Here met three nations, panoplied for fight,Moving before the vision gorgeously;Then shamed with Battle's gloom the paling Night,Upon the land and sea.Earth quailed beneath the cannon's burrowing roar,Beneath three Armies' slow and ominous tread;And Ocean who the portioned conflict bore,Shuddered with pain and dread.But when the morning rolled the double shroudOf Night and Battle from the land and sea,The Sun looked forth through no obstructing cloud,And saw a Nationfree.
Here met three nations, panoplied for fight,Moving before the vision gorgeously;Then shamed with Battle's gloom the paling Night,Upon the land and sea.
Here met three nations, panoplied for fight,
Moving before the vision gorgeously;
Then shamed with Battle's gloom the paling Night,
Upon the land and sea.
Earth quailed beneath the cannon's burrowing roar,Beneath three Armies' slow and ominous tread;And Ocean who the portioned conflict bore,Shuddered with pain and dread.
Earth quailed beneath the cannon's burrowing roar,
Beneath three Armies' slow and ominous tread;
And Ocean who the portioned conflict bore,
Shuddered with pain and dread.
But when the morning rolled the double shroudOf Night and Battle from the land and sea,The Sun looked forth through no obstructing cloud,And saw a Nationfree.
But when the morning rolled the double shroud
Of Night and Battle from the land and sea,
The Sun looked forth through no obstructing cloud,
And saw a Nationfree.
A fairy land of grass and flowers,And of the greenest treesA land of singing brooks and springs,A land of singing breeze.A land of bright but mellowed hues,Beneath the western skies,The lady bore a beauteous child,In this sweet paradise.An auburn head—an olive face—An eye of azure light—A perfect beauty seemed the child,To my enchanted sight.I loved him for his loveliness,This budding, beauteous child,The mother's heart within would leapWhen e'er the infant smiled,And when upon her warming breast,She watched his closing eyes,His lips would smile, as if he sawThe angels in the skies.And truth to say, she ofttimes thought,The angels were near by,So strange a gleam was on his hair,So bright his cherub eye.He was so meek and gentle-souled,So free from evil stain,Ah! well I knew, 'twere toil to findSo lovely child again.It was a antique, white-walled cot,Beneath the western skies,This lady dwelt with this sweet child,In this sweet paradise.The mother loved her beauteous child;Oft gazing on his sleep,The joy that smoothed her matron brow,Was beautiful and deep.The summer flower hath hasty growth—The sweet child grew apace,And lo! a brighter loveliness,Was born upon his face.So fair—so fair—and oh! so dear!Alas! a mother's loveMay be too strong to please her God—The child went up above.And now alone the mother wasIn all this world so wide,For ere the child had lisped his nameHer stricken husband died.Alone in all this world so wide,Alone the mother was;If this were true—God wot 'twas false,Our hearts should sigh alas.The child—the child—transformed! come down,On rainbow-colored wings,Whose flashing, o'er the mother's path,A mystic glory flings.He set gay flowers of heavenly prideAmid this cursed clime—Ah! brilliant flowers—ah! brighter flowers,Than bloomed in Eden's prime.He softly led her on the way,And sang to her charm'd soul,A sweet, low strain that men heard not,And fiends could not control.At last the mother went with himTo dwell on Heaven's wide plain,Where father, mother, cherub now,Sing forth a glorious strain.
A fairy land of grass and flowers,And of the greenest treesA land of singing brooks and springs,A land of singing breeze.A land of bright but mellowed hues,Beneath the western skies,The lady bore a beauteous child,In this sweet paradise.An auburn head—an olive face—An eye of azure light—A perfect beauty seemed the child,To my enchanted sight.I loved him for his loveliness,This budding, beauteous child,The mother's heart within would leapWhen e'er the infant smiled,And when upon her warming breast,She watched his closing eyes,His lips would smile, as if he sawThe angels in the skies.And truth to say, she ofttimes thought,The angels were near by,So strange a gleam was on his hair,So bright his cherub eye.He was so meek and gentle-souled,So free from evil stain,Ah! well I knew, 'twere toil to findSo lovely child again.It was a antique, white-walled cot,Beneath the western skies,This lady dwelt with this sweet child,In this sweet paradise.The mother loved her beauteous child;Oft gazing on his sleep,The joy that smoothed her matron brow,Was beautiful and deep.The summer flower hath hasty growth—The sweet child grew apace,And lo! a brighter loveliness,Was born upon his face.So fair—so fair—and oh! so dear!Alas! a mother's loveMay be too strong to please her God—The child went up above.And now alone the mother wasIn all this world so wide,For ere the child had lisped his nameHer stricken husband died.Alone in all this world so wide,Alone the mother was;If this were true—God wot 'twas false,Our hearts should sigh alas.The child—the child—transformed! come down,On rainbow-colored wings,Whose flashing, o'er the mother's path,A mystic glory flings.He set gay flowers of heavenly prideAmid this cursed clime—Ah! brilliant flowers—ah! brighter flowers,Than bloomed in Eden's prime.He softly led her on the way,And sang to her charm'd soul,A sweet, low strain that men heard not,And fiends could not control.At last the mother went with himTo dwell on Heaven's wide plain,Where father, mother, cherub now,Sing forth a glorious strain.
A fairy land of grass and flowers,
And of the greenest trees
A land of singing brooks and springs,
A land of singing breeze.
A land of bright but mellowed hues,
Beneath the western skies,
The lady bore a beauteous child,
In this sweet paradise.
An auburn head—an olive face—
An eye of azure light—
A perfect beauty seemed the child,
To my enchanted sight.
I loved him for his loveliness,
This budding, beauteous child,
The mother's heart within would leap
When e'er the infant smiled,
And when upon her warming breast,
She watched his closing eyes,
His lips would smile, as if he saw
The angels in the skies.
And truth to say, she ofttimes thought,
The angels were near by,
So strange a gleam was on his hair,
So bright his cherub eye.
He was so meek and gentle-souled,
So free from evil stain,
Ah! well I knew, 'twere toil to find
So lovely child again.
It was a antique, white-walled cot,
Beneath the western skies,
This lady dwelt with this sweet child,
In this sweet paradise.
The mother loved her beauteous child;
Oft gazing on his sleep,
The joy that smoothed her matron brow,
Was beautiful and deep.
The summer flower hath hasty growth—
The sweet child grew apace,
And lo! a brighter loveliness,
Was born upon his face.
So fair—so fair—and oh! so dear!
Alas! a mother's love
May be too strong to please her God—
The child went up above.
And now alone the mother was
In all this world so wide,
For ere the child had lisped his name
Her stricken husband died.
Alone in all this world so wide,
Alone the mother was;
If this were true—God wot 'twas false,
Our hearts should sigh alas.
The child—the child—transformed! come down,
On rainbow-colored wings,
Whose flashing, o'er the mother's path,
A mystic glory flings.
He set gay flowers of heavenly pride
Amid this cursed clime—
Ah! brilliant flowers—ah! brighter flowers,
Than bloomed in Eden's prime.
He softly led her on the way,
And sang to her charm'd soul,
A sweet, low strain that men heard not,
And fiends could not control.
At last the mother went with him
To dwell on Heaven's wide plain,
Where father, mother, cherub now,
Sing forth a glorious strain.
The Summer's sunset throws a tender spell,Along the hills, o'er ocean's softened swell;The God of day goes flaming down the sky,And zephyr floats on perfumed pinions by.Oh! who can gaze upon this gorgeous sight,Nor feel his bosom chain'd by deep delight,This hour when beauty wears her richest dye,And love o'erflows charmed ocean, earth and sky;Till fancy, dreaming in her lovely bower,Hears far off strains of deep, o'erwhelming power,And, lifting up her pensive orbs above,Spies Angels winging through yon vault of love,And says that "they are wafting souls forgivenOn their bright pinions, to yon nameless Heaven."On such an eve, so peaceful and so bright,Two loved onesfleebeyond yon failing light,No more to droop within this gloomy world,Their angel pinions next God's throne were furled;There now—for aye forgot this earthly night—They lave those bright wings in eternal light.
The Summer's sunset throws a tender spell,Along the hills, o'er ocean's softened swell;The God of day goes flaming down the sky,And zephyr floats on perfumed pinions by.Oh! who can gaze upon this gorgeous sight,Nor feel his bosom chain'd by deep delight,This hour when beauty wears her richest dye,And love o'erflows charmed ocean, earth and sky;Till fancy, dreaming in her lovely bower,Hears far off strains of deep, o'erwhelming power,And, lifting up her pensive orbs above,Spies Angels winging through yon vault of love,And says that "they are wafting souls forgivenOn their bright pinions, to yon nameless Heaven."On such an eve, so peaceful and so bright,Two loved onesfleebeyond yon failing light,No more to droop within this gloomy world,Their angel pinions next God's throne were furled;There now—for aye forgot this earthly night—They lave those bright wings in eternal light.
The Summer's sunset throws a tender spell,
Along the hills, o'er ocean's softened swell;
The God of day goes flaming down the sky,
And zephyr floats on perfumed pinions by.
Oh! who can gaze upon this gorgeous sight,
Nor feel his bosom chain'd by deep delight,
This hour when beauty wears her richest dye,
And love o'erflows charmed ocean, earth and sky;
Till fancy, dreaming in her lovely bower,
Hears far off strains of deep, o'erwhelming power,
And, lifting up her pensive orbs above,
Spies Angels winging through yon vault of love,
And says that "they are wafting souls forgiven
On their bright pinions, to yon nameless Heaven."
On such an eve, so peaceful and so bright,
Two loved onesfleebeyond yon failing light,
No more to droop within this gloomy world,
Their angel pinions next God's throne were furled;
There now—for aye forgot this earthly night—
They lave those bright wings in eternal light.
Now fir'd imagination soars on high, and showsMagnific scenes. The first—a summer's dawn—A sky of purest blue—a golden seaBeneath—earth bright with lovely hues like Heaven.Yon orb of fire suspended o'er that seaOf molten gold, burns like a throne in Heaven.His foaming, flashing radiance, floods earth—sky—And throbbing sea, till each lies bathed in glory,Which seems the break of a celestial morn.That scene has passed. Another charmsThe gaze. The mighty orb of blazing flame,Has run a curve of brightness o'er the sky,And presently will cut the Western main,With its bright rim. We stand upon an isle,One of the Hesperian, in the unknown seas,Toward the setting sun. The waves which gush,And softly splash against the rocky shores,Are dyed by richest, ever varying tints,Like those, we fancy, tinge that sea that flows,Around the throne of God, and, in whose billows,The seraphs, as wing'd birds, embathe their breasts—Whilst heaven becomes another sea like that—And all is bright waves dashing o'er our hearts,And making music sweeter than the songsOf those we loved in youth, ere hatred grew.That scene has pass'd. Imagination sleepsTo husband strength for more ambitious flight.But, soon restored, with native, heavenly might,She soars beyond the sun high thron'd at noon—And, with her hand that flows with gold and gems,Flings wide Heaven's gates that flame with living beams.And lo! the scene of Heaven! Oh! brighter far,Than aught earth shows of beautiful or fair,Is that bright heaven of our hopes and dreams.Yet even imagination's piercing eyeReceives into its scope but humble partOf all the glory that o'erflows that heaven.A boundless sea of love—all hued like love,Gleams round the throne of Triune God, which seemsTo rise from out that placid depth, built ofIts water, crystallized to gold and pearl,Wherein joy's beauteous light forever plays.Over that sea rings set beyond vast ringsOf burning seraph, saint, and cherub, standWith starry crowns; and, with unceasing songs,Struck from their lyres that burn as morning suns,And born in hearts that burn in joys of heaven—Louder than twelvefold thunder, yet more sweetThan all the sweetest strains e'er heard on earth,Fill Heaven with light and song ineffable,Along the bright flow of eternity.Then swift in flight as saint and seraph there,She passes back through those vast gates of fire,And slowly drops upon some flowery peak,Or ocean isle, upon this mundane sphere;Then sleeps soft in the folds of some fair flower,Or, in the crystal bosom of a dewdrop.
Now fir'd imagination soars on high, and showsMagnific scenes. The first—a summer's dawn—A sky of purest blue—a golden seaBeneath—earth bright with lovely hues like Heaven.Yon orb of fire suspended o'er that seaOf molten gold, burns like a throne in Heaven.His foaming, flashing radiance, floods earth—sky—And throbbing sea, till each lies bathed in glory,Which seems the break of a celestial morn.That scene has passed. Another charmsThe gaze. The mighty orb of blazing flame,Has run a curve of brightness o'er the sky,And presently will cut the Western main,With its bright rim. We stand upon an isle,One of the Hesperian, in the unknown seas,Toward the setting sun. The waves which gush,And softly splash against the rocky shores,Are dyed by richest, ever varying tints,Like those, we fancy, tinge that sea that flows,Around the throne of God, and, in whose billows,The seraphs, as wing'd birds, embathe their breasts—Whilst heaven becomes another sea like that—And all is bright waves dashing o'er our hearts,And making music sweeter than the songsOf those we loved in youth, ere hatred grew.That scene has pass'd. Imagination sleepsTo husband strength for more ambitious flight.But, soon restored, with native, heavenly might,She soars beyond the sun high thron'd at noon—And, with her hand that flows with gold and gems,Flings wide Heaven's gates that flame with living beams.And lo! the scene of Heaven! Oh! brighter far,Than aught earth shows of beautiful or fair,Is that bright heaven of our hopes and dreams.Yet even imagination's piercing eyeReceives into its scope but humble partOf all the glory that o'erflows that heaven.A boundless sea of love—all hued like love,Gleams round the throne of Triune God, which seemsTo rise from out that placid depth, built ofIts water, crystallized to gold and pearl,Wherein joy's beauteous light forever plays.Over that sea rings set beyond vast ringsOf burning seraph, saint, and cherub, standWith starry crowns; and, with unceasing songs,Struck from their lyres that burn as morning suns,And born in hearts that burn in joys of heaven—Louder than twelvefold thunder, yet more sweetThan all the sweetest strains e'er heard on earth,Fill Heaven with light and song ineffable,Along the bright flow of eternity.Then swift in flight as saint and seraph there,She passes back through those vast gates of fire,And slowly drops upon some flowery peak,Or ocean isle, upon this mundane sphere;Then sleeps soft in the folds of some fair flower,Or, in the crystal bosom of a dewdrop.
Now fir'd imagination soars on high, and shows
Magnific scenes. The first—a summer's dawn—
A sky of purest blue—a golden sea
Beneath—earth bright with lovely hues like Heaven.
Yon orb of fire suspended o'er that sea
Of molten gold, burns like a throne in Heaven.
His foaming, flashing radiance, floods earth—sky—
And throbbing sea, till each lies bathed in glory,
Which seems the break of a celestial morn.
That scene has passed. Another charms
The gaze. The mighty orb of blazing flame,
Has run a curve of brightness o'er the sky,
And presently will cut the Western main,
With its bright rim. We stand upon an isle,
One of the Hesperian, in the unknown seas,
Toward the setting sun. The waves which gush,
And softly splash against the rocky shores,
Are dyed by richest, ever varying tints,
Like those, we fancy, tinge that sea that flows,
Around the throne of God, and, in whose billows,
The seraphs, as wing'd birds, embathe their breasts—
Whilst heaven becomes another sea like that—
And all is bright waves dashing o'er our hearts,
And making music sweeter than the songs
Of those we loved in youth, ere hatred grew.
That scene has pass'd. Imagination sleeps
To husband strength for more ambitious flight.
But, soon restored, with native, heavenly might,
She soars beyond the sun high thron'd at noon—
And, with her hand that flows with gold and gems,
Flings wide Heaven's gates that flame with living beams.
And lo! the scene of Heaven! Oh! brighter far,
Than aught earth shows of beautiful or fair,
Is that bright heaven of our hopes and dreams.
Yet even imagination's piercing eye
Receives into its scope but humble part
Of all the glory that o'erflows that heaven.
A boundless sea of love—all hued like love,
Gleams round the throne of Triune God, which seems
To rise from out that placid depth, built of
Its water, crystallized to gold and pearl,
Wherein joy's beauteous light forever plays.
Over that sea rings set beyond vast rings
Of burning seraph, saint, and cherub, stand
With starry crowns; and, with unceasing songs,
Struck from their lyres that burn as morning suns,
And born in hearts that burn in joys of heaven—
Louder than twelvefold thunder, yet more sweet
Than all the sweetest strains e'er heard on earth,
Fill Heaven with light and song ineffable,
Along the bright flow of eternity.
Then swift in flight as saint and seraph there,
She passes back through those vast gates of fire,
And slowly drops upon some flowery peak,
Or ocean isle, upon this mundane sphere;
Then sleeps soft in the folds of some fair flower,
Or, in the crystal bosom of a dewdrop.
A fairy thing was Milly whenShe blest my wondering sight;I ne'er shall meet her match again—A maid so gaily bright.Her ringlets flowed about her neck—A neck that mocked the snow!A sunny robe her bosom decked,That proudly heaved below.Sometimes she roamed the leas at morn,And sang like a sweet bird—Until a melody was bornOn each outgushing word.Sometimes amid her cottage home,She touched the breathing lyre,And then her quivering lips were dumb,Her soaring soul on fire.She was a very fairy maid;And then we sinned to craveThat she with us might be delayed,And never reach the grave.One twilight when a star came forth,She clapped her hands and smil'd,And said that star within the NorthWould take an earthly child.Did some near, viewless angel speakThat word unto the maid,That thus with sweet, unblanched cheek,That awful word she said?But thus it was; when autumn toldThe yellow leaves to fall,The maid no more could we behold,No more she knew our call.And now I watch that cold, high star,Amid the leaden North,And think she looks on me afar,Forlorn upon this earth.
A fairy thing was Milly whenShe blest my wondering sight;I ne'er shall meet her match again—A maid so gaily bright.
A fairy thing was Milly when
She blest my wondering sight;
I ne'er shall meet her match again—
A maid so gaily bright.
Her ringlets flowed about her neck—A neck that mocked the snow!A sunny robe her bosom decked,That proudly heaved below.
Her ringlets flowed about her neck—
A neck that mocked the snow!
A sunny robe her bosom decked,
That proudly heaved below.
Sometimes she roamed the leas at morn,And sang like a sweet bird—Until a melody was bornOn each outgushing word.
Sometimes she roamed the leas at morn,
And sang like a sweet bird—
Until a melody was born
On each outgushing word.
Sometimes amid her cottage home,She touched the breathing lyre,And then her quivering lips were dumb,Her soaring soul on fire.
Sometimes amid her cottage home,
She touched the breathing lyre,
And then her quivering lips were dumb,
Her soaring soul on fire.
She was a very fairy maid;And then we sinned to craveThat she with us might be delayed,And never reach the grave.
She was a very fairy maid;
And then we sinned to crave
That she with us might be delayed,
And never reach the grave.
One twilight when a star came forth,She clapped her hands and smil'd,And said that star within the NorthWould take an earthly child.
One twilight when a star came forth,
She clapped her hands and smil'd,
And said that star within the North
Would take an earthly child.
Did some near, viewless angel speakThat word unto the maid,That thus with sweet, unblanched cheek,That awful word she said?
Did some near, viewless angel speak
That word unto the maid,
That thus with sweet, unblanched cheek,
That awful word she said?
But thus it was; when autumn toldThe yellow leaves to fall,The maid no more could we behold,No more she knew our call.
But thus it was; when autumn told
The yellow leaves to fall,
The maid no more could we behold,
No more she knew our call.
And now I watch that cold, high star,Amid the leaden North,And think she looks on me afar,Forlorn upon this earth.
And now I watch that cold, high star,
Amid the leaden North,
And think she looks on me afar,
Forlorn upon this earth.
The wintry days have come once more,The birds are still, the sweet flowers dead,And faint winds sigh a wailing songO'er leaves heaped high within their bed.The neighboring stream that lately leapt,And laughed, and played adown the glen,Is now as hushed and mute as thoughIt ne'er would leap and smile again.Amournfulsilence fills the sky,And falls upon the gazer's soul,And down the sympathizing cheek,The watery teardrops silent roll.The beauty of the peaks and plains,The loveliness of earth and sky,Have passed away, and, passing, said,"Ye mortals frail! ye too must die."So has the beauty of my hopesWithered beneath woe's wintry touch,—My heart has yielded to despair,Though lingering long and weeping much.But oh! bright Hope, mid bleak Despair,Sprang, cheerly speaking to my heart,Sweet, smiling spring shall yet return,And joyless winter must depart.And Mercy throned beyond the sun,Whose breath thy living soul hath given,Will lead thee to a deathless springWithin the glorious gates of heaven.Ah! deeply do I bless that word!It drives my gloomy fears away;—I kneel upon the dreary snow,And bid my God be praised for aye.
The wintry days have come once more,The birds are still, the sweet flowers dead,And faint winds sigh a wailing songO'er leaves heaped high within their bed.
The wintry days have come once more,
The birds are still, the sweet flowers dead,
And faint winds sigh a wailing song
O'er leaves heaped high within their bed.
The neighboring stream that lately leapt,And laughed, and played adown the glen,Is now as hushed and mute as thoughIt ne'er would leap and smile again.
The neighboring stream that lately leapt,
And laughed, and played adown the glen,
Is now as hushed and mute as though
It ne'er would leap and smile again.
Amournfulsilence fills the sky,And falls upon the gazer's soul,And down the sympathizing cheek,The watery teardrops silent roll.
Amournfulsilence fills the sky,
And falls upon the gazer's soul,
And down the sympathizing cheek,
The watery teardrops silent roll.
The beauty of the peaks and plains,The loveliness of earth and sky,Have passed away, and, passing, said,"Ye mortals frail! ye too must die."
The beauty of the peaks and plains,
The loveliness of earth and sky,
Have passed away, and, passing, said,
"Ye mortals frail! ye too must die."
So has the beauty of my hopesWithered beneath woe's wintry touch,—My heart has yielded to despair,Though lingering long and weeping much.
So has the beauty of my hopes
Withered beneath woe's wintry touch,—
My heart has yielded to despair,
Though lingering long and weeping much.
But oh! bright Hope, mid bleak Despair,Sprang, cheerly speaking to my heart,Sweet, smiling spring shall yet return,And joyless winter must depart.
But oh! bright Hope, mid bleak Despair,
Sprang, cheerly speaking to my heart,
Sweet, smiling spring shall yet return,
And joyless winter must depart.
And Mercy throned beyond the sun,Whose breath thy living soul hath given,Will lead thee to a deathless springWithin the glorious gates of heaven.
And Mercy throned beyond the sun,
Whose breath thy living soul hath given,
Will lead thee to a deathless spring
Within the glorious gates of heaven.
Ah! deeply do I bless that word!It drives my gloomy fears away;—I kneel upon the dreary snow,And bid my God be praised for aye.
Ah! deeply do I bless that word!
It drives my gloomy fears away;—
I kneel upon the dreary snow,
And bid my God be praised for aye.
Now, Mary fair, the Spring has come,Back to our fairyland,And buds begin to breathe perfume,The breeze blows sweet and bland;The gay, green groves are ringing clear,The crystal waters shine;Now, Mary sweet, the scene is dear,The moments are divine.And, Mary, hearken how the birdsAre courting in the grove,Oh! listen how their music wordsSpeak tender things of love.Let us be happy, Mary fair,We waste these heavenly hours,Let's rove where fragrance fills the air,Among the opening flowers.Yes, Mary dear, let's quit the throng,And from the tumult flee,The birds these living bowers among,Shall sweetly sing for thee;And happy zephyr wave his wing,And streams make melody,And loveliest flowers gaily springThy matchless face to see.Dear Mary, why, why should we stay,While Nature calls us forth?See! love and pleasure, smiling, stray,O'er all the gladsome earth!While all around is mirth and song,Let us be joyful, too,And, listening to the feathered throng,Our vows of love renew.
Now, Mary fair, the Spring has come,Back to our fairyland,And buds begin to breathe perfume,The breeze blows sweet and bland;The gay, green groves are ringing clear,The crystal waters shine;Now, Mary sweet, the scene is dear,The moments are divine.
Now, Mary fair, the Spring has come,
Back to our fairyland,
And buds begin to breathe perfume,
The breeze blows sweet and bland;
The gay, green groves are ringing clear,
The crystal waters shine;
Now, Mary sweet, the scene is dear,
The moments are divine.
And, Mary, hearken how the birdsAre courting in the grove,Oh! listen how their music wordsSpeak tender things of love.Let us be happy, Mary fair,We waste these heavenly hours,Let's rove where fragrance fills the air,Among the opening flowers.
And, Mary, hearken how the birds
Are courting in the grove,
Oh! listen how their music words
Speak tender things of love.
Let us be happy, Mary fair,
We waste these heavenly hours,
Let's rove where fragrance fills the air,
Among the opening flowers.
Yes, Mary dear, let's quit the throng,And from the tumult flee,The birds these living bowers among,Shall sweetly sing for thee;And happy zephyr wave his wing,And streams make melody,And loveliest flowers gaily springThy matchless face to see.
Yes, Mary dear, let's quit the throng,
And from the tumult flee,
The birds these living bowers among,
Shall sweetly sing for thee;
And happy zephyr wave his wing,
And streams make melody,
And loveliest flowers gaily spring
Thy matchless face to see.
Dear Mary, why, why should we stay,While Nature calls us forth?See! love and pleasure, smiling, stray,O'er all the gladsome earth!While all around is mirth and song,Let us be joyful, too,And, listening to the feathered throng,Our vows of love renew.
Dear Mary, why, why should we stay,
While Nature calls us forth?
See! love and pleasure, smiling, stray,
O'er all the gladsome earth!
While all around is mirth and song,
Let us be joyful, too,
And, listening to the feathered throng,
Our vows of love renew.
The sighs of summer night, were sweet without,As the breath of spirits, on the folded roses,The sweet moon, like a young and timid bride,Came softly trembling through the eastward oaks—Where I espied a Glorious Beauty standing,Glowing and bright, in a portico vine-wreathed.Shaken by wrestling Hope and Doubt within,I quickly slid unto her side; and sheWore no dark frown—but smiled—she smiled on me!Her white brows shone amid her darkest hair,Like that moon's beams amid the opening gloom:And her slight, delicate shape would shame the limbsOf fairies tripping on the moonlit green.And she did smile on me—that Glorious Beauty!And I stood there, and clasped her lily hands!And I did peer into her lustrous eyes!And they gave back my ardent gaze of love!She spake—the tremulous accents of her voiceWas like a sweet stream breaking upon rocks;And when the music of those thrilling words,Rushed on my soul—I sank upon her bosom,And felt that we could part no more on earth.
The sighs of summer night, were sweet without,As the breath of spirits, on the folded roses,The sweet moon, like a young and timid bride,Came softly trembling through the eastward oaks—Where I espied a Glorious Beauty standing,Glowing and bright, in a portico vine-wreathed.Shaken by wrestling Hope and Doubt within,I quickly slid unto her side; and sheWore no dark frown—but smiled—she smiled on me!Her white brows shone amid her darkest hair,Like that moon's beams amid the opening gloom:And her slight, delicate shape would shame the limbsOf fairies tripping on the moonlit green.And she did smile on me—that Glorious Beauty!And I stood there, and clasped her lily hands!And I did peer into her lustrous eyes!And they gave back my ardent gaze of love!She spake—the tremulous accents of her voiceWas like a sweet stream breaking upon rocks;And when the music of those thrilling words,Rushed on my soul—I sank upon her bosom,And felt that we could part no more on earth.
The sighs of summer night, were sweet without,
As the breath of spirits, on the folded roses,
The sweet moon, like a young and timid bride,
Came softly trembling through the eastward oaks—
Where I espied a Glorious Beauty standing,
Glowing and bright, in a portico vine-wreathed.
Shaken by wrestling Hope and Doubt within,
I quickly slid unto her side; and she
Wore no dark frown—but smiled—she smiled on me!
Her white brows shone amid her darkest hair,
Like that moon's beams amid the opening gloom:
And her slight, delicate shape would shame the limbs
Of fairies tripping on the moonlit green.
And she did smile on me—that Glorious Beauty!
And I stood there, and clasped her lily hands!
And I did peer into her lustrous eyes!
And they gave back my ardent gaze of love!
She spake—the tremulous accents of her voice
Was like a sweet stream breaking upon rocks;
And when the music of those thrilling words,
Rushed on my soul—I sank upon her bosom,
And felt that we could part no more on earth.
Amid a flower-strown cottage room,The Lady sat at even,Beneath the peerless evening star,Just peeping out in heaven;And, in her hands, as lilies, white,She held a billet-doux,Which, round upon the tranquil air,A grateful fragrance threw.And now she bends her beauteous head,To read the written lines—Her white hand starts—a crystal tearUpon the paper shines;Her startled bosom gently heaves,Like billows capped with snow,And quickly o'er her lovely face,Her blushes come and go.Those glowing words have waked withinHer soul, the flame of love,Which blends her woman nature withThe natures of above:—A fire whose rays will change to lightHer lover's darkest gloom,Till he beholds it beam again,On Heaven's undying bloom.
Amid a flower-strown cottage room,The Lady sat at even,Beneath the peerless evening star,Just peeping out in heaven;And, in her hands, as lilies, white,She held a billet-doux,Which, round upon the tranquil air,A grateful fragrance threw.
Amid a flower-strown cottage room,
The Lady sat at even,
Beneath the peerless evening star,
Just peeping out in heaven;
And, in her hands, as lilies, white,
She held a billet-doux,
Which, round upon the tranquil air,
A grateful fragrance threw.
And now she bends her beauteous head,To read the written lines—Her white hand starts—a crystal tearUpon the paper shines;Her startled bosom gently heaves,Like billows capped with snow,And quickly o'er her lovely face,Her blushes come and go.
And now she bends her beauteous head,
To read the written lines—
Her white hand starts—a crystal tear
Upon the paper shines;
Her startled bosom gently heaves,
Like billows capped with snow,
And quickly o'er her lovely face,
Her blushes come and go.
Those glowing words have waked withinHer soul, the flame of love,Which blends her woman nature withThe natures of above:—A fire whose rays will change to lightHer lover's darkest gloom,Till he beholds it beam again,On Heaven's undying bloom.
Those glowing words have waked within
Her soul, the flame of love,
Which blends her woman nature with
The natures of above:—
A fire whose rays will change to light
Her lover's darkest gloom,
Till he beholds it beam again,
On Heaven's undying bloom.
No more with thy bright sisters of the sky,Who warble ever,Wilt thou send forth thy choral melody,Sad maid! for ever.No more the bright, innumerable train,Who move in Heaven,Will know thy face upon the etherial plain,At rosy even.The night will mourn thine absence ever more,With dewy tears,And, the bright day, will, dimmer now, deplore,The darkened years.Our wandering eyes will search for thee in vain,And we shall sighThat thy high beauty could not conquer pain,The doom to die.Earth scarce had mourned some lesser beauty—thou,Celestial maid!Mid all didst wear a so unearthly brow,And thou—decayed!The beauteous thought of thee which, ray-like, slept,In our pure love,Became a memory which we have keptTo grieve above.Gone, like the withered pride of early Spring—Like sweet songs, o'er—Ah! thou hast turned from us thine angel wing,To come no more.Struck from thy high and glittering sapphire throne,In upper light,Say, did thy loveliness go, hopeless, down,To nether night?Or, throned beyond the gloomy fate to fall,Bright maid divine!Sublime amid the Eternal's flaming Hall,Dost thou e'er shine?
No more with thy bright sisters of the sky,Who warble ever,Wilt thou send forth thy choral melody,Sad maid! for ever.
No more with thy bright sisters of the sky,
Who warble ever,
Wilt thou send forth thy choral melody,
Sad maid! for ever.
No more the bright, innumerable train,Who move in Heaven,Will know thy face upon the etherial plain,At rosy even.
No more the bright, innumerable train,
Who move in Heaven,
Will know thy face upon the etherial plain,
At rosy even.
The night will mourn thine absence ever more,With dewy tears,And, the bright day, will, dimmer now, deplore,The darkened years.
The night will mourn thine absence ever more,
With dewy tears,
And, the bright day, will, dimmer now, deplore,
The darkened years.
Our wandering eyes will search for thee in vain,And we shall sighThat thy high beauty could not conquer pain,The doom to die.
Our wandering eyes will search for thee in vain,
And we shall sigh
That thy high beauty could not conquer pain,
The doom to die.
Earth scarce had mourned some lesser beauty—thou,Celestial maid!Mid all didst wear a so unearthly brow,And thou—decayed!
Earth scarce had mourned some lesser beauty—thou,
Celestial maid!
Mid all didst wear a so unearthly brow,
And thou—decayed!
The beauteous thought of thee which, ray-like, slept,In our pure love,Became a memory which we have keptTo grieve above.
The beauteous thought of thee which, ray-like, slept,
In our pure love,
Became a memory which we have kept
To grieve above.
Gone, like the withered pride of early Spring—Like sweet songs, o'er—Ah! thou hast turned from us thine angel wing,To come no more.
Gone, like the withered pride of early Spring—
Like sweet songs, o'er—
Ah! thou hast turned from us thine angel wing,
To come no more.
Struck from thy high and glittering sapphire throne,In upper light,Say, did thy loveliness go, hopeless, down,To nether night?
Struck from thy high and glittering sapphire throne,
In upper light,
Say, did thy loveliness go, hopeless, down,
To nether night?
Or, throned beyond the gloomy fate to fall,Bright maid divine!Sublime amid the Eternal's flaming Hall,Dost thou e'er shine?
Or, throned beyond the gloomy fate to fall,
Bright maid divine!
Sublime amid the Eternal's flaming Hall,
Dost thou e'er shine?
The sleeper lies, with closed eyes,And softly moving breath,So soft, so still, her life's sweet thrill,'Tis only more than death.Her dark, dark hair, reposing there,Upon her pillow's snow,And sweeping down her cheek's faint brown,And bosom's spotless glow.She wakes at last, her sleep has past,Her eyes on me are thrown;My sleeping love—my heavenly dove—Has been in realms unknown.
The sleeper lies, with closed eyes,And softly moving breath,So soft, so still, her life's sweet thrill,'Tis only more than death.
The sleeper lies, with closed eyes,
And softly moving breath,
So soft, so still, her life's sweet thrill,
'Tis only more than death.
Her dark, dark hair, reposing there,Upon her pillow's snow,And sweeping down her cheek's faint brown,And bosom's spotless glow.
Her dark, dark hair, reposing there,
Upon her pillow's snow,
And sweeping down her cheek's faint brown,
And bosom's spotless glow.
She wakes at last, her sleep has past,Her eyes on me are thrown;My sleeping love—my heavenly dove—Has been in realms unknown.
She wakes at last, her sleep has past,
Her eyes on me are thrown;
My sleeping love—my heavenly dove—
Has been in realms unknown.
They do not—nay, they cannot die;They go to dwell in Heaven;Where God a free and full supplyOf purest joys hath given.They do not—nay, they cannot die:Because we see them notDo objects cease—oh! brothers! whyThis lesson now forgot?They die not—nay, they cannot die:In joy's serene, calm air,Their cheek yet wears its roseate dyeTheir smiles are yet as fair.Their tones yet breathe as sweet a strain,Their hearts are still as true,And still their wonted love retain,My friend, for me and you.Oh no! they do not, cannot die,They live far up in Heaven,Beyond where flame yon portals high,At still and silent even.They dwell—they dwell eternally,Where roll no winds—no storm,And, if we seek them, we shall see,Each bright and happy form.
They do not—nay, they cannot die;They go to dwell in Heaven;Where God a free and full supplyOf purest joys hath given.
They do not—nay, they cannot die;
They go to dwell in Heaven;
Where God a free and full supply
Of purest joys hath given.
They do not—nay, they cannot die:Because we see them notDo objects cease—oh! brothers! whyThis lesson now forgot?
They do not—nay, they cannot die:
Because we see them not
Do objects cease—oh! brothers! why
This lesson now forgot?
They die not—nay, they cannot die:In joy's serene, calm air,Their cheek yet wears its roseate dyeTheir smiles are yet as fair.
They die not—nay, they cannot die:
In joy's serene, calm air,
Their cheek yet wears its roseate dye
Their smiles are yet as fair.
Their tones yet breathe as sweet a strain,Their hearts are still as true,And still their wonted love retain,My friend, for me and you.
Their tones yet breathe as sweet a strain,
Their hearts are still as true,
And still their wonted love retain,
My friend, for me and you.
Oh no! they do not, cannot die,They live far up in Heaven,Beyond where flame yon portals high,At still and silent even.
Oh no! they do not, cannot die,
They live far up in Heaven,
Beyond where flame yon portals high,
At still and silent even.
They dwell—they dwell eternally,Where roll no winds—no storm,And, if we seek them, we shall see,Each bright and happy form.
They dwell—they dwell eternally,
Where roll no winds—no storm,
And, if we seek them, we shall see,
Each bright and happy form.
Strangely sweet, and softly clear,With pure and starry beams,Reposing there, and moving here;The face I see in dreams.Oh! lovely is that wild, sweet face,Which thus and ever gleams,And smiles, with a seraphic grace,Upon my heart's deep streams.Oft at pale midnight's holy calm,Beside imagined streams,I recognize the soothing balm,The face I see in dreams.And, even at noon's wideseeing glare,When earth, with clamor teems,That face appears, as strangely fair,That face I see in dreams.The sum of universal charms,The sun of beauty-beams,Appear to deck that form of forms,And face I see in dreams.
Strangely sweet, and softly clear,With pure and starry beams,Reposing there, and moving here;The face I see in dreams.
Strangely sweet, and softly clear,
With pure and starry beams,
Reposing there, and moving here;
The face I see in dreams.
Oh! lovely is that wild, sweet face,Which thus and ever gleams,And smiles, with a seraphic grace,Upon my heart's deep streams.
Oh! lovely is that wild, sweet face,
Which thus and ever gleams,
And smiles, with a seraphic grace,
Upon my heart's deep streams.
Oft at pale midnight's holy calm,Beside imagined streams,I recognize the soothing balm,The face I see in dreams.
Oft at pale midnight's holy calm,
Beside imagined streams,
I recognize the soothing balm,
The face I see in dreams.
And, even at noon's wideseeing glare,When earth, with clamor teems,That face appears, as strangely fair,That face I see in dreams.
And, even at noon's wideseeing glare,
When earth, with clamor teems,
That face appears, as strangely fair,
That face I see in dreams.
The sum of universal charms,The sun of beauty-beams,Appear to deck that form of forms,And face I see in dreams.
The sum of universal charms,
The sun of beauty-beams,
Appear to deck that form of forms,
And face I see in dreams.
Ah Eloquence! thou God-like power;That swayest the human heart,We still must call thee, rarest dower,In the high gift of Art;And still thou shalt be styled a queen,To brighten earth's grief-shaded green.When thou dost falter sorrow's tale,With trembling accents low,The plaintive breezes of the vale,With mingled pathos, flow;The melting eye is bathed in tears,And grief, in every face, appears.When thou dost stand in mortal's view,And breathe thy thoughts of flame,The conscious soul, conceives them, too,And breathes and burns the same;—And when, in fancy, thou dost soar,'Tis like Niag'ra's thundering roar.When thou dost tell of living joysFar up in heaven above,The rapturous music of thy voice,Is like the Voice of Love—The entranced spirit flits awayTo bathe in seas of whitest day.
Ah Eloquence! thou God-like power;That swayest the human heart,We still must call thee, rarest dower,In the high gift of Art;And still thou shalt be styled a queen,To brighten earth's grief-shaded green.
Ah Eloquence! thou God-like power;
That swayest the human heart,
We still must call thee, rarest dower,
In the high gift of Art;
And still thou shalt be styled a queen,
To brighten earth's grief-shaded green.
When thou dost falter sorrow's tale,With trembling accents low,The plaintive breezes of the vale,With mingled pathos, flow;The melting eye is bathed in tears,And grief, in every face, appears.
When thou dost falter sorrow's tale,
With trembling accents low,
The plaintive breezes of the vale,
With mingled pathos, flow;
The melting eye is bathed in tears,
And grief, in every face, appears.
When thou dost stand in mortal's view,And breathe thy thoughts of flame,The conscious soul, conceives them, too,And breathes and burns the same;—And when, in fancy, thou dost soar,'Tis like Niag'ra's thundering roar.
When thou dost stand in mortal's view,
And breathe thy thoughts of flame,
The conscious soul, conceives them, too,
And breathes and burns the same;—
And when, in fancy, thou dost soar,
'Tis like Niag'ra's thundering roar.
When thou dost tell of living joysFar up in heaven above,The rapturous music of thy voice,Is like the Voice of Love—The entranced spirit flits awayTo bathe in seas of whitest day.
When thou dost tell of living joys
Far up in heaven above,
The rapturous music of thy voice,
Is like the Voice of Love—
The entranced spirit flits away
To bathe in seas of whitest day.
Near yonder banks at even,We whispered words most dear,Till love's sweet star in Heaven,Was shining, bright and clear.We saw the river glancingBeneath the planet's light,Its ripples seemed, while dancing,To mock the gloom of night.But soon the star in Heaven,By rising mists was hid,And, by us, dark and even,The river's current slid.So shone our love's sweet riverBeneath Hope's radiant star;But soon, in darkness, ever,It swept, in silence, far.
Near yonder banks at even,We whispered words most dear,Till love's sweet star in Heaven,Was shining, bright and clear.
Near yonder banks at even,
We whispered words most dear,
Till love's sweet star in Heaven,
Was shining, bright and clear.
We saw the river glancingBeneath the planet's light,Its ripples seemed, while dancing,To mock the gloom of night.
We saw the river glancing
Beneath the planet's light,
Its ripples seemed, while dancing,
To mock the gloom of night.
But soon the star in Heaven,By rising mists was hid,And, by us, dark and even,The river's current slid.
But soon the star in Heaven,
By rising mists was hid,
And, by us, dark and even,
The river's current slid.
So shone our love's sweet riverBeneath Hope's radiant star;But soon, in darkness, ever,It swept, in silence, far.
So shone our love's sweet river
Beneath Hope's radiant star;
But soon, in darkness, ever,
It swept, in silence, far.
To him whose soul is locked and bolted fast,By lust and guilt against the entrance there,Of heavenly light; whose soul is over-castBy mists of sin and fogs of black despair;The meaning of these worlds, not understood,Becomes a dark and cabalistic book;He not perceives that He who made, is good,And that, His love was writ in every nook.Dark, dark his every view of actual things,The diamond shines with faint, unmeaning ray;What use or beauty hath the bird's gay wings?What glory, worlds that sweep through space away?His ear is barred against the glorious song,Which Nature chants, ne'er wearying, to her God;The planetarypaeans, borne alongThrough God's high vault, descend upon a clod.Oh fool of fools, and wretched man is he,Who breathes his life in this untutored state;And, in that world to come, how dread will beHis startled soul's at last awakened fate.But, unto him, whose scales have fallen away,Whose deafness has been healed by Love Divine;A flood of music gushes in foraye,And all God's works, with deathless lustre, shine.The diamond hath a beam that, conquering, vies;The bird's gay wings assume yet gayer hues;Brighter become the rainbow's gorgeous dyes,Purer the evening and the morning dews.Sweeter the choral song of groves and founts,Grander the anthem of the starry spheres;From God's vast universe, forever, mountsA strain that charms his own and seraphs' ears.Undaunted, he surveys the ocean rage,With placid face, he feels the earthquake's shock,He knows his Lord the fury will assuage,His soul is safe, though earth's foundations rock.The Omnipotent yet liveth! He will bearThe humble soul, on His parental breast;And, when the last great throe the sky shall tear,This soul upon His arm shall surely rest.
To him whose soul is locked and bolted fast,By lust and guilt against the entrance there,Of heavenly light; whose soul is over-castBy mists of sin and fogs of black despair;
To him whose soul is locked and bolted fast,
By lust and guilt against the entrance there,
Of heavenly light; whose soul is over-cast
By mists of sin and fogs of black despair;
The meaning of these worlds, not understood,Becomes a dark and cabalistic book;He not perceives that He who made, is good,And that, His love was writ in every nook.
The meaning of these worlds, not understood,
Becomes a dark and cabalistic book;
He not perceives that He who made, is good,
And that, His love was writ in every nook.
Dark, dark his every view of actual things,The diamond shines with faint, unmeaning ray;What use or beauty hath the bird's gay wings?What glory, worlds that sweep through space away?
Dark, dark his every view of actual things,
The diamond shines with faint, unmeaning ray;
What use or beauty hath the bird's gay wings?
What glory, worlds that sweep through space away?
His ear is barred against the glorious song,Which Nature chants, ne'er wearying, to her God;The planetarypaeans, borne alongThrough God's high vault, descend upon a clod.
His ear is barred against the glorious song,
Which Nature chants, ne'er wearying, to her God;
The planetarypaeans, borne along
Through God's high vault, descend upon a clod.
Oh fool of fools, and wretched man is he,Who breathes his life in this untutored state;And, in that world to come, how dread will beHis startled soul's at last awakened fate.
Oh fool of fools, and wretched man is he,
Who breathes his life in this untutored state;
And, in that world to come, how dread will be
His startled soul's at last awakened fate.
But, unto him, whose scales have fallen away,Whose deafness has been healed by Love Divine;A flood of music gushes in foraye,And all God's works, with deathless lustre, shine.
But, unto him, whose scales have fallen away,
Whose deafness has been healed by Love Divine;
A flood of music gushes in foraye,
And all God's works, with deathless lustre, shine.
The diamond hath a beam that, conquering, vies;The bird's gay wings assume yet gayer hues;Brighter become the rainbow's gorgeous dyes,Purer the evening and the morning dews.
The diamond hath a beam that, conquering, vies;
The bird's gay wings assume yet gayer hues;
Brighter become the rainbow's gorgeous dyes,
Purer the evening and the morning dews.
Sweeter the choral song of groves and founts,Grander the anthem of the starry spheres;From God's vast universe, forever, mountsA strain that charms his own and seraphs' ears.
Sweeter the choral song of groves and founts,
Grander the anthem of the starry spheres;
From God's vast universe, forever, mounts
A strain that charms his own and seraphs' ears.
Undaunted, he surveys the ocean rage,With placid face, he feels the earthquake's shock,He knows his Lord the fury will assuage,His soul is safe, though earth's foundations rock.
Undaunted, he surveys the ocean rage,
With placid face, he feels the earthquake's shock,
He knows his Lord the fury will assuage,
His soul is safe, though earth's foundations rock.
The Omnipotent yet liveth! He will bearThe humble soul, on His parental breast;And, when the last great throe the sky shall tear,This soul upon His arm shall surely rest.
The Omnipotent yet liveth! He will bear
The humble soul, on His parental breast;
And, when the last great throe the sky shall tear,
This soul upon His arm shall surely rest.
What is the gilded chaplet worth,That decks a conqueror's brow?There is no conqueror on earthOf nobler kind, than thou,For bloodless victories are thine,Whose splendor never shall decline.The thanks of men redeemed from shame,The smiles of womanhood,The praise of great ones wed to fame,And of the humble good,A victor's monument, shall be,Through coming ages, unto thee.
What is the gilded chaplet worth,That decks a conqueror's brow?There is no conqueror on earthOf nobler kind, than thou,For bloodless victories are thine,Whose splendor never shall decline.
What is the gilded chaplet worth,
That decks a conqueror's brow?
There is no conqueror on earth
Of nobler kind, than thou,
For bloodless victories are thine,
Whose splendor never shall decline.
The thanks of men redeemed from shame,The smiles of womanhood,The praise of great ones wed to fame,And of the humble good,A victor's monument, shall be,Through coming ages, unto thee.
The thanks of men redeemed from shame,
The smiles of womanhood,
The praise of great ones wed to fame,
And of the humble good,
A victor's monument, shall be,
Through coming ages, unto thee.
Where'er the great have lived or died,A charm pervades the very air;And generous spirits, pausing, oftWill pour the heart's deep homage there.Thus, thou, sequestered, simple spot!Where dwelt a mighty one of yore,Becomest a shrine, where pilgrims kneel,From earth's remotest, every shore.Whose fame, where'er a patriot breathesA thought of freedom, has been heard;And fallen on tyrant's startled souls,Like coming fate's prophetic word.Yet, shame upon this senseless age,Which blindly worships guilty gold,No votive marble shows the tomb,Whose vault received his ashes cold.Alas! that this should be our shame!For which even yet our eyes shall weep;Nought points the world's admiring eye,To where its friend's sad relics sleep.
Where'er the great have lived or died,A charm pervades the very air;And generous spirits, pausing, oftWill pour the heart's deep homage there.
Where'er the great have lived or died,
A charm pervades the very air;
And generous spirits, pausing, oft
Will pour the heart's deep homage there.
Thus, thou, sequestered, simple spot!Where dwelt a mighty one of yore,Becomest a shrine, where pilgrims kneel,From earth's remotest, every shore.
Thus, thou, sequestered, simple spot!
Where dwelt a mighty one of yore,
Becomest a shrine, where pilgrims kneel,
From earth's remotest, every shore.
Whose fame, where'er a patriot breathesA thought of freedom, has been heard;And fallen on tyrant's startled souls,Like coming fate's prophetic word.
Whose fame, where'er a patriot breathes
A thought of freedom, has been heard;
And fallen on tyrant's startled souls,
Like coming fate's prophetic word.
Yet, shame upon this senseless age,Which blindly worships guilty gold,No votive marble shows the tomb,Whose vault received his ashes cold.
Yet, shame upon this senseless age,
Which blindly worships guilty gold,
No votive marble shows the tomb,
Whose vault received his ashes cold.
Alas! that this should be our shame!For which even yet our eyes shall weep;Nought points the world's admiring eye,To where its friend's sad relics sleep.
Alas! that this should be our shame!
For which even yet our eyes shall weep;
Nought points the world's admiring eye,
To where its friend's sad relics sleep.
Now the final stroke is over!And the heart hath ceased its beat;And that form so palely beauteous,In a ghastly winding sheet.She has pass'd the gloomy portal,She has reached the realm of light;—And there is a heavy silence,While we sit and muse to-night.She was a flower, fading quickly,From before our wistful eyes,Giving back her spirit fragrance,Early to the eager skies.But she parted all so lovely,Growing brighter day by day,That our souls could scarce regret her,Passing, like a dream, away.Now that frail and beauteous flower,Which scarce opened here below,Scattering round a heavenly sweetness,On the hearts which bled with woe;By a death which maketh living,Changed into a lovelier flower,Gives a fragrance far more lovely,Round about a deathless bower.Oh! weep not for this, fond parents!Though your earthly eyes be dim—Yet—she blooms in fadeless beauty,Where the Seraphs chant their hymn;Where a heaven, serenely glorious,Bends above a paradise,Clad in tints of gayer splendor,Than our dream-land's gorgeous dyes.Yes! she blooms in deathless beauty,In that brighter world than ours;Where the happy saints and angels,Gleam her glorious sister flowers;Where no frost, no killing tempest,E'er shall fall, or fiercely blow,But mild zephyrs, waked on roses,Round her softly come and go.There she yet is pure and lovelyAs she was with us below—And our hearts should cease to mourn her,When her God hath bade us know—That, within that peaceful heaven,She is happier than before,And that we should strive to meet her,When, like hers, our toil is o'er.
Now the final stroke is over!And the heart hath ceased its beat;And that form so palely beauteous,In a ghastly winding sheet.She has pass'd the gloomy portal,She has reached the realm of light;—And there is a heavy silence,While we sit and muse to-night.
Now the final stroke is over!
And the heart hath ceased its beat;
And that form so palely beauteous,
In a ghastly winding sheet.
She has pass'd the gloomy portal,
She has reached the realm of light;—
And there is a heavy silence,
While we sit and muse to-night.
She was a flower, fading quickly,From before our wistful eyes,Giving back her spirit fragrance,Early to the eager skies.But she parted all so lovely,Growing brighter day by day,That our souls could scarce regret her,Passing, like a dream, away.
She was a flower, fading quickly,
From before our wistful eyes,
Giving back her spirit fragrance,
Early to the eager skies.
But she parted all so lovely,
Growing brighter day by day,
That our souls could scarce regret her,
Passing, like a dream, away.
Now that frail and beauteous flower,Which scarce opened here below,Scattering round a heavenly sweetness,On the hearts which bled with woe;By a death which maketh living,Changed into a lovelier flower,Gives a fragrance far more lovely,Round about a deathless bower.
Now that frail and beauteous flower,
Which scarce opened here below,
Scattering round a heavenly sweetness,
On the hearts which bled with woe;
By a death which maketh living,
Changed into a lovelier flower,
Gives a fragrance far more lovely,
Round about a deathless bower.
Oh! weep not for this, fond parents!Though your earthly eyes be dim—Yet—she blooms in fadeless beauty,Where the Seraphs chant their hymn;Where a heaven, serenely glorious,Bends above a paradise,Clad in tints of gayer splendor,Than our dream-land's gorgeous dyes.
Oh! weep not for this, fond parents!
Though your earthly eyes be dim—
Yet—she blooms in fadeless beauty,
Where the Seraphs chant their hymn;
Where a heaven, serenely glorious,
Bends above a paradise,
Clad in tints of gayer splendor,
Than our dream-land's gorgeous dyes.
Yes! she blooms in deathless beauty,In that brighter world than ours;Where the happy saints and angels,Gleam her glorious sister flowers;Where no frost, no killing tempest,E'er shall fall, or fiercely blow,But mild zephyrs, waked on roses,Round her softly come and go.
Yes! she blooms in deathless beauty,
In that brighter world than ours;
Where the happy saints and angels,
Gleam her glorious sister flowers;
Where no frost, no killing tempest,
E'er shall fall, or fiercely blow,
But mild zephyrs, waked on roses,
Round her softly come and go.
There she yet is pure and lovelyAs she was with us below—And our hearts should cease to mourn her,When her God hath bade us know—That, within that peaceful heaven,She is happier than before,And that we should strive to meet her,When, like hers, our toil is o'er.
There she yet is pure and lovely
As she was with us below—
And our hearts should cease to mourn her,
When her God hath bade us know—
That, within that peaceful heaven,
She is happier than before,
And that we should strive to meet her,
When, like hers, our toil is o'er.
The fairest of our village maids,Was blue-eyed Lilly May;Her brow was decked with golden curls,Her laugh was wild and gay:And spotless as a ray of heaven,Young love within her lay.The rose which decked the fairy vale,Near by our rural town,Showed not a deeper tint of blood,Than dyed her cheeks of down,And innocence like that of heaven,Her fair, young head did crown.Oh Lilly May! Oh! Lilly May!My heart was all thine own,Earth ne'er gave me a sweeter sound,Than thy low, loving tone;For we each other's first loves were,And each heard each alone!Oh Lilly May! I curse the dayThat tempted me to part!And ever haunting, strange regretTo my sad soul thou art;I fear that I have deeply sinned,And broken thy true heart.
The fairest of our village maids,Was blue-eyed Lilly May;Her brow was decked with golden curls,Her laugh was wild and gay:And spotless as a ray of heaven,Young love within her lay.
The fairest of our village maids,
Was blue-eyed Lilly May;
Her brow was decked with golden curls,
Her laugh was wild and gay:
And spotless as a ray of heaven,
Young love within her lay.
The rose which decked the fairy vale,Near by our rural town,Showed not a deeper tint of blood,Than dyed her cheeks of down,And innocence like that of heaven,Her fair, young head did crown.
The rose which decked the fairy vale,
Near by our rural town,
Showed not a deeper tint of blood,
Than dyed her cheeks of down,
And innocence like that of heaven,
Her fair, young head did crown.
Oh Lilly May! Oh! Lilly May!My heart was all thine own,Earth ne'er gave me a sweeter sound,Than thy low, loving tone;For we each other's first loves were,And each heard each alone!
Oh Lilly May! Oh! Lilly May!
My heart was all thine own,
Earth ne'er gave me a sweeter sound,
Than thy low, loving tone;
For we each other's first loves were,
And each heard each alone!
Oh Lilly May! I curse the dayThat tempted me to part!And ever haunting, strange regretTo my sad soul thou art;I fear that I have deeply sinned,And broken thy true heart.
Oh Lilly May! I curse the day
That tempted me to part!
And ever haunting, strange regret
To my sad soul thou art;
I fear that I have deeply sinned,
And broken thy true heart.
When Hesper shows his rosiate lamp of love,High in yon lofty arch of dewy blue;When gentle dews distilling from above,Sparkle upon the spreading grass and groves of yew—When sinks to rest the faintly murmuring breeze,And dim and indistinct the landscape view—Lonely I stray among the poplar treesAnd muse, dear Eleanor, dear love, on you.When Luna looks upon yon mountains brown,And gilds the winding stream with silvery hue,And Silence, like a fall of whitest down,Falls where the sylphs their elfin dance renewIn lonely glens and cliffs of ivy green;And human forms lie bathed in sleep's soft dew—Silent I stray along the fairy scene,And muse, dear Eleanor, dear love, on you.When golden streaks along the East appear,Spreading and flashing o'er that sea of blue;And springs at length with aspect bright and clear,Great Sol upon the glittering world of dew—The wakened Hours commence their wonted race,And Nature strikes her living harp anew—Smiling I scan Creation's glorious face,And muse, dear Eleanor, dear love, on you.
When Hesper shows his rosiate lamp of love,High in yon lofty arch of dewy blue;When gentle dews distilling from above,Sparkle upon the spreading grass and groves of yew—When sinks to rest the faintly murmuring breeze,And dim and indistinct the landscape view—Lonely I stray among the poplar treesAnd muse, dear Eleanor, dear love, on you.
When Hesper shows his rosiate lamp of love,
High in yon lofty arch of dewy blue;
When gentle dews distilling from above,
Sparkle upon the spreading grass and groves of yew—
When sinks to rest the faintly murmuring breeze,
And dim and indistinct the landscape view—
Lonely I stray among the poplar trees
And muse, dear Eleanor, dear love, on you.
When Luna looks upon yon mountains brown,And gilds the winding stream with silvery hue,And Silence, like a fall of whitest down,Falls where the sylphs their elfin dance renewIn lonely glens and cliffs of ivy green;And human forms lie bathed in sleep's soft dew—Silent I stray along the fairy scene,And muse, dear Eleanor, dear love, on you.
When Luna looks upon yon mountains brown,
And gilds the winding stream with silvery hue,
And Silence, like a fall of whitest down,
Falls where the sylphs their elfin dance renew
In lonely glens and cliffs of ivy green;
And human forms lie bathed in sleep's soft dew—
Silent I stray along the fairy scene,
And muse, dear Eleanor, dear love, on you.
When golden streaks along the East appear,Spreading and flashing o'er that sea of blue;And springs at length with aspect bright and clear,Great Sol upon the glittering world of dew—The wakened Hours commence their wonted race,And Nature strikes her living harp anew—Smiling I scan Creation's glorious face,And muse, dear Eleanor, dear love, on you.
When golden streaks along the East appear,
Spreading and flashing o'er that sea of blue;
And springs at length with aspect bright and clear,
Great Sol upon the glittering world of dew—
The wakened Hours commence their wonted race,
And Nature strikes her living harp anew—
Smiling I scan Creation's glorious face,
And muse, dear Eleanor, dear love, on you.
'Twas evening's hour of magic power,The sun went brightly down,And shadows fell as with a spell,Along the mountains brown.On high the sky, with gorgeous dye,Then glittered bright and wide,And westward far, the evening star,Came trembling like a bride.The birds did chime their drowsy rhyme,As day was getting o'er,The rippling wave, did sweetly laveThe winding, pebbly shore.There walked beside that crystal tide,Fair Holston's lovely stream,My lady bright, at soft twilight,In beauty's matchless gleam.And I did walk and softly talkUnto her beauty there,And deemed that she more fair must be,Than Goddess, wrought of air.Her hand in mine—"Oh! be thou mine,Nor scorn my pleading sigh,"Yes"—still I cried, "be thou my bride,My own, until we die!"Now as that tide doth onward glideTo reach the glittering sea,With sparkling glow, our souls will flow,To bright eternity.
'Twas evening's hour of magic power,The sun went brightly down,And shadows fell as with a spell,Along the mountains brown.
'Twas evening's hour of magic power,
The sun went brightly down,
And shadows fell as with a spell,
Along the mountains brown.
On high the sky, with gorgeous dye,Then glittered bright and wide,And westward far, the evening star,Came trembling like a bride.
On high the sky, with gorgeous dye,
Then glittered bright and wide,
And westward far, the evening star,
Came trembling like a bride.
The birds did chime their drowsy rhyme,As day was getting o'er,The rippling wave, did sweetly laveThe winding, pebbly shore.
The birds did chime their drowsy rhyme,
As day was getting o'er,
The rippling wave, did sweetly lave
The winding, pebbly shore.
There walked beside that crystal tide,Fair Holston's lovely stream,My lady bright, at soft twilight,In beauty's matchless gleam.
There walked beside that crystal tide,
Fair Holston's lovely stream,
My lady bright, at soft twilight,
In beauty's matchless gleam.
And I did walk and softly talkUnto her beauty there,And deemed that she more fair must be,Than Goddess, wrought of air.
And I did walk and softly talk
Unto her beauty there,
And deemed that she more fair must be,
Than Goddess, wrought of air.
Her hand in mine—"Oh! be thou mine,Nor scorn my pleading sigh,"Yes"—still I cried, "be thou my bride,My own, until we die!"
Her hand in mine—"Oh! be thou mine,
Nor scorn my pleading sigh,
"Yes"—still I cried, "be thou my bride,
My own, until we die!"
Now as that tide doth onward glideTo reach the glittering sea,With sparkling glow, our souls will flow,To bright eternity.
Now as that tide doth onward glide
To reach the glittering sea,
With sparkling glow, our souls will flow,
To bright eternity.
Last eve ere sleep had closed mine eyes,To me there came a dream,That when the saffron morn should riseO'er lovely hill and stream;I should behold a vision moveBy yonder crystal spring—A vision of an earthly dove,With pure and blessed wing.I thought the days of old romance,Would now return to earth;And, in that soft and placid trance,So sweet—yet not like mirth—I saw the Dryads gently glidingThrough shadowy groves of myrtle—AndNereidestheir glances hiding,And Venus with her turtle.Alas! our brightest dreams deceive!The morning rises, bright and sweet,And every thing in nature waitsThy fairy face and form to greet;But they, alas! will wait in vain,As I, with aching heart,Whilst wrapt in other joy or pain,In other scenes, thou art.Thus ever from our path below,Some vision lovelier far,Than Eden's bird, or glittering gem,Or beam of Beauty's star—Glides swiftly by—and we are leftTo mourn the fleeting bliss,That mocks us, as we sadly thread,So dark a scene as this.
Last eve ere sleep had closed mine eyes,To me there came a dream,That when the saffron morn should riseO'er lovely hill and stream;I should behold a vision moveBy yonder crystal spring—A vision of an earthly dove,With pure and blessed wing.
Last eve ere sleep had closed mine eyes,
To me there came a dream,
That when the saffron morn should rise
O'er lovely hill and stream;
I should behold a vision move
By yonder crystal spring—
A vision of an earthly dove,
With pure and blessed wing.
I thought the days of old romance,Would now return to earth;And, in that soft and placid trance,So sweet—yet not like mirth—I saw the Dryads gently glidingThrough shadowy groves of myrtle—AndNereidestheir glances hiding,And Venus with her turtle.
I thought the days of old romance,
Would now return to earth;
And, in that soft and placid trance,
So sweet—yet not like mirth—
I saw the Dryads gently gliding
Through shadowy groves of myrtle—
AndNereidestheir glances hiding,
And Venus with her turtle.
Alas! our brightest dreams deceive!The morning rises, bright and sweet,And every thing in nature waitsThy fairy face and form to greet;But they, alas! will wait in vain,As I, with aching heart,Whilst wrapt in other joy or pain,In other scenes, thou art.
Alas! our brightest dreams deceive!
The morning rises, bright and sweet,
And every thing in nature waits
Thy fairy face and form to greet;
But they, alas! will wait in vain,
As I, with aching heart,
Whilst wrapt in other joy or pain,
In other scenes, thou art.
Thus ever from our path below,Some vision lovelier far,Than Eden's bird, or glittering gem,Or beam of Beauty's star—Glides swiftly by—and we are leftTo mourn the fleeting bliss,That mocks us, as we sadly thread,So dark a scene as this.
Thus ever from our path below,
Some vision lovelier far,
Than Eden's bird, or glittering gem,
Or beam of Beauty's star—
Glides swiftly by—and we are left
To mourn the fleeting bliss,
That mocks us, as we sadly thread,
So dark a scene as this.