide.
I carved her name upon a tree,—A gnarled old ash-tree, gaunt and grey;"The name may stay," she said to me,"When I, perchance, am far away!"
Swiftly the summers come and go,And life grows stern, and love grows cold;Dim are the days of long ago—Their joys a story long since told.
But, sometimes, at the close of day,I dream of that dim wood, and see,A name upon an ash-tree grey—'Tis all the past has left to me!
"And other days come back to meWith recollected music."—BYRON.
How memory's boundless store is fraughtWith wonders, mystic and sublime!Bright gleams, that oft we set at nought;Sweet messengers from Heaven's own clime.The wind that stirs the boughs at eve—A star that glimmers in the blueOf nights gemm'd crown, oftimes may wreatheA halo, strangely sweet and new.Round hopes and fears we used to knowIn life's young morning, long ago.
The cadence of the sighing wavesThat break in song along the shore,The winds that sigh thro', hidden cavesAre echoes from the days of yore.The moonlight, stealing o'er the sea,So calm, above the restless tide,Is like the light that used to beIn many a by-gone eventide,As memory comes, and paints each scene,Of loves and joys that once have been.
We feel the power, and own the spell,That bid the lonely spirit stray,In thought, to where our lost ones dwell,Now from our paths so far awayWe say "'tis dreams that Fancy brings,"And go our way, forgetting still;But on the winds are angels' wings,And spirit power, our souls that thrillWith yearning for that life unseen,Hid far behind this mortal screen.
For Memory still with subtle artUnfolds the bygone to our eyes,And still the lonely, longing heartWould soar beyond earth's mysteries,Till wearied grown of useless tears,And longing for the olden days,We turn to see the future yearsLie smiling 'neath hope's rosy haze,And view the past with hopeful love,Made sure our life is "hid above."—
Hid far away from mortal ken,—These wonderous gleams that round us stray,These meteors, 'mong the haunts of men,These holy thoughts, that day by day,Shine in their light of Heavenly hueO'er chequered paths of work and love,Refreshing as the tender dew,Are stray-beams from the light aboveMen call it Memory, but we know'Tis Heaven's warm light on earth's cold snow!
Twilight's shades are round me creeping,Nature dons her robe of gray;Through the blue the stars are peeping,Sunset's last, faint streaks decay.
Visions come of bygone hours,Ere these eyes were dimmed by tears,Youth's bright scenes unwreathed with flowersDimly seen through mist of years.
Softly through the summer gloamingSteals this picture of the past;Through the wood the breeze is roamingMoon beams round their shadows cast.
By the murmuring, flowing river,Sits a maiden waiting there;Graven on my heart foreverIs that form of beauty rare!
Vows are plighted, love is given,Trusting love without alloy,And the calm, blue, starry heavenWhispers but of truth and joy!
By the murmuring, flowing river,Where the shore the waters lave,Now the moon beams fall and quiverOn a green and lonely grave!
Token sad of fond love slighted,Of a rose cut down in bloom,Of a fair young blossom blightedAll too lovely for the tomb.
Softly through the summer gloamingSighs the breeze a requiem low,And my sad heart, ever moaningAnswers to its tones of woe!
We left our ink-stained office-desk,Two, young in years, yet old in care;We laid aside our world-face mask,We laid aside our daily taskTo breathe the country air.
We laid aside our musty books,Grown almost hateful to our eyes;We longed to roam the country nooks,We longed to hear the murmuring brooks,And see the sunny skies.
We longed to hear the birds again,Minstrels that through the woodlands stray;We longed to hear the reaper's strainSung in the fields of golden grainOn the bright harvest day.
Oh! pleasant were the breezy downs!Oh! fair the lanes and fields;Far from the weary noise of towns,We half-forgot grim Care's dark frowns,'Mong peace such quiet yields.
He said, The busy city's streetThe path of labour and of woe,The anxious faces, hurrying feet,The things that every day I meet,Are what I hate to know!
Oh! might I bathe in Lethe's stream,Forget the happy days gone by,And know this life a fleeting dream,And look on every passing sceneAs with a stranger's eye.
To walk along this quiet lane,To feel this evening calm,Ah! how it soothes my tired brainWith peace I thought that ne'er againWould bless me with its balm.
'Twas in a lane like this, at evenMy life's peace came to me;A great, sweet joy to me was given,A pure, true love, whose hope has rivenEarth's gloom and mystery.
A maiden, lovely as the glowOf Fancy's soul-land light,Once vowed to me for weal and woe,As calm or storm would come or go,Her love was 'mine by right!'
Twas Spring-time then, ere Autumn's blastSighed with its dreary moan,To shake the brown leaves falling fast,Her sweet life-tale was told and past,And I was left alone!
'Twas hard to think thatshewas dead,'Twas hard to bear such pain;'Twas hard to feel all brightness fled,'Twas hard to count bright days swift spedThat could not come again!
I sought her grave at eve, alone,And there before me layHer tomb, a lily carved on stone,Meet emblem of my darling oneSo early called away.
And, 'neath the lily, words so sweet,In dreams they haunt my rest;Oft at their sound I turn to weep'He giveth His beloved sleep.'Oh! portion purest, best!
Sleep to the weary body, worn,On earth, with pain and care,To meet the ransomed soul, new-born,On the Great Resurrection Morn,In God-like beauty fair.
There, at her grave, I bade farewellTo all my heart loved best;I left our home, I could not dwell"Mong scenes our love had marked so well,I felt Grief's wild unrest."
This is my story told to you—My holiest dream of life;The blest home-love that once I knewWhen she, so good, so fair, so true,I called my own—my wife!
My sunshine faded when she died,Such joy I might not know;God called her early from my side,And when I lost my gentle brideThe world seemed full of woe!
He knew 'twas best—my stubborn heartHad need of chastening pain;To bow beneath the rod's keen smart,To learn, by grief, the better part,To feel such loss is gain.
And now no earthly idol smiles,No pleasant passions lure;No fleeting phantom now beguilesMy soul from heaven with tempting wiles,My hope is fixed and sure.
She waits for me—the swift year's flightI count like miser's gold;I keep the "watches of the night,"I wait until the morning lightIts glories snail unfold.
A burning flood of glory blazing far along the West,And clouds on clouds aglowing towering o'er the mountains'crestTill the shining, burnished columns and the ranks of crimsonvieIn a living trail of splendour, lighting all the evening sky.
The grand October sunset burns above the mountains' brow,Whose grey old heads shine redly, light-kissed and ruddy now;There the sunshine loves to linger in a parting glow oflight,Ere Day his throne resigneth to the dusky reign of Night.
But low and lower sinking, the sun goes down the WestAnd the dazzling beams are fading along the Ocean's breastTill, pale and paler growing, the grandeur dies away,And the wild waves and the breezes seem wailing for the Day!
For the fair Day, that has vanished—the brightness that isfled,And for all the sunny hours that are passed away and dead,The rosy flush of sunrise, the gladsome time of morn,And bird-songs sweet, that far and near told when the Day wasborn!
The tranquil hush of noontide, the mellow evening hoursBut ah! the Day's departure left desolate the bowers,And woodland haunts, and flowery dells, and mountain streamsand gladesAre lonely left in deepening gloom, and mystic twilightshades!
But through the Night's grim darkness the star-lamps brightshall burn,'Till the lone Earth, cheered and hopeful, shall wait forDay's return,And gaze with wistful longing, till the dawn the far Easthills,And the sun in regal beauty smile o'er the grand old hills.
Then life and light and brightness shall be her own again,And in the new-found gladness she'll forget the night of painForget the hours of darkness when deep in gloom she lay,And her weeping-time of sadness be "as waters that passaway!"
Thus, this dreary night of sorrow through which we wanderhereBe only transient darkness the long bright Day is near,Whose light of peace and glory the ransomed spirit fills,As it hails the dawn eternal upon the Heavenly Hills!
Not gold nor diamond flash of dazzling brightness,No costly thing of earth Thou givest for thought;But these sweet simple flowers, beside whose whitenessThe great king's glory all would seem as nought.
Thou knewest how soon must fade all earth's poor splendour,Worthless its wealth to Thine all-seeing eye;The short-lived glimmer of its pomp and grandeurFleeting and transient only born to die.
Thou would'st not point our love to earth's frail treasure,But to these lilies, beautiful and pure;They toil nor spin not, yet their life's full measureThou metest, and their day is kept secure.
Oh, lilies! well I love your snowy pureness!That once the Master deigned while here to trace,Pledges of His dear love, whose truth and sereneAre faintly shadowed in your beauty's grace.
Meek teachers! could I learn that lesson given!If God so clothe the grass with beauty rare,Shall He not guide us on our way to heaven,And guard our pathway till we enter there?
Oh give me, Lord, a soul of lily whiteness,Washed in the blood that Thou hast shed for me,Thy Spirit's light to pierce earth's gloom with brightnessAnd show the way thro' mist and cloud to Thee
Give me a heart whose treasure is in heaven,Not for to-morrow feeling anxious thought;Even as my day, so shall my strength be given,And grace sufficient—can I want for aught?
Oh, give me faith, that on Thy love relying,From doubt's dark thrall I may be ever free;And clothe me, Lord, that in the hour of dying,Thy righteousness, blest robe, may cover me!
Thus may I walk, by Thee, my Guide, befriended,'Joyous with joy that knows no sad decay;That when earth's sun has set her brief day endedMy morn may break and shine to "perfect day'"
"My soul is full of longingFor the secret of the sea,And the heart of the great oceanSends a restless pulse through me."—LONGFELLOW
In the grey light of the morning, ere the sun has lit the skyWhen the winds rave loud and wildly, to the angry watersHow the mighty, foaming billows thunder forth, in ceaselessroar,Songs majestic, wild with anguish, woeful waitings evermore.In the dawn light, in the gloaming, beating, breaking, o'erand o'er,Telling out the ocean stories, to the wide, encircling shore;And I listen, till the legends of the past, a shadowy host,Seem to gather round, and people storied Antrim's rock-boundcoast.
Where the grandeur of the Causeway smiles in scorn at Art'sweak hand,Seem the wild waves ever singing of the high schemes Natureplann'd,When she hurled the giant columns, by some mighty earthquakeshock,Till they stand, huge pillar-wonders, by the paved,mysterious rock;And the dark caves, weird and frowning, echoing the sea'swild strife,Seem to hold some spell unearthly, of the ocean's secretlife.
Where th'Atlantic rolls sublimely, lashing round PortBallintrae,Language cannot paint the grandeur of the waves, in awfulplay!Beating, breaking, wildly seething, whilst in restless,fitful roar,Deep to far-off deep is calling, answering round from shoreto shore.And the spirit of the ocean seems to fill its heaving breastWith ten thousand prison'd longings, wailing out in wildunrest.
Softening down to calmer music, round the White Rocks and thecaves,With a tender, nameless pathos, softly sing the curling wavesTo the battlements and turrets, and the old towers, grim andhoary.Where the stern Macquillan chieftains reigned in onceunconquered glory.There Dunluce, in lonely grandeur, frowns in wild, anddeathless pride,Sentinel of bygone ages, Time-tried warder by the tide.
Grey Dunluce, in concert blending, winds, and waves, andsounding sea,Seem to sing a dirge of sorrow for the glory fled from thee,Rolling onward to the Skerries, wailing far in requiem moanTill they catch the surf's bold thunder round toe rock atInnishone,Where the foam-girt shore re-echoes with the burthen of thesong,And the angry dashing billows wide and far the cry prolong.
When the moonlight, pale and faintly, gleams on Malin Head'sblue crest,And its silvery pathway shimmers far across the ocean'sbreast;When the yeasty breakers glisten softly in the shadowy light,When the rocks seem mystic castles, looming grimly thro' thenight;Then the solemn songs of Ocean, fraught with precious, new-found loreBring for Fancy unknown treasure, priceless gems forThought's great store!
Grand old Ocean! how my spirit longs to catch thy melodyDo thine heart's great pulses quicken with a secret life, oh,Sea?Far adown the blue waves, hidden by the hearings of yourbreast,Is there soul to tune your singing, to its ceaseless, wildunrest?Oh! thou dread and wondrous ocean, tell these mystic songs tomeFor their cadence, grand and changeful, haunts my path withmystery.
Silvery moonlight, clear and bright,Shining down on our earth to-night,Soft as the touch of an angels' wing,Tender, beautiful, holy thing!
Seeking the glen where the cool waters flow—Lighting the bank where the violets grow;Gilding the crest of the foamy rill;Falling in silence upon the hill;Piercing the depths of the forest glade,Glancing down thro' the leafy shade,Till the loneliest haunts of the wild wood seemTo rejoice in the light of thy radiant beam!
Glistening out on the trackless deep,Where the spirits of ocean their revels keep;Lighting the path over the billows' foam,As the mermaid glides from her gem-built home,And the peri's song o'er the heaving seaSounds in fitful, plaintive melody!
Pouring down on the mountain pass,Where, tripping light o'er the dewy grass,The fairies join in their wild, weird dance,And the mystic forms thro' the moonbeams glance,While far and wide on the wind is borneThrough answering echoes, the elfin horn.
Flooding with glory the prairie's breast,Till, all transformed, in the radiance drest,The shanty, south of the poplar wood,Seems a sylvian lodge in the solitude;And the settler dreams, with a moistened eye,Of the moonlights and loves of the times gone by.
Gleaming fair on the city towersWhere the clocks, thro' the night, chime the passing hours,On the city's heart that no longer beats,With the ebb and flow of its noisy streets,And their living pulse-throbs that come and go,To the smile of joy, and the throb of woe!
Smiling down from a cloudless sky,On the village homes, that all peaceful lie;Where simple hearts, in a happier life,Know nought of the city's cares and strife,—The hardy sons of honest toil,Pensioners free of their parent soil!
To hopeful hearts in the morn of youth,The dream-land of Love, and the type of Truth,Where the future shows 'neath its veil of lightAn Eden of blissful, untold delight
In the stern, hard struggle of manhood's daysWhen tired feet stumble o'er life's rough ways,And in age's twilight of shadowy gloom,A dream of the rest that is yet to come.
Shine on, silvery moonlight, shine!Gladden earth with your beams benign;On restless ocean, on tranquil lake,Through forest alleys, by fern and brake;By quiet village, and crowded town,By mountain, prairie, and breezy down;O'er sights of gladness, o'er scenes of woe,Let the tender light of thy pure beams glow,And the weary and hopeless shall bless your light.And the child of joy have more pure delight.
"Until the day break, and the shadows flee away."Cant. 2.17
Goodnight, beloved! see the sun descending,Behind the woodlands of the far, bright West,And in the glory of the daylights ending,The "light at eventide" brings dreams of rest.
Goodnight, beloved! now the grey-eyed gloamingGlides through the valleys with an unheard tread,And haunts the woodlands, where the wild winds moaningWails o'er the leaves of Autumn, sere and dead.
Goodnight, beloved! see the pale stars peepingThrough the blue curtain of the shadowy skies;—The lamps the angels hold, their night-watch keeping,O'er souls who wait their call to Paradise!
Goodnight, beloved! a faint, lingering glory,Of dying daylight glows in parting smile;Its last kiss lighting all the hill-tops hoary,As though the hour with brightness to beguile.
So now, I dream, a tender love-light lingersO'er all the bygone, in a charmed glow,—That hides the marks of Time's relentless fingersAnd gilds the cherished dreams of long ago.
How fair it shines! but ah! the West grows dimmer,The crimson radiance melts to sober grey,And so earth's dream-light fades in fitful glimmer,Its meteor brightness swiftly dies away.
Goodnight, beloved! for the shadows darkenIn gloom around me, and I cannot see;Come nearer, nearer still; beloved, hearken;I hear a far-off voice that calls for me.
Goodnight, beloved! a new light is breakingAs earth's light fades to brighten nevermore;Goodnight, beloved! till that glad awakingWhen morning shines upon the other shore.
The sunset burns on roof and spire,And streets with busy passers rife;But ah! it lacks the dream-world fire,That once 'twas wont to call to life.
That once it kindled in the daysOf woodland haunt and country lane,Before I knew the city's ways,Before I learned that life has pain.
Oh! present, with your armed hostOf anxious cares, barbed sharp, and keenFade! for the light of pleasures lostShines forth from days that once have been.
A fairer sunset charms the WestA mellower radiance fills the air;A scene with old-time beauty drest,Lies stretched before me, smiling fair.
A rustic range-wall, gnarled and old,A wooden bridge that spans a stream;The glory of the sunset's gold.The sweetness of my first love-dream!
Two hearts that meet in passion'd thrill,Whose perfect bliss no words can tell;But once in life that joy we feel,And feeling, prize, alas! too well!
Oh! Time and Doubt! ye fill the heartWith sepulchres of Love and Truth;Our hopes lie dead but memory's partMust still be played till life shall cease.
Oh! swift years ever drifting fleetAdown life's current, tempest toss'd,Roll on! till on Time's brink we meetAnd hail the life where nought is lost!
My friend, on this your wedding-day,Where Love and Hope unite,To yield with Hymenal rayThe bridal morning bright.—When hands are claspedAnd cups are quaffed,When round go wishes true,This song of mineFor Auld Lang SyneI send to her and you.An echo of the bygone timesTo mingle with your wedding chimes!
"Good luck," on this your wedding morn,"God speed" for years to be;Good wishes, of old friendship bornFor days ye both shall see.When in your bowers,Bloom promise-flowers,Ah! ne'er may sorrow's gloomBring shadow there,May sunlight fairYour hearth and home illume!All good, all joy, all blessing true,I wish to your fair bride and you!
May Heaven its choicest riches sendTo bless your life's long way;May Love its lasting beauty lendThat age can't steal away.Oh! may your skyAs swift years flyBe cloudless, bright and fair;May joys' own glowDispel all woe,And chase away grim care!May every good that God can sendBe yours through all your life, my friend!
We said "good-bye" in a quiet lane,the gloaming, years ago;few were our words about "parting pain"—we were "only friends" you know.
Good friends had we been in the dear, dead hours,that still in our hearts would live,At morn we had wandered the wild-wood bowers,We had roamed through the lanes at eve.
We had gathered the sweets of the summer glades,The rose, and the violet blue;We had talked of Love in the twilight shades,And of hearts that were tried and true.
But of our heart's hopes, or our own love-dreams,Ah! never a word said we,For Fate had forbidden our lips such themes,And "friends" we could only be.
And our farewell came, like a boding gloom,That darkened life's morning ray,And joy's glad glow, and Hope's tender bloomDied out of one heart that day.
How we thought in that hour of the bygone days,Of the golden summer prime,Of the mountains wild, and the woodland ways,And the spell of the gloaming time!
And, it may be, the memory of whispered wordsCame o'er us with subtle power,Awaking, unbidden, our full hearts' chordsIn the pain of that parting hour.
For our hands were clasped, and our lips once met,The first time, and the last;Ah me! 'twere well could we all forget,Some scenes in our buried past;—
For the blue outline of the mountains high,The lake, and the woodland green,The quiet lane, and the twilight sky,Too oft in my dreams are seen!
And still, tho' the summers are bright and fair,And the summer woods are gay,To me there is something wanting thereThat has passed from my life away!
Beauteous Queen! with crown of flowers,On your tresses sunny sheen;Welcome! to the "Lone-Land" bowers,To our prairies, wild and green!In your path spring flowers to meet you,Nature's choicest glories greet you,Fair Enchantress! I entreat you,Listen to my lay!
Smiling Summer, down the ages,Still your praises have been sung,And the poets and the sages,Who have spoke with gifted tongue,—In our legends, old and hoary,Thrilling song, and 'trancing story,Live to-day in deathless glory,Thrill our souls anew!
Still their songs our breasts inspire,Still is theirs undying fame;Theirs the untaught poet-fire,That I may not hope to claim;—Louder than the war-host dashing,Brighter than their bright spears clashing,Shine their souls, like lightning flashingThrough their thunder-words!
Radiant Queen! Their songs combiningYield to thee their highest praise,Round thy brows of beauty twining,Fadeless garlands of their lays;—Lays whose light our gloom has rifted,And our yearnings heavenward lifted,As we soar with them, the gifted,Far from earth away.
Queen of Beauty! Still we sing thee,Worthy of the poets' song;Willing homage still we bring theeAs the ages roll along.Songs of birds, and breath of flowers,Wind-notes, charming woodland bowers,Morn's fresh glories, gloaming hours,Yield their sweets to thee!
Now the prairie-lands are smilingWith the wealth thy reign bestows,Brightness golden days beguiling,O'er smooth sands life's river flows.Through the air glad sounds are ringing,Nature summer idylls singing,I, my simple off'ring bringing,Kneel at Summer's feet!
It seems the same as it used to be, when I watched the sunsetglow,In the days of beauty and gladness, the times of long ago;Like a light that is dim and far-off, for dark years, full ofpain,Lie, rolled between me and the beautiful past, that never cancome again!
Yet Ireland's hills are as verdant now, and the sun, as hesinks to rest,As then pours his parting glory, o'er Slieve Gallion's purplecrest,A glory that brightens and lingers, as though it were fain tostay,Till the twilight shadows darken, and daylight dies away.
On Mullaboy the darkness looms weird on the lonely hill,The cattle have ceased their lowing, and the song-birds'notes are still;And here, in the gloom and silence, 'neath the stars and thequiet sky,Old memories throng around me, of days long, long gone by.
Two scenes are ever fairest, and first in this heart of mine,And with clearer light and brighter, 'mong the dimmerphantoms shine,And perfect in light and shadow, in tracing true and grandAre the pictures as memory paints them, with firm and master-hand.
The first is a cloudless moonlight, in calm and silverysheen,And the range of the Morne Mountains in the dim background isseen;Beneath them the sea is rolling, all fair in the gentlelight,And beauty and peace are blending in the hush of the summernight.
I gaze, till again in fancy, I hear the waves' soft roar,As they break in wild sweet music along Rostrevor's shore;And a voice with their song is blending telling the old sweettale,Of a fond, true love, that through life's long years wouldnever change or fail.
That picture fades before me and the second comes in view—A walk 'neath o'er-arching beeches, with the sunlightglinting throughLeaves that rustle and whisper on branches that wave above,A silent, tearful parting, the death of a deathless love!
Dead, and yet unforgotten, worn, but never estranged,The glory and brightness of morning to the darkness ofmidnight changed!And life is dull and dreary, and joy from earth is fled,For the love that was light and beauty, and joy and peace, isdead.
The year's first, blushing roses,Were decking the prairie's breast;And the summer garb of beautyMade fair the wild North-West.It flashed in the sedgy hollows,And smiled in the woodland dell;It whispered in low, soft zephyrsThat breathed o'er the lake and fell.How it glowed in the mystic star-shineOf the clear blue Northern sky;How it crmison'd and flushed in grandeurIn the sunset's sweet good-bye!And gaudy birds from the South-landMade brilliant the poplar grove,And plaintiff calls came sounding,From the haunts where the plovers rove.
With dream-notes in the gloamingThe wind-lutes swept the boughs,—Sweet songs of the distant stretches,Where the moose and bison browse.And we lay in our camp, and listened,And thought of the wilds untrod;Of the misty, lonely future,And the homes on the stranger sod.
And still o'er the wide, wide ocean,Our eager thoughts would stray,To the homes and scenes, to the loves and hopesOf the youth-time, far away.Then we slept, to dream of the morrow,"'Twill be Sunday at home," we said;"But our church must be the prairie,With the blue sky overhead."
The Sabbath dawned in beauty,With a calm whose breath of peace,Made a solemn grand cathedralOf the wild vast wilderness.The woods were the soft-toned organs,And the winds, thro' their alleys dim,Now raised some high, glad anthem,Now chanted some low, sweet hymn.
We came from our tents together,And stood on the lone hill-side,To join in the songs of Nature,That Sabbath morning-tide."With one consent let all the earth,"Swelled on' the sunny air.And then, how each home-sick, heart went forthIn that strange hour of prayer!And the text the preacher gave usWas, "Rejoice in the Lord always,"Alike in the summer sunshine,And the gloom of winter days.And the clouds of our gloom were banishedLike the mists from the morning air;We had strength for the untried futureFor God is everywhere.
Slowly along the darkening skyThe twilight comes with stealthy tread;Far out to west great cloud-ranks lie,By sunset flushed a rosy red.Oh! shadows of the gloaming time,Gather, and loom, and darkly fall,The winding path to Fancy's clime,Lies hidden 'neath your dusky pall.
Pent in the city, now I dreamOf country scenes, of lanes and flowers,Of woodland glen, and woodland stream,Pictures of bygone sunset hours!Oh, bygone! mighty claims you own,That summon me to seek your shrine,I hear the call and wait alone,Until the charmed light shall shine.
'Tis breaking! Glistening near and farA radiance floats, of dazzling lightUntouched by Time, or Tempest-scarI view my past again to-night!Oh! fair, false hope, your fruit is pain,Oh, Love! when life's spring leaves were green,Sweet, e'en in thought to see againTh' Elysian called "what might have been."
"What might have been," we scan it o'erAnd charmed we live the dreams in thought,But wake to find that mist-world shore,Like cloudy vapor melt to nought—The brightness fades, the sweet rays die,Deep darkness falls and night is come;A wan new moon looks down the sky,And stars are trembling in the gloom.
Morning, and noon, and evening grey,And mystic twilight, all are flown;And e'en my dreams are pass'd away,—Again I find myself alone!Young love's sweet morn, when hope was nigh.Stern noonday toiling, which is best?Ah! me, they all must fade and die,—'Tis but the end can give us rest.
The name, the age, and a sentence writtenOn a marble cross o'er a grassy mound,Where, calmly beneath sleeps the tired heart smitten,Cruelly pierced by a dastard wound,At peace in the heart of the restless city.She slumbers well in her lowly bed,With never a tear of love or pityBy kindly mourner above her shed.
High birth is safely, its rank and splendor,Blazoned lineage, pride and show,Scorn coward justice, who fears to tender,The lash to vice, in this world below,What matter—a thousand such things have happenedMan has been false since woman was fair;—But say, must he stand at yon High Tribunal,And what account shall he render there?
'Tis eventide and the sun is dying,Painting the sky in its roseate beam,And out to sea-ward the cloud-ranks lying,Are crimson-bright in his parting beam;In dazzling light o'er the waves extending,In burnished glow on each foamy crest,At the golden portals of sunset ending,Its pathway illumines the ocean's breast.Oh! light of the sunset, soft and tender,Oh! waves that shine in the rosy glow,Oh! mountains, so grand in your hoary splendour,Oh! billowy ocean that heaves below!
Oh! rolling waves, that are ever beating,In wild, sweet music along the shore,Tell me tales ye are still repeating,Sighing and moaning forever more;In seething foam 'mong the grey rocks meeting,Where, rushing, ye break in doleful roar!
Sighing on in your restless roamingWailing so wildly and ceaselessly;In the morning light, or the shadowy gloaming,Tell me, what are thy songs, oh, sea!
Is thine the wail of a life-long sorrow,The hopeless crying of hope long dead;The dearth of loneness that cannot borrowOne beam of light from the brightness fed,To point to the dawn of a fairer morrowFar away in the future spread?
But, heedless, it rolls in its wonderous splendour,Onward, in cadence sublime and vast;Are these ocean-songs, in their mystic grandeurRequiems sung for the vanished past?It is buried and dead, yet still unsmitten,It lives and blooms in one hidden spot,Where in Memory's chamber each scene is written,Graven too deeply for Time to blot!
But see! o'er the waters the light grows dimmer,The white-winged sea-gulls to Westward fly;Pale stars look down in a fitful glimmerAs the crimson fades from the opal sky.I soon shall sleep, and perchance in dreaming,I'll live again in the time that's fled,And fancy the rays of its brightness beamingIn mellow radiance around my bedAnd it may be I'll dream not of bliss that's fleetingBut of that fair life that is yet to be,Where no cloud can arise to dim our meetingAs I stand withhimby the Jasper Sea!
"Mine," saith the Lord, "these jewels bright and pearless.Mine, in the day when I shall count mine own!"So He has called them, and the hearts left cheerlessSad and bereaved, must mourn the loved ones flown"Mine," saith the Lord, He gave, and He has takenIn wisdom infinite He dealt the blow;And round our hearth their places are forsakenButtheyare gathered to His fold, we know!
Home-gathered early, when the sun so brightlyIn life's fair morning tinged their curls with gold,And o'er their snowy brows all calm and lightly—The joyous span of earth's brief time had roll'd.Home-gathered early; fair to mortal seeming,The promises that o'er their pathway hung,But ah! we cannot e'en in fondest dreamingConceive their bliss amid the cherub throng.
Eye hath not seen, nor to man's heart is given,To know what to His loved one He bestowsWhat joys untold the ransomed band in heaven,Through the eternal, blissful ages knows.And the bereavement is no hopeless sorrow,No lasting parting, but an ending pain;We feel that upward, toward the glad to-morrowAre drawn these links of the earth-binding chain.
For well we know that these, our darlings, entered,Into His joy, shall be at last restoredSo while our hope in perfect faith is centredWe wait for resurrection in the Lord.
Worn and wearied on earth's roadOft with stumbling feet I go;Eyes that fain would look to GodDim and weak with sin and woe.But when, all my guilty stainsRise in dread immensity,Then I know my Saviour's painsTook the load of guilt from me.Pardoned, healed, redeemed, restored,Then I look to Christ, my Lord!
When the clouds of sorrow rise,And the light of woe is dim,When the subtle Tempter triesTo win back my soul to him.Then I look to One Who said,"All things I have overcome;Onward go, be not afraidI shall guide to yonder Home!"Then what evil can betideWhile I lean on Christ, my Guide?
Worn with toil of earthly strife—Wearied hands and heart grown faint,Tired of all the ills of life,For the water brooks I pant,Then above the world's wild din,I can hear "Come unto Me;I shall heal these wounds of sin,Give you rest, and make you free!"When my doubting soul is blestWhen I look to Christ my Rest.
Journeying o'er this path of tearsOft my doubting heart is cold,Far away my Home appears—The gates of pearl—the street of gold.Can I ever enter there?All the way with danger rife,—Then the Master's voice I hear,
"I am the Way, the Truth, the Life!Ah! what doubt can then dismayWhile I walk with Christ, the Way!
"Looking unto Jesus" stillI can bid my doubting cease,Joyful, though beset with ill,Fighting, yet at perfect peace—Sorrowful, yet filled with joy,Tossed, yet feeling all secure;Earth nor Hell cannot annoyWhile my peace with Him is sure!"Looking unto Jesus," blest!Soul at anchor, heart at rest!
A merry leap on the sunny air,And a gleam of tresses, golden bright;A 'witching face that is wonderous fair,A creature of beauty and joy and light.
A rocky coast with the waves at play,Wild wandering waves that are mad with glee;"Tell me, what do the wild waves say,Are their words in their music?" she asks of me.
I start and shiver, my heart grows cold,Aye, cold in the flush of the August sun,Whose glory lies on the sea like gold,In farewell radiance, ere day is done.
The eager smile from her lips has died,For the pain on my face was plain to see,And she turns to pace the sand by my sideWatching the billows silently.
She does not know—could my darling dream,Of lost, dead love in her golden world,Where the hope-flowers bloom, and the joy-lights gleam'Neath the rosy light of Love's flag unfurled!
Oh! girlie mine, with the true brown eyes,And the perfect faith in your fair to be,Could I lead you back o'er the bridge of sighsThat spans the gulf 'tween the past and me.
I could show you love in its full-tide swell,Its syren beauty its dream-world light;Then, the gathering storm, and the deep-toned knell,As Love lies bleeding in clouds and night!
Would you step aside from the shining coilsThat circle to-day round your dainty feet,Could I show you the woes without the wiles,In the dregs of that chalice, bitter-sweet?
Ah! no, sweet maid, you must "live and learn,"Though experience is bought, it cannot be sold;And the heart joy's thrill, and the heartache's burn,Must needs be felt, they were never told!
So live and smile in your fair to-dayAnd wear the jewel of maiden-faith;May its diadem gleam on your brow for aye,And Truth with your Love walks in step with death.
Oh! land of partings, brief and sad probation—When all is brightest, then farewell must come!And the lone mourner weeps in desolation,Earth's fairest seeping in the silent tomb.
Far from her home, where kindly hands have tenderedAs graceful tribute, to her well-loved name;Not by chill stranger-feeling coldly rendered,But by the care respect and love can claim.
And still her memory shall be loved and cherished,By all who knew her in her sojourn here;Like some fair flower that in the morning perishedIn spring's bright hours when skies were blue and clear
Oh' widowed mother-heart! dead e'en to hopingLonging to leave the life whence joy has flown.The eager hands through earth's grim shadows groping!"Darling, come back to me, I am alone!"
Oh! yearning heart-cry, in deep anguish spoken,In sleepless midnights, or in twilight dreams!Oh! aching pain-throb of the spirit broken,Soon shall these clouds be pierced by Mercy's beams.
These deep, dense clouds of anguish and repining—Darkness and gloom that but the present showE'en now, behind them, in the brightness shining.Wait angel-bands that minister to woe.
Soon shall they come, and bring the consolation,When the first burst of agony is o'er,Then when thy soul is calmed by resignation,Point to the meeting on the other shore:—
Where safe at home, in Christ's eternal keeping,Celestial joy her ransomed being fills,She waits, when thou hast left this vale of weepingTo greet thee on the Everlasting Hills.
Christmas! why child, can this be Christmas Eve?Ah, me! the years run swiftly on;Threads in the warp of this short life we live.And now my chequered web is well nigh spun.
And Christmas seems not what it used to be,—The good old customs all are changed, I wean;Yet memory of old times is left with me—The days whose brightness these dimm'd eyes have seen.
Come, Elsie, bring your stool beside my chair,Stir up the fire to shine with brighter glow,And while it flickers on your sunny hair,I'll tell a Christmas-tale of long ago—
Full fifty years ago, when I was young,And this grey hair like yours was golden-bright,When mirth and laughter dwelt on brow and tongue,In fleet winged hours, that sped with magic flight.
Sometimes, in waking dreams it all comes back,—Familiar forms move softly through the room,Then leave me, gliding up the moonlight track,Wafting sweet music down the twilight gloom.
And at these times I see the home that stood,In the lone highland valley far away;The snow-crowned hills, the lake, the lonely wood,Through which I wandered many a summer day.
And I was happy in those summers, child!—Life in its morning brightness knows not gloom,The rose-tinged future-mists hide waste and wildAs sharp thorns hide beneath the rose's bloom.
And girlhood seemed like some fair sunny dayWithout a cloud to mar the summer sky.On pleasure's airy pinions borne awayToo swiftly far the winged hours sped by.
Then came a glory-crown to gild the years,—I loved; but 'twas no fancy of the hour,No fleeting day-dream fraught with hopes and fears,But Love, that ruled my soul with sovereign power.
A love that strengthened as the days went past,—Dearer and holier far than all beside;An Eden-world of beauty grand and vast,With joys new-born, out spreading far and wide.
Seemed then mine own; and the long years to be,Would fill my life with happiness and light,While this great love would shed its beams on meIn glad refulgence making all things bright
For he—the hero of my life's romance,Was dear to me—ah! words can never showThat passion'd love, how every tone and glanceTender or cold, brought happiness or woe
But cherished hatred goads to bitter endAnd, mocking, fain would quench youth's ardent fireWe saw a shadow on our life descend—The full charged storm-cloud of long-gathering ire.
My father boasted his high birth and nameAnd owned a pedigree that he could trace,Back to the stern old chiefs, whose hostile fame—He held the pride and honor of our race.
And still when Christmas came he loved to seeAll the old customs of our sires kept up,Huge yule-logs graced the hearth, and Christmas gleeRang high, 'mid merry song and festal cup.
And on that Christmas day of which I tellThe seasons revelry was held the same;The stately hall with guests was furnished wellAnd, 'mong, the rest, was bidden Hector Graem
He drank to me—"his lady fair and bright,"As was the custom of the olden time,"Your lady! never, while the sun gives lightShall Graem ever wed with child of mine!"
And pointing to the door with haughty meinMy father bade him from his board begone;—And then a curtain fell upon life's scene—Blackness of darkness where Hope's sun had shone
Some family-feud, in days long passed awayBetween the Graems and the MacDonnell's rose.And still its memory in his bosom layThough seeming peace was made between the foes
But ah! my child, how can I tell the rest?I lived; but Heaven in mercy spared the blowOf thought and memory then, and weeks that pass'dWere one drear blank—I felt not then my woe.
Child, you have never loved, and cannot knowHow drear and hopeless youth itself may seem;The long, blank loveless years to wonder through,With nought, save memory of a bygone dream.
But sorrow kills not, we may laugh or weep,Still Time by stealthy gliding steals away;And Winter snows again lay white and deep,And once again they welcomed Christmas day.
I watched them with sad eyes that knew no smile,And a dull mind from which all hope had flown,A listless heart that nothing could beguileBack to the gladness that it once had known.
The dull December twilight grey and cold,Fell weird and grim upon the lonely moor;The wild wind raged o'er wintry waste and old,And in the storm a stranger sought our door.
He asked a shelter from the bitter nightMy father's brown cheek blanched to hearthattone,He led him forward to the yule-log's light,A lost—a mourned, but now a new-found son!
Oh! sweetest welcomes on the wanderer fell!The last of our long race—returning home;Home to the long-tired hearts that loved him wellNo more an exile, by strange shores to roam.
"Bid me not rest" he said, "until you know,I have a friend who claims his welcome now,For, but for him, the depth of Alpines snowHad been my grave, and you had lost your son."
"Then wherefore wait?" my mother gently said,"Let him come hither till I bless his name!"And Roderick turned, and forth the stranger ledAnd once again, I looked on Hector Graem.
No welcome-glow lit up the old man's eye,Surprise or anger seemed to hold him dumb,My mother clasped his hand with sob and sigh,But to full hearts the fewest words will come
Then Hector kissed her hand with courtly grace,—Bowed lowly to my father, half in scorn,"Old ills" he said "are hardest to eraseFrom hearts where gratitude was never born"
But as he spoke the glistening tear drops fellFrom those old eyes, that seldom tear drops know."You here" he said "love breaks hates baleful spell,And gratitude comes forth to yield her due!"
"Let feuds and errors perish with the Past,—'Tis thus I lay them in a deep dug-grave'"And, beckoning me beside him, there, at last,His blessing, once refused, he fondly gave!
Ah! life is very fair, and love is sweet!The dark sky cleared, the sun shone out again,Earth seemed a heaven, with perfect bliss replete,And new-born gladness healed the sting of pain
And standing by the window hand in hand,Hearing the storm howl o'er the wastes of snow.We were the happiest of the happy bandThat merry Christmas fifty years ago!