I dreamed last night, my lady-love,A dear, delicious dream;'Twas not in bower or blooming grove,Nor by the sylvan stream.'Twas in thy father's noble hall,In dreams I saw thee, lady love!Yet 'twas no gorgeous festival,No flowers beneath—no lights above.It was a sacred, simple scene,Thy smiling sisters gathered round,With kindly air, and gentle mien,And spoke—a magic, home-born sound!Then thou and I, sweet lady-love!Roved out amid the garden green,Whilst Day and Night together strove,Along the soft, romantic scene.And then I praised the charming view—The lofty peaks and rosiate skies—The vallies, in their vernal hue—The sky's still brightening, crimson dyes.And oh! I saw thy angel smile,It smiled its lovelight all on me!My heart was heaving high the while,And still my eyes saw nought but thee.I took thy trembling hand in mine,Then clasped thee to my happy breast,And then those honeylips of thineMy forehead with their kisses blest.Last night I dreamed, sweet lady-love!This dear, delicious dream;Oh! could I waking pleasures proveSo sweet as those that seem.
I dreamed last night, my lady-love,A dear, delicious dream;'Twas not in bower or blooming grove,Nor by the sylvan stream.
I dreamed last night, my lady-love,
A dear, delicious dream;
'Twas not in bower or blooming grove,
Nor by the sylvan stream.
'Twas in thy father's noble hall,In dreams I saw thee, lady love!Yet 'twas no gorgeous festival,No flowers beneath—no lights above.
'Twas in thy father's noble hall,
In dreams I saw thee, lady love!
Yet 'twas no gorgeous festival,
No flowers beneath—no lights above.
It was a sacred, simple scene,Thy smiling sisters gathered round,With kindly air, and gentle mien,And spoke—a magic, home-born sound!
It was a sacred, simple scene,
Thy smiling sisters gathered round,
With kindly air, and gentle mien,
And spoke—a magic, home-born sound!
Then thou and I, sweet lady-love!Roved out amid the garden green,Whilst Day and Night together strove,Along the soft, romantic scene.
Then thou and I, sweet lady-love!
Roved out amid the garden green,
Whilst Day and Night together strove,
Along the soft, romantic scene.
And then I praised the charming view—The lofty peaks and rosiate skies—The vallies, in their vernal hue—The sky's still brightening, crimson dyes.
And then I praised the charming view—
The lofty peaks and rosiate skies—
The vallies, in their vernal hue—
The sky's still brightening, crimson dyes.
And oh! I saw thy angel smile,It smiled its lovelight all on me!My heart was heaving high the while,And still my eyes saw nought but thee.
And oh! I saw thy angel smile,
It smiled its lovelight all on me!
My heart was heaving high the while,
And still my eyes saw nought but thee.
I took thy trembling hand in mine,Then clasped thee to my happy breast,And then those honeylips of thineMy forehead with their kisses blest.
I took thy trembling hand in mine,
Then clasped thee to my happy breast,
And then those honeylips of thine
My forehead with their kisses blest.
Last night I dreamed, sweet lady-love!This dear, delicious dream;Oh! could I waking pleasures proveSo sweet as those that seem.
Last night I dreamed, sweet lady-love!
This dear, delicious dream;
Oh! could I waking pleasures prove
So sweet as those that seem.
The Sabbath morn! How beautiful,How peaceful and how blest;An Angel's whisper seems to lullThe weary world to rest.Hark! how the churchbell's music stealsFrom yonder sacred fane;Then echoes, like a heavenly sound,O'er neighboring hill and plain.And see! along each different way,To yonder temple fair,With soft, slow step, and solemn mien,The village folk repair.And now, great Nature sends on highHer orison of prayer,And wears upon her sacred faceA smile divinely fair.
The Sabbath morn! How beautiful,How peaceful and how blest;An Angel's whisper seems to lullThe weary world to rest.
The Sabbath morn! How beautiful,
How peaceful and how blest;
An Angel's whisper seems to lull
The weary world to rest.
Hark! how the churchbell's music stealsFrom yonder sacred fane;Then echoes, like a heavenly sound,O'er neighboring hill and plain.
Hark! how the churchbell's music steals
From yonder sacred fane;
Then echoes, like a heavenly sound,
O'er neighboring hill and plain.
And see! along each different way,To yonder temple fair,With soft, slow step, and solemn mien,The village folk repair.
And see! along each different way,
To yonder temple fair,
With soft, slow step, and solemn mien,
The village folk repair.
And now, great Nature sends on highHer orison of prayer,And wears upon her sacred faceA smile divinely fair.
And now, great Nature sends on high
Her orison of prayer,
And wears upon her sacred face
A smile divinely fair.
'Twas a cloudless night in August, and the earth all silent lay,With hills, and glittering rivers and mountains far away,And angels then seemed bending through the whiteness of the beams,Whispering to weary mortals soft and sorrow-soothing dreams.Oh! surely, eye of mortal never gazed on fairer scene,Than there lay sweetly dreaming in that loveliness and sheen:—But what is darkening yonder? and hark! that distant sound,That comes like ghostly mutters faintly o'er the echoing ground.And now that lightning flashes, like sulphureous light of Hell,And now the winds come rushing o'er the far off wood and fell.That cloud grows quickly larger, and the lightning flashing more—Hark! Earth and Heaven are rocking in a consentaneous roar!And heavily the deluge floods the hills, the vales, the streams,And beasts howl out for terror and men start up from dreams.Oh! 'tis a dreadful scene to-night, the dreadest e'er we saw,The hardest heart that beateth now, in watery fear will thaw.But lo! 'twas but a moment, like a wayward Beauty's wrath,And the moon resumes in heaven, see! her all serener path—And the clouds receding slowly rest upon the horizon round,And the katydids and waters make the only living sound.'Tis yet a night of loveliness, and fondly we may deem,That Heaven and Earth are resting in the beauty of a Dream.
'Twas a cloudless night in August, and the earth all silent lay,With hills, and glittering rivers and mountains far away,And angels then seemed bending through the whiteness of the beams,Whispering to weary mortals soft and sorrow-soothing dreams.Oh! surely, eye of mortal never gazed on fairer scene,Than there lay sweetly dreaming in that loveliness and sheen:—But what is darkening yonder? and hark! that distant sound,That comes like ghostly mutters faintly o'er the echoing ground.And now that lightning flashes, like sulphureous light of Hell,And now the winds come rushing o'er the far off wood and fell.That cloud grows quickly larger, and the lightning flashing more—Hark! Earth and Heaven are rocking in a consentaneous roar!And heavily the deluge floods the hills, the vales, the streams,And beasts howl out for terror and men start up from dreams.Oh! 'tis a dreadful scene to-night, the dreadest e'er we saw,The hardest heart that beateth now, in watery fear will thaw.But lo! 'twas but a moment, like a wayward Beauty's wrath,And the moon resumes in heaven, see! her all serener path—And the clouds receding slowly rest upon the horizon round,And the katydids and waters make the only living sound.'Tis yet a night of loveliness, and fondly we may deem,That Heaven and Earth are resting in the beauty of a Dream.
'Twas a cloudless night in August, and the earth all silent lay,
With hills, and glittering rivers and mountains far away,
And angels then seemed bending through the whiteness of the beams,
Whispering to weary mortals soft and sorrow-soothing dreams.
Oh! surely, eye of mortal never gazed on fairer scene,
Than there lay sweetly dreaming in that loveliness and sheen:—
But what is darkening yonder? and hark! that distant sound,
That comes like ghostly mutters faintly o'er the echoing ground.
And now that lightning flashes, like sulphureous light of Hell,
And now the winds come rushing o'er the far off wood and fell.
That cloud grows quickly larger, and the lightning flashing more—
Hark! Earth and Heaven are rocking in a consentaneous roar!
And heavily the deluge floods the hills, the vales, the streams,
And beasts howl out for terror and men start up from dreams.
Oh! 'tis a dreadful scene to-night, the dreadest e'er we saw,
The hardest heart that beateth now, in watery fear will thaw.
But lo! 'twas but a moment, like a wayward Beauty's wrath,
And the moon resumes in heaven, see! her all serener path—
And the clouds receding slowly rest upon the horizon round,
And the katydids and waters make the only living sound.
'Tis yet a night of loveliness, and fondly we may deem,
That Heaven and Earth are resting in the beauty of a Dream.
Oh yes, there's a land, far away, out of sight,Where the fairest of flowers forever bloom bright—Where the groves never wither—the buds never die—And bright rivers of crystal forever roll by.'Tis the clime of the Christian—the home of the blest—Where the wretched are happy—the weary at rest.'Neath its bowers in bloom, by its waters so still,The righteous shall walk, free from anguish and ill;—And they never shall pass from its portals again,For their pleasures forever and aye shall remain.
Oh yes, there's a land, far away, out of sight,Where the fairest of flowers forever bloom bright—Where the groves never wither—the buds never die—And bright rivers of crystal forever roll by.'Tis the clime of the Christian—the home of the blest—Where the wretched are happy—the weary at rest.'Neath its bowers in bloom, by its waters so still,The righteous shall walk, free from anguish and ill;—And they never shall pass from its portals again,For their pleasures forever and aye shall remain.
Oh yes, there's a land, far away, out of sight,
Where the fairest of flowers forever bloom bright—
Where the groves never wither—the buds never die—
And bright rivers of crystal forever roll by.
'Tis the clime of the Christian—the home of the blest—
Where the wretched are happy—the weary at rest.
'Neath its bowers in bloom, by its waters so still,
The righteous shall walk, free from anguish and ill;—
And they never shall pass from its portals again,
For their pleasures forever and aye shall remain.
The flowers you gave, dear girl, will fade,Nor shun the common lot, to die;The thoughts they spoke, still undecayed,Shall bloom immortal as the sky.Beneath the sun's meridian ray,They'll fade and leave no trace behind:The love they woke shall ne'er decay,But be immortal like the Mind.
The flowers you gave, dear girl, will fade,Nor shun the common lot, to die;The thoughts they spoke, still undecayed,Shall bloom immortal as the sky.
The flowers you gave, dear girl, will fade,
Nor shun the common lot, to die;
The thoughts they spoke, still undecayed,
Shall bloom immortal as the sky.
Beneath the sun's meridian ray,They'll fade and leave no trace behind:The love they woke shall ne'er decay,But be immortal like the Mind.
Beneath the sun's meridian ray,
They'll fade and leave no trace behind:
The love they woke shall ne'er decay,
But be immortal like the Mind.
Come back to me, my absent friend!Since thou wast far away,The vernal flowers have lost some charms,Less bright the vernal day.The wild, sweet voices of the fields;Of birds amid the sky;Of streams that wander through the wood,With dreamy melody;Sound not so sweet—and shine less bright,Unto my pensive soul,Since thou wentest forth, O dearest friend,To brook the world's control.Come back to me! come back to me!Let not the dream of fame,Too long allure thy lingering feetTo worship at a name.Yet, I would have thee nobly striveTo win that glorious meed,But still, of Woman's saving love,Hast thou not urgent need?Come back to me! come back to me!Thou never yet hast known,How lone and desolate I feelWhen left, by thee, alone.The dove without her loving mate,Repeats a song like mine—Thus seems, o'er sad, neglected love,To murmur and repine.Come back to me—oh! quickly come!The joy that I shall knowWill more than pay for all this depthOf dark and bitter woe,Which thou hast doomed my heart to feelThrough many a weary day;And I will then forgive thy fault,In lingering thus away.
Come back to me, my absent friend!Since thou wast far away,The vernal flowers have lost some charms,Less bright the vernal day.The wild, sweet voices of the fields;Of birds amid the sky;Of streams that wander through the wood,With dreamy melody;Sound not so sweet—and shine less bright,Unto my pensive soul,Since thou wentest forth, O dearest friend,To brook the world's control.
Come back to me, my absent friend!
Since thou wast far away,
The vernal flowers have lost some charms,
Less bright the vernal day.
The wild, sweet voices of the fields;
Of birds amid the sky;
Of streams that wander through the wood,
With dreamy melody;
Sound not so sweet—and shine less bright,
Unto my pensive soul,
Since thou wentest forth, O dearest friend,
To brook the world's control.
Come back to me! come back to me!Let not the dream of fame,Too long allure thy lingering feetTo worship at a name.
Come back to me! come back to me!
Let not the dream of fame,
Too long allure thy lingering feet
To worship at a name.
Yet, I would have thee nobly striveTo win that glorious meed,But still, of Woman's saving love,Hast thou not urgent need?
Yet, I would have thee nobly strive
To win that glorious meed,
But still, of Woman's saving love,
Hast thou not urgent need?
Come back to me! come back to me!Thou never yet hast known,How lone and desolate I feelWhen left, by thee, alone.
Come back to me! come back to me!
Thou never yet hast known,
How lone and desolate I feel
When left, by thee, alone.
The dove without her loving mate,Repeats a song like mine—Thus seems, o'er sad, neglected love,To murmur and repine.
The dove without her loving mate,
Repeats a song like mine—
Thus seems, o'er sad, neglected love,
To murmur and repine.
Come back to me—oh! quickly come!The joy that I shall knowWill more than pay for all this depthOf dark and bitter woe,
Come back to me—oh! quickly come!
The joy that I shall know
Will more than pay for all this depth
Of dark and bitter woe,
Which thou hast doomed my heart to feelThrough many a weary day;And I will then forgive thy fault,In lingering thus away.
Which thou hast doomed my heart to feel
Through many a weary day;
And I will then forgive thy fault,
In lingering thus away.
Oh! blue-eyed maid, I sigh for thee,A gentle twilight's close,When music dies upon the lea,And dew drops wet the rose.I look on tranquil nature round,And list to music's fall,And think but half their charms are found,Since thou art far from all.Oh, blue-eyed maid! the gorgeous beamsThat light a monarch's hall,The glittering wealth of golden streams,To me were darkness all;Unless thy light of loveliness,Adorned the regal scene,And thou bedecked in royal dress,Shouldst reign my loving Queen.
Oh! blue-eyed maid, I sigh for thee,A gentle twilight's close,When music dies upon the lea,And dew drops wet the rose.I look on tranquil nature round,And list to music's fall,And think but half their charms are found,Since thou art far from all.
Oh! blue-eyed maid, I sigh for thee,
A gentle twilight's close,
When music dies upon the lea,
And dew drops wet the rose.
I look on tranquil nature round,
And list to music's fall,
And think but half their charms are found,
Since thou art far from all.
Oh, blue-eyed maid! the gorgeous beamsThat light a monarch's hall,The glittering wealth of golden streams,To me were darkness all;Unless thy light of loveliness,Adorned the regal scene,And thou bedecked in royal dress,Shouldst reign my loving Queen.
Oh, blue-eyed maid! the gorgeous beams
That light a monarch's hall,
The glittering wealth of golden streams,
To me were darkness all;
Unless thy light of loveliness,
Adorned the regal scene,
And thou bedecked in royal dress,
Shouldst reign my loving Queen.
Oh, Mary, when afar from thee,And mountains rise between,And I am wandering pensivelyThrough many a varied scene;It soothes to bid my fancy stray,On freest wings, to thee,And cherish all the memoriesSo very dear to me.I view again thy face, thy form,Thy look, thy ready smile,I hear again those magic words,That all my soul beguile.I sit beside thy chair, and gaze,Upon thy willing face,And there behold the speaking glowOf that mysterious grace,Which binds my constant soul to thee,And makes, through all life's years,All that can make thy heart rejoice,Or bathe thy cheek with tears,Awake in me the thrill of joy,Or bow my soul in grief;And makes me strive to make thee blest,Or yield thy pangs relief.Yes, Mary, I will love but thee,Of all thy lovely race;Our hearts shall find in life one home,In death one resting place.And, if I linger now afar,'Tis fortune's hard decree—Oh! were the dove's swift pinions mine,How would I fly to thee.Those charms, with memory's feeble lightOn me would cease to beam;Their rays, with present, perfect warmth,Upon my heart would gleam.Thus, by thy side, so sweetly near,How blest to pass my life;To press thy gentle hand in mine,And call thee my sweet wife.If Adam lost his happiness,Bewailed with ceaseless sighs,With thee, my Eve, I scarce could wishAnother Paradise.
Oh, Mary, when afar from thee,And mountains rise between,And I am wandering pensivelyThrough many a varied scene;
Oh, Mary, when afar from thee,
And mountains rise between,
And I am wandering pensively
Through many a varied scene;
It soothes to bid my fancy stray,On freest wings, to thee,And cherish all the memoriesSo very dear to me.
It soothes to bid my fancy stray,
On freest wings, to thee,
And cherish all the memories
So very dear to me.
I view again thy face, thy form,Thy look, thy ready smile,I hear again those magic words,That all my soul beguile.
I view again thy face, thy form,
Thy look, thy ready smile,
I hear again those magic words,
That all my soul beguile.
I sit beside thy chair, and gaze,Upon thy willing face,And there behold the speaking glowOf that mysterious grace,
I sit beside thy chair, and gaze,
Upon thy willing face,
And there behold the speaking glow
Of that mysterious grace,
Which binds my constant soul to thee,And makes, through all life's years,All that can make thy heart rejoice,Or bathe thy cheek with tears,
Which binds my constant soul to thee,
And makes, through all life's years,
All that can make thy heart rejoice,
Or bathe thy cheek with tears,
Awake in me the thrill of joy,Or bow my soul in grief;And makes me strive to make thee blest,Or yield thy pangs relief.
Awake in me the thrill of joy,
Or bow my soul in grief;
And makes me strive to make thee blest,
Or yield thy pangs relief.
Yes, Mary, I will love but thee,Of all thy lovely race;Our hearts shall find in life one home,In death one resting place.
Yes, Mary, I will love but thee,
Of all thy lovely race;
Our hearts shall find in life one home,
In death one resting place.
And, if I linger now afar,'Tis fortune's hard decree—Oh! were the dove's swift pinions mine,How would I fly to thee.
And, if I linger now afar,
'Tis fortune's hard decree—
Oh! were the dove's swift pinions mine,
How would I fly to thee.
Those charms, with memory's feeble lightOn me would cease to beam;Their rays, with present, perfect warmth,Upon my heart would gleam.
Those charms, with memory's feeble light
On me would cease to beam;
Their rays, with present, perfect warmth,
Upon my heart would gleam.
Thus, by thy side, so sweetly near,How blest to pass my life;To press thy gentle hand in mine,And call thee my sweet wife.
Thus, by thy side, so sweetly near,
How blest to pass my life;
To press thy gentle hand in mine,
And call thee my sweet wife.
If Adam lost his happiness,Bewailed with ceaseless sighs,With thee, my Eve, I scarce could wishAnother Paradise.
If Adam lost his happiness,
Bewailed with ceaseless sighs,
With thee, my Eve, I scarce could wish
Another Paradise.
Though thou wast passing fair,And wondrous beauty crown'd thee,And Fancy's robe most rare,Forever brightly bound thee:I could not teach my heart,To bow in love before thee,Nor bid the death depart,Which now hangs darkly o'er thee.I know a hectic flushOn thy sweet cheek is burning,That thou dost stilly hushThy wrung heart's deepest yearning.I know that in thy breast,A serpent closely lurking,Forbids thee e'er to rest,Thy utter ruin working.When, in the chilly ground,Thy lovely form lies sleeping,Where vi'lets spring around,And purest dews are weeping:Thy sinless soul ascendingAbove this dreary sod,Shall feel its being blendingIn deathless love with God.
Though thou wast passing fair,And wondrous beauty crown'd thee,And Fancy's robe most rare,Forever brightly bound thee:
Though thou wast passing fair,
And wondrous beauty crown'd thee,
And Fancy's robe most rare,
Forever brightly bound thee:
I could not teach my heart,To bow in love before thee,Nor bid the death depart,Which now hangs darkly o'er thee.
I could not teach my heart,
To bow in love before thee,
Nor bid the death depart,
Which now hangs darkly o'er thee.
I know a hectic flushOn thy sweet cheek is burning,That thou dost stilly hushThy wrung heart's deepest yearning.
I know a hectic flush
On thy sweet cheek is burning,
That thou dost stilly hush
Thy wrung heart's deepest yearning.
I know that in thy breast,A serpent closely lurking,Forbids thee e'er to rest,Thy utter ruin working.
I know that in thy breast,
A serpent closely lurking,
Forbids thee e'er to rest,
Thy utter ruin working.
When, in the chilly ground,Thy lovely form lies sleeping,Where vi'lets spring around,And purest dews are weeping:
When, in the chilly ground,
Thy lovely form lies sleeping,
Where vi'lets spring around,
And purest dews are weeping:
Thy sinless soul ascendingAbove this dreary sod,Shall feel its being blendingIn deathless love with God.
Thy sinless soul ascending
Above this dreary sod,
Shall feel its being blending
In deathless love with God.
Ah! now I am beloved by him,And sweet it is, to think,That life no more will be so dim,To make my spirit sink.Ah! now I am beloved by him;The secret I will keep;In silence to the mantling brim,I'll quaff this cup so deep.Beloved by him! beloved by him!How dear the tender thought!My eyes in happy tears do swim,My heart with bliss is fraught.Beloved by him—that noble youth!With proud yet gentle mien,Who speaks the guileless words of truth,And yet is not so "green."Beloved by him—ah! I shall ownA husband very soon;And he shall kneel before my throne,With many a costly boon,The plate, the gold, the proud arrayOf horses, charioteers;—And when comes round the paying day,I'll kiss him in arrears!
Ah! now I am beloved by him,And sweet it is, to think,That life no more will be so dim,To make my spirit sink.
Ah! now I am beloved by him,
And sweet it is, to think,
That life no more will be so dim,
To make my spirit sink.
Ah! now I am beloved by him;The secret I will keep;In silence to the mantling brim,I'll quaff this cup so deep.
Ah! now I am beloved by him;
The secret I will keep;
In silence to the mantling brim,
I'll quaff this cup so deep.
Beloved by him! beloved by him!How dear the tender thought!My eyes in happy tears do swim,My heart with bliss is fraught.
Beloved by him! beloved by him!
How dear the tender thought!
My eyes in happy tears do swim,
My heart with bliss is fraught.
Beloved by him—that noble youth!With proud yet gentle mien,Who speaks the guileless words of truth,And yet is not so "green."
Beloved by him—that noble youth!
With proud yet gentle mien,
Who speaks the guileless words of truth,
And yet is not so "green."
Beloved by him—ah! I shall ownA husband very soon;And he shall kneel before my throne,With many a costly boon,
Beloved by him—ah! I shall own
A husband very soon;
And he shall kneel before my throne,
With many a costly boon,
The plate, the gold, the proud arrayOf horses, charioteers;—And when comes round the paying day,I'll kiss him in arrears!
The plate, the gold, the proud array
Of horses, charioteers;—
And when comes round the paying day,
I'll kiss him in arrears!
I cannot cease to love thee,Coldest fair!Though pleading cannot move thee,And I despair.Thy beauty was diviner,Than the summer moon,And thou didst outshine her,At her noon.Thy brow was like the silverOn the star-lit sea;Thy bright eyes did bewilderAll, as me.Thy motions were the motionsOf a charmed bird,As, poised o'er dream-world oceans,His sweet voice is heard.Thou wast queenlier farThan the queenliest flower,More glorious than a starIn a fairy bower.But it can not move thee,My mad prayer!Though I must ever love thee,Coldest fair!
I cannot cease to love thee,Coldest fair!Though pleading cannot move thee,And I despair.
I cannot cease to love thee,
Coldest fair!
Though pleading cannot move thee,
And I despair.
Thy beauty was diviner,Than the summer moon,And thou didst outshine her,At her noon.
Thy beauty was diviner,
Than the summer moon,
And thou didst outshine her,
At her noon.
Thy brow was like the silverOn the star-lit sea;Thy bright eyes did bewilderAll, as me.
Thy brow was like the silver
On the star-lit sea;
Thy bright eyes did bewilder
All, as me.
Thy motions were the motionsOf a charmed bird,As, poised o'er dream-world oceans,His sweet voice is heard.
Thy motions were the motions
Of a charmed bird,
As, poised o'er dream-world oceans,
His sweet voice is heard.
Thou wast queenlier farThan the queenliest flower,More glorious than a starIn a fairy bower.
Thou wast queenlier far
Than the queenliest flower,
More glorious than a star
In a fairy bower.
But it can not move thee,My mad prayer!Though I must ever love thee,Coldest fair!
But it can not move thee,
My mad prayer!
Though I must ever love thee,
Coldest fair!
Dear Mary, if my heart has hushed awhile,Its loving voice within my breast—yet there,Thine image was enshrined the dearest thing,Which now remains to me in this sad world.Thou bad'st me sing a song of thee, and said'st,That I should make thee to my dreamy thought,Whoe'er I would, and I will make thee be,A fair and gentle friend—a lovely one—Ah yes, the nearest, tenderest of all friends.Sweet Mary, dost thou read my thought?Who will be all in all to me on earth,Sheathing my soul against the edge of pain,Even till I seem to dwell in paradise,With thee my Eve, and we may need no fall.See, fairy spring hath walked upon the hills,Where her foot-prints are green and flowers appear;The turtle coos within our pleasant land.Oh! now I throb to be by thy sweet side,To sun me in the sweet spring of that smileWhich warms the beauties of my mind to birth.Thus, Mary, when afar from thee, amidThe unloving and unloved I muse of thee,And sing and love thee still, and cannot wishThe thought of thee a moment from my soul.Thou art the friend whom I would ever haveDwell by my soul in absence and when nigh.Thou art the friend whom I would have be still,The loved and guardian angel of my path,Amid the mazes of a treacherous world.Thou art the friend, with whom in smiling peaceI fain would walk, to the not dreadful tomb.And now, adieu, sweet Mary! I must ceaseMy strain; but, as a wind-strain sleepsUpon a bed of roses; so the echoOf this my strain, will find its rest with thee.
Dear Mary, if my heart has hushed awhile,Its loving voice within my breast—yet there,Thine image was enshrined the dearest thing,Which now remains to me in this sad world.Thou bad'st me sing a song of thee, and said'st,That I should make thee to my dreamy thought,Whoe'er I would, and I will make thee be,A fair and gentle friend—a lovely one—Ah yes, the nearest, tenderest of all friends.Sweet Mary, dost thou read my thought?Who will be all in all to me on earth,Sheathing my soul against the edge of pain,Even till I seem to dwell in paradise,With thee my Eve, and we may need no fall.See, fairy spring hath walked upon the hills,Where her foot-prints are green and flowers appear;The turtle coos within our pleasant land.Oh! now I throb to be by thy sweet side,To sun me in the sweet spring of that smileWhich warms the beauties of my mind to birth.Thus, Mary, when afar from thee, amidThe unloving and unloved I muse of thee,And sing and love thee still, and cannot wishThe thought of thee a moment from my soul.Thou art the friend whom I would ever haveDwell by my soul in absence and when nigh.Thou art the friend whom I would have be still,The loved and guardian angel of my path,Amid the mazes of a treacherous world.Thou art the friend, with whom in smiling peaceI fain would walk, to the not dreadful tomb.And now, adieu, sweet Mary! I must ceaseMy strain; but, as a wind-strain sleepsUpon a bed of roses; so the echoOf this my strain, will find its rest with thee.
Dear Mary, if my heart has hushed awhile,
Its loving voice within my breast—yet there,
Thine image was enshrined the dearest thing,
Which now remains to me in this sad world.
Thou bad'st me sing a song of thee, and said'st,
That I should make thee to my dreamy thought,
Whoe'er I would, and I will make thee be,
A fair and gentle friend—a lovely one—
Ah yes, the nearest, tenderest of all friends.
Sweet Mary, dost thou read my thought?
Who will be all in all to me on earth,
Sheathing my soul against the edge of pain,
Even till I seem to dwell in paradise,
With thee my Eve, and we may need no fall.
See, fairy spring hath walked upon the hills,
Where her foot-prints are green and flowers appear;
The turtle coos within our pleasant land.
Oh! now I throb to be by thy sweet side,
To sun me in the sweet spring of that smile
Which warms the beauties of my mind to birth.
Thus, Mary, when afar from thee, amid
The unloving and unloved I muse of thee,
And sing and love thee still, and cannot wish
The thought of thee a moment from my soul.
Thou art the friend whom I would ever have
Dwell by my soul in absence and when nigh.
Thou art the friend whom I would have be still,
The loved and guardian angel of my path,
Amid the mazes of a treacherous world.
Thou art the friend, with whom in smiling peace
I fain would walk, to the not dreadful tomb.
And now, adieu, sweet Mary! I must cease
My strain; but, as a wind-strain sleeps
Upon a bed of roses; so the echo
Of this my strain, will find its rest with thee.
As stainless thought my hand should write,Upon this page of spotless white;Nor would I that thy falling tearShould blot the wish recorded here.Oh, like the rose which opens here,The earliest of the vernal year,May Mary's bloom enchant the day,And bless the Minstrel's votive lay.But when the envious, Boreal wind,Shall leave his Northern cave behind,And seek to sieze thy beauteous bloomTo deck his dark and dreary tomb:May some kind angel swiftly fly,And leave the region of the sky,Transplant thee to a clime where ne'erSad winter mars the blooming year.
As stainless thought my hand should write,Upon this page of spotless white;Nor would I that thy falling tearShould blot the wish recorded here.
As stainless thought my hand should write,
Upon this page of spotless white;
Nor would I that thy falling tear
Should blot the wish recorded here.
Oh, like the rose which opens here,The earliest of the vernal year,May Mary's bloom enchant the day,And bless the Minstrel's votive lay.
Oh, like the rose which opens here,
The earliest of the vernal year,
May Mary's bloom enchant the day,
And bless the Minstrel's votive lay.
But when the envious, Boreal wind,Shall leave his Northern cave behind,And seek to sieze thy beauteous bloomTo deck his dark and dreary tomb:
But when the envious, Boreal wind,
Shall leave his Northern cave behind,
And seek to sieze thy beauteous bloom
To deck his dark and dreary tomb:
May some kind angel swiftly fly,And leave the region of the sky,Transplant thee to a clime where ne'erSad winter mars the blooming year.
May some kind angel swiftly fly,
And leave the region of the sky,
Transplant thee to a clime where ne'er
Sad winter mars the blooming year.
No more through the regions of glorious day,Shall thy wings waft thee proudly—oh proudly away—No more shall thy scream thrill the spirit that heard,And saw thee, high mounting, O proud, mighty bird:For thy form lies with beasts on the filth of the plain,And it never shall soar from its slumber again.How strong was thy wing, and how fierce was thine eye—Which vanquished the storm—and the sun throned on high—How far was thy flight mid thy path through the blue,As thou sankest away from our wandering view;—But thy form rottens now with the beasts of the plain,And it never shall soar from its slumber again.We will mourn, we will mourn for thee, proud bird of heaven,Whose loftiest walks to thy footsteps were given;For thy form rots with beasts on the reed-sighing plain,And it never shall soar from that slumber again.
No more through the regions of glorious day,Shall thy wings waft thee proudly—oh proudly away—No more shall thy scream thrill the spirit that heard,And saw thee, high mounting, O proud, mighty bird:For thy form lies with beasts on the filth of the plain,And it never shall soar from its slumber again.
No more through the regions of glorious day,
Shall thy wings waft thee proudly—oh proudly away—
No more shall thy scream thrill the spirit that heard,
And saw thee, high mounting, O proud, mighty bird:
For thy form lies with beasts on the filth of the plain,
And it never shall soar from its slumber again.
How strong was thy wing, and how fierce was thine eye—Which vanquished the storm—and the sun throned on high—How far was thy flight mid thy path through the blue,As thou sankest away from our wandering view;—But thy form rottens now with the beasts of the plain,And it never shall soar from its slumber again.
How strong was thy wing, and how fierce was thine eye—
Which vanquished the storm—and the sun throned on high—
How far was thy flight mid thy path through the blue,
As thou sankest away from our wandering view;—
But thy form rottens now with the beasts of the plain,
And it never shall soar from its slumber again.
We will mourn, we will mourn for thee, proud bird of heaven,Whose loftiest walks to thy footsteps were given;For thy form rots with beasts on the reed-sighing plain,And it never shall soar from that slumber again.
We will mourn, we will mourn for thee, proud bird of heaven,
Whose loftiest walks to thy footsteps were given;
For thy form rots with beasts on the reed-sighing plain,
And it never shall soar from that slumber again.
My soul is sad—oh! dark to-night,'Tis wrapt in midnight's gloom;Wild minstrel! seize thy harp and sing,As o'er the victor tomb.For thoughts, more beautiful than dreams,Within my soul have died,As fade away the glorious tintsFrom heaven, at even-tide.Wild minstrel! seize thy harp, I pray,And let a dirge ariseIn frantic woe—then faintly dieAmid the nightwind's sighs.The saddest—deepest—wildest strainShould wail such visions o'er;Within the mournful Past entombed,To be awaked no more.
My soul is sad—oh! dark to-night,'Tis wrapt in midnight's gloom;Wild minstrel! seize thy harp and sing,As o'er the victor tomb.
My soul is sad—oh! dark to-night,
'Tis wrapt in midnight's gloom;
Wild minstrel! seize thy harp and sing,
As o'er the victor tomb.
For thoughts, more beautiful than dreams,Within my soul have died,As fade away the glorious tintsFrom heaven, at even-tide.
For thoughts, more beautiful than dreams,
Within my soul have died,
As fade away the glorious tints
From heaven, at even-tide.
Wild minstrel! seize thy harp, I pray,And let a dirge ariseIn frantic woe—then faintly dieAmid the nightwind's sighs.
Wild minstrel! seize thy harp, I pray,
And let a dirge arise
In frantic woe—then faintly die
Amid the nightwind's sighs.
The saddest—deepest—wildest strainShould wail such visions o'er;Within the mournful Past entombed,To be awaked no more.
The saddest—deepest—wildest strain
Should wail such visions o'er;
Within the mournful Past entombed,
To be awaked no more.
Oh, love! the dew lies on the flower,And the stars gleam on the sea;It is the charm'd, the silent hour,When I should roam with thee.The day dies out within the West,The shadows gather near;And now sweet fancies fill my breast,And thou art strangely dear.Behold! as yonder heavenly moon,Breaks through the dark-blue sky,And through night's deepest, stillest noon,That brightness will supply—Thy smile thus sheds its heavenly lightAthwart life's deepest gloom,—Thus brightly gilds the spirit's nightIts gentle beams illume.
Oh, love! the dew lies on the flower,And the stars gleam on the sea;It is the charm'd, the silent hour,When I should roam with thee.The day dies out within the West,The shadows gather near;And now sweet fancies fill my breast,And thou art strangely dear.
Oh, love! the dew lies on the flower,
And the stars gleam on the sea;
It is the charm'd, the silent hour,
When I should roam with thee.
The day dies out within the West,
The shadows gather near;
And now sweet fancies fill my breast,
And thou art strangely dear.
Behold! as yonder heavenly moon,Breaks through the dark-blue sky,And through night's deepest, stillest noon,That brightness will supply—Thy smile thus sheds its heavenly lightAthwart life's deepest gloom,—Thus brightly gilds the spirit's nightIts gentle beams illume.
Behold! as yonder heavenly moon,
Breaks through the dark-blue sky,
And through night's deepest, stillest noon,
That brightness will supply—
Thy smile thus sheds its heavenly light
Athwart life's deepest gloom,—
Thus brightly gilds the spirit's night
Its gentle beams illume.
Sweet rose! ere Ellen gathered theeFrom off thy parent stem,With hope to rival her sweet cheek,Thou wast a floral gem.But when I think her snow-white hands,Did pluck thee, rose! for me,The brightest gems of earth or sky,Are naught compared with thee.How fondly even for hours I gazeUpon thy charms so rare,Thy tint of richest, purest red,Thy fragrant petals fair.Sweet rose! my Ellen's pledge of love,Thou fairest thing of earth,Save darling Ellen's angel self,—Words cannot speak thy worth.To token faintly to her soul,How prized by me thou art,My trembling hand has placed thee hereBeside my throbbing heart.
Sweet rose! ere Ellen gathered theeFrom off thy parent stem,With hope to rival her sweet cheek,Thou wast a floral gem.But when I think her snow-white hands,Did pluck thee, rose! for me,The brightest gems of earth or sky,Are naught compared with thee.How fondly even for hours I gazeUpon thy charms so rare,Thy tint of richest, purest red,Thy fragrant petals fair.Sweet rose! my Ellen's pledge of love,Thou fairest thing of earth,Save darling Ellen's angel self,—Words cannot speak thy worth.To token faintly to her soul,How prized by me thou art,My trembling hand has placed thee hereBeside my throbbing heart.
Sweet rose! ere Ellen gathered thee
From off thy parent stem,
With hope to rival her sweet cheek,
Thou wast a floral gem.
But when I think her snow-white hands,
Did pluck thee, rose! for me,
The brightest gems of earth or sky,
Are naught compared with thee.
How fondly even for hours I gaze
Upon thy charms so rare,
Thy tint of richest, purest red,
Thy fragrant petals fair.
Sweet rose! my Ellen's pledge of love,
Thou fairest thing of earth,
Save darling Ellen's angel self,—
Words cannot speak thy worth.
To token faintly to her soul,
How prized by me thou art,
My trembling hand has placed thee here
Beside my throbbing heart.
Ellen, my heart is not yet thine,And still I can but sigh,Whene'er I view thy semblance shineIn Memory's mirror nigh.Thy brow so soft—thy cheek so fair—Thy looks so sweetly mild—Thy angel air—thy angel smile,My spirit have beguiled.Ellen, my heart is not yet thine,But oft my fancy dreams—When evening's peaceful shades declineAlong our mountain streams.Yes! oft my tranced fancy sees,Mid evening's deepening shade,Thy airy form—and, in the breeze,Thy voice I hear, sweet maid!Oh! Ellen! may yon heavens smile,On thee, their beauteous birth,And with the loveliest joys beguileThy path amid the earth.
Ellen, my heart is not yet thine,And still I can but sigh,Whene'er I view thy semblance shineIn Memory's mirror nigh.
Ellen, my heart is not yet thine,
And still I can but sigh,
Whene'er I view thy semblance shine
In Memory's mirror nigh.
Thy brow so soft—thy cheek so fair—Thy looks so sweetly mild—Thy angel air—thy angel smile,My spirit have beguiled.
Thy brow so soft—thy cheek so fair—
Thy looks so sweetly mild—
Thy angel air—thy angel smile,
My spirit have beguiled.
Ellen, my heart is not yet thine,But oft my fancy dreams—When evening's peaceful shades declineAlong our mountain streams.
Ellen, my heart is not yet thine,
But oft my fancy dreams—
When evening's peaceful shades decline
Along our mountain streams.
Yes! oft my tranced fancy sees,Mid evening's deepening shade,Thy airy form—and, in the breeze,Thy voice I hear, sweet maid!
Yes! oft my tranced fancy sees,
Mid evening's deepening shade,
Thy airy form—and, in the breeze,
Thy voice I hear, sweet maid!
Oh! Ellen! may yon heavens smile,On thee, their beauteous birth,And with the loveliest joys beguileThy path amid the earth.
Oh! Ellen! may yon heavens smile,
On thee, their beauteous birth,
And with the loveliest joys beguile
Thy path amid the earth.
'Twas Sabbath morn. A holy lightHung o'er the hill and wood,O'er wooded stream, and lofty height,And mighty solitude.All Nature lay in bright repose,And from her silent lips arose,In mystic accents through the air,The voice of worship, praise, and prayer.I gazed into the bright, blue sky,Then bent my eyes to view,The earth which lay so sweetly byIn robes of summer hue;I dreamed that blessed ones might deign,To leave their radiant seats again,Nor weep to yield their home in heaven,For the bright ones that Earth had given.On morn, so holy, pure, and bright—I looked on one most fair,Whose braided hair was dark as night,And wrought with maiden care—Forth issue from her father's door,Walking with sweet mien evermore,As if blest spirits led her there,And she beheld their forms in air.Hark! how it thrills the holy air—The choir's high song of praise,Which many voices mingling thereIn sweetest concert, raise,And oh! how warmly, ferventlyThose words of prayer ascend the sky,And joined with that loud strain of praiseBlend with the song that Seraphs raise.And sits that lovely lady there,Uniting in the strain?And does she bend her form so fair,When silence comes again?Yes! she was there, and lovelier there,Than she this hour could be elsewhere;Though few beneath yon heavenly skyMight with her erring beauty vie.
'Twas Sabbath morn. A holy lightHung o'er the hill and wood,O'er wooded stream, and lofty height,And mighty solitude.All Nature lay in bright repose,And from her silent lips arose,In mystic accents through the air,The voice of worship, praise, and prayer.
'Twas Sabbath morn. A holy light
Hung o'er the hill and wood,
O'er wooded stream, and lofty height,
And mighty solitude.
All Nature lay in bright repose,
And from her silent lips arose,
In mystic accents through the air,
The voice of worship, praise, and prayer.
I gazed into the bright, blue sky,Then bent my eyes to view,The earth which lay so sweetly byIn robes of summer hue;I dreamed that blessed ones might deign,To leave their radiant seats again,Nor weep to yield their home in heaven,For the bright ones that Earth had given.
I gazed into the bright, blue sky,
Then bent my eyes to view,
The earth which lay so sweetly by
In robes of summer hue;
I dreamed that blessed ones might deign,
To leave their radiant seats again,
Nor weep to yield their home in heaven,
For the bright ones that Earth had given.
On morn, so holy, pure, and bright—I looked on one most fair,Whose braided hair was dark as night,And wrought with maiden care—Forth issue from her father's door,Walking with sweet mien evermore,As if blest spirits led her there,And she beheld their forms in air.
On morn, so holy, pure, and bright—
I looked on one most fair,
Whose braided hair was dark as night,
And wrought with maiden care—
Forth issue from her father's door,
Walking with sweet mien evermore,
As if blest spirits led her there,
And she beheld their forms in air.
Hark! how it thrills the holy air—The choir's high song of praise,Which many voices mingling thereIn sweetest concert, raise,And oh! how warmly, ferventlyThose words of prayer ascend the sky,And joined with that loud strain of praiseBlend with the song that Seraphs raise.
Hark! how it thrills the holy air—
The choir's high song of praise,
Which many voices mingling there
In sweetest concert, raise,
And oh! how warmly, fervently
Those words of prayer ascend the sky,
And joined with that loud strain of praise
Blend with the song that Seraphs raise.
And sits that lovely lady there,Uniting in the strain?And does she bend her form so fair,When silence comes again?Yes! she was there, and lovelier there,Than she this hour could be elsewhere;Though few beneath yon heavenly skyMight with her erring beauty vie.
And sits that lovely lady there,
Uniting in the strain?
And does she bend her form so fair,
When silence comes again?
Yes! she was there, and lovelier there,
Than she this hour could be elsewhere;
Though few beneath yon heavenly sky
Might with her erring beauty vie.
As some gay flow'ret brightly rears,Its head beside the pilgrim's way,And charms away his flowing tears,And glads him, with its blessed ray—Sweet Mary—"Angel without wing,"Heaven gave thee man's rough path to cheer—To bid the mourner smile and sing,"At last, Earth is not wholly drear."
As some gay flow'ret brightly rears,Its head beside the pilgrim's way,And charms away his flowing tears,And glads him, with its blessed ray—Sweet Mary—"Angel without wing,"Heaven gave thee man's rough path to cheer—To bid the mourner smile and sing,"At last, Earth is not wholly drear."
As some gay flow'ret brightly rears,
Its head beside the pilgrim's way,
And charms away his flowing tears,
And glads him, with its blessed ray—
Sweet Mary—"Angel without wing,"
Heaven gave thee man's rough path to cheer—
To bid the mourner smile and sing,
"At last, Earth is not wholly drear."
Where is our brother? I have comeFrom wandering far and long,And oh! I miss one well-known face,Gone from our little throng.Where is our brother? Where is he,Ye late saw smiling here,I look in vain his face to seeTo catch his tones so clear.Where is my brother? Can it be,That we shall never moreBehold his form upon the earth,As oft, so oft, before.Ah! till we meet before the barAt Time's last, awful day,We shall not see his face again,Although we mourn alway.In youth cut down, he lies so still,That all the strength of grief,Cannot restore his form to us,One moment though so brief.Through Life's long day, we'll think on him,And mourn his early flight,And Earth, to us, hath lost a star,Gone down in endless night.To us, gone down in endless night,—Beyond the sun afar,He beams beside his Savior-God,A bright immortal star.
Where is our brother? I have comeFrom wandering far and long,And oh! I miss one well-known face,Gone from our little throng.
Where is our brother? I have come
From wandering far and long,
And oh! I miss one well-known face,
Gone from our little throng.
Where is our brother? Where is he,Ye late saw smiling here,I look in vain his face to seeTo catch his tones so clear.
Where is our brother? Where is he,
Ye late saw smiling here,
I look in vain his face to see
To catch his tones so clear.
Where is my brother? Can it be,That we shall never moreBehold his form upon the earth,As oft, so oft, before.
Where is my brother? Can it be,
That we shall never more
Behold his form upon the earth,
As oft, so oft, before.
Ah! till we meet before the barAt Time's last, awful day,We shall not see his face again,Although we mourn alway.
Ah! till we meet before the bar
At Time's last, awful day,
We shall not see his face again,
Although we mourn alway.
In youth cut down, he lies so still,That all the strength of grief,Cannot restore his form to us,One moment though so brief.
In youth cut down, he lies so still,
That all the strength of grief,
Cannot restore his form to us,
One moment though so brief.
Through Life's long day, we'll think on him,And mourn his early flight,And Earth, to us, hath lost a star,Gone down in endless night.
Through Life's long day, we'll think on him,
And mourn his early flight,
And Earth, to us, hath lost a star,
Gone down in endless night.
To us, gone down in endless night,—Beyond the sun afar,He beams beside his Savior-God,A bright immortal star.
To us, gone down in endless night,—
Beyond the sun afar,
He beams beside his Savior-God,
A bright immortal star.
Star of Rest! thy silvery lustre,Brightly streams from heaven above,Ere each sweet and glittering clusterOpe on earth their eyes of love.Star of Rest! how gently closethEvery bud beneath thy brow,And the wearied frame reposethFrom its daily labor now.Star of Rest! thy streaming splendor,Lends the proud and queenly moon,Till a glorious host attend herThrough her deep and silent noon.Star of Rest! we bless thy beaming,From that vault so calm and blue,For thou bringest sweetest dreaming,And thou fillest the heart with dew.Love of Heaven—oh! brightly shining,Gleam above our dying bed,When the Day of life declining,Tells us that its toil has sped.
Star of Rest! thy silvery lustre,Brightly streams from heaven above,Ere each sweet and glittering clusterOpe on earth their eyes of love.
Star of Rest! thy silvery lustre,
Brightly streams from heaven above,
Ere each sweet and glittering cluster
Ope on earth their eyes of love.
Star of Rest! how gently closethEvery bud beneath thy brow,And the wearied frame reposethFrom its daily labor now.
Star of Rest! how gently closeth
Every bud beneath thy brow,
And the wearied frame reposeth
From its daily labor now.
Star of Rest! thy streaming splendor,Lends the proud and queenly moon,Till a glorious host attend herThrough her deep and silent noon.
Star of Rest! thy streaming splendor,
Lends the proud and queenly moon,
Till a glorious host attend her
Through her deep and silent noon.
Star of Rest! we bless thy beaming,From that vault so calm and blue,For thou bringest sweetest dreaming,And thou fillest the heart with dew.
Star of Rest! we bless thy beaming,
From that vault so calm and blue,
For thou bringest sweetest dreaming,
And thou fillest the heart with dew.
Love of Heaven—oh! brightly shining,Gleam above our dying bed,When the Day of life declining,Tells us that its toil has sped.
Love of Heaven—oh! brightly shining,
Gleam above our dying bed,
When the Day of life declining,
Tells us that its toil has sped.
There comes a time for flowers to fade, and light to die in gloom,There is a time for mortal bliss to know a certain doom.Sometimes I feel that I have reached that hour, and I have felt,When pondering o'er the dreary change, my spirit in me melt.The joyful trust, the bounding hopes, that laughed at scorned defeat,The feeling, like pure rock-born streams, as strong, as deep, and sweet;The soul that thrilled with transport wild, at Beauty's magic name;Ah! all have strangely altered now,—I am no more the same.And now I feel alone and sad amid an ocean wide,I care not much to what strange coast my single plank may ride,I am alone—what matters it where my bowed frame may be,Since now my heart is never more by land or rolling sea.I feel that as yon Night now throws its mantle o'er the earth,Till ghostly shapes and ghostly sounds, go dimly walking forth—That soon the night of Death may throw its mantle over me,And unfamiliar things shall rise from dark eternity.Yet, would I hope, when such shall come, to dwell not with pain,But walk, with a triumphant song, o'er heaven's unshadowed plain—Where Youth and Hope, and Love and Joy, (the angels,) ever smile,And evermore the aching heart from woe and grief beguile.
There comes a time for flowers to fade, and light to die in gloom,There is a time for mortal bliss to know a certain doom.Sometimes I feel that I have reached that hour, and I have felt,When pondering o'er the dreary change, my spirit in me melt.The joyful trust, the bounding hopes, that laughed at scorned defeat,The feeling, like pure rock-born streams, as strong, as deep, and sweet;The soul that thrilled with transport wild, at Beauty's magic name;Ah! all have strangely altered now,—I am no more the same.And now I feel alone and sad amid an ocean wide,I care not much to what strange coast my single plank may ride,I am alone—what matters it where my bowed frame may be,Since now my heart is never more by land or rolling sea.I feel that as yon Night now throws its mantle o'er the earth,Till ghostly shapes and ghostly sounds, go dimly walking forth—That soon the night of Death may throw its mantle over me,And unfamiliar things shall rise from dark eternity.Yet, would I hope, when such shall come, to dwell not with pain,But walk, with a triumphant song, o'er heaven's unshadowed plain—Where Youth and Hope, and Love and Joy, (the angels,) ever smile,And evermore the aching heart from woe and grief beguile.
There comes a time for flowers to fade, and light to die in gloom,
There is a time for mortal bliss to know a certain doom.
Sometimes I feel that I have reached that hour, and I have felt,
When pondering o'er the dreary change, my spirit in me melt.
The joyful trust, the bounding hopes, that laughed at scorned defeat,
The feeling, like pure rock-born streams, as strong, as deep, and sweet;
The soul that thrilled with transport wild, at Beauty's magic name;
Ah! all have strangely altered now,—I am no more the same.
And now I feel alone and sad amid an ocean wide,
I care not much to what strange coast my single plank may ride,
I am alone—what matters it where my bowed frame may be,
Since now my heart is never more by land or rolling sea.
I feel that as yon Night now throws its mantle o'er the earth,
Till ghostly shapes and ghostly sounds, go dimly walking forth—
That soon the night of Death may throw its mantle over me,
And unfamiliar things shall rise from dark eternity.
Yet, would I hope, when such shall come, to dwell not with pain,
But walk, with a triumphant song, o'er heaven's unshadowed plain—
Where Youth and Hope, and Love and Joy, (the angels,) ever smile,
And evermore the aching heart from woe and grief beguile.
Oh! may the brightest smiles of heavenThat beam on men below,Still shine upon sweet Mary's path,Wherever she may go.May Angels, like herself! still guardHer steps from every ill,Until she walks in robes of white,O'er God's high, happy hill.And, when, in that celestial clime,She beams a spirit bright—How sweet to think she'll love me thenWhere nought our love can blight.
Oh! may the brightest smiles of heavenThat beam on men below,Still shine upon sweet Mary's path,Wherever she may go.
Oh! may the brightest smiles of heaven
That beam on men below,
Still shine upon sweet Mary's path,
Wherever she may go.
May Angels, like herself! still guardHer steps from every ill,Until she walks in robes of white,O'er God's high, happy hill.
May Angels, like herself! still guard
Her steps from every ill,
Until she walks in robes of white,
O'er God's high, happy hill.
And, when, in that celestial clime,She beams a spirit bright—How sweet to think she'll love me thenWhere nought our love can blight.
And, when, in that celestial clime,
She beams a spirit bright—
How sweet to think she'll love me then
Where nought our love can blight.
Oft have I heard thine accents steal,Like music on the air,Then quickly turned to see thy form,Sweet Mary! standing there.But thou did'st ever glide away,Nor heed my pleading prayer—But now, alas! thou'rt but a Thought,A phantom like the air.
Oft have I heard thine accents steal,Like music on the air,Then quickly turned to see thy form,Sweet Mary! standing there.
Oft have I heard thine accents steal,
Like music on the air,
Then quickly turned to see thy form,
Sweet Mary! standing there.
But thou did'st ever glide away,Nor heed my pleading prayer—But now, alas! thou'rt but a Thought,A phantom like the air.
But thou did'st ever glide away,
Nor heed my pleading prayer—
But now, alas! thou'rt but a Thought,
A phantom like the air.
The flowers! the flowers! I love ye, flowers;Ye have a mystic voiceTo speak unto my inmost soulAnd make my heart rejoice.Your charms illume the splendid hallsWhere wealthy princes move,And light the humble peasant's cot,Like gleams of heavenly love.Oh flowers, bright flowers! I feel withinMy inmost heart, your power;And know I see the light of Heaven,Within a blooming flower.Had I a lovely home amidSome valley green and fair—The flowers—sweet flowers—should ever gleam,In star-like beauty there.
The flowers! the flowers! I love ye, flowers;Ye have a mystic voiceTo speak unto my inmost soulAnd make my heart rejoice.
The flowers! the flowers! I love ye, flowers;
Ye have a mystic voice
To speak unto my inmost soul
And make my heart rejoice.
Your charms illume the splendid hallsWhere wealthy princes move,And light the humble peasant's cot,Like gleams of heavenly love.
Your charms illume the splendid halls
Where wealthy princes move,
And light the humble peasant's cot,
Like gleams of heavenly love.
Oh flowers, bright flowers! I feel withinMy inmost heart, your power;And know I see the light of Heaven,Within a blooming flower.
Oh flowers, bright flowers! I feel within
My inmost heart, your power;
And know I see the light of Heaven,
Within a blooming flower.
Had I a lovely home amidSome valley green and fair—The flowers—sweet flowers—should ever gleam,In star-like beauty there.
Had I a lovely home amid
Some valley green and fair—
The flowers—sweet flowers—should ever gleam,
In star-like beauty there.
Oh! I am sick of the ennui that comes of the earth,All tasteless its landscapes—and charmless its mirth.Away, swift away, on a pinion, as sprite,I will speed to a kingdom not day and not night:Where a spell of enchantment as soft as a dream,Moves over the mountain, the valley, and stream;And the bird and the rill with a sleep-bringing rhyme,Soothe the gliding away of the current of time.Away, swift away to this dream-world of bliss—From a place all so tiresome and tasteless as this.And would I might ever abandon its beamsThat radiate but feebly, to dwell by the streamsThat gleam from the mountains of green fairyland,And, at last, in bright morn of Heaven expand.
Oh! I am sick of the ennui that comes of the earth,All tasteless its landscapes—and charmless its mirth.Away, swift away, on a pinion, as sprite,I will speed to a kingdom not day and not night:Where a spell of enchantment as soft as a dream,Moves over the mountain, the valley, and stream;And the bird and the rill with a sleep-bringing rhyme,Soothe the gliding away of the current of time.Away, swift away to this dream-world of bliss—From a place all so tiresome and tasteless as this.And would I might ever abandon its beamsThat radiate but feebly, to dwell by the streamsThat gleam from the mountains of green fairyland,And, at last, in bright morn of Heaven expand.
Oh! I am sick of the ennui that comes of the earth,
All tasteless its landscapes—and charmless its mirth.
Away, swift away, on a pinion, as sprite,
I will speed to a kingdom not day and not night:
Where a spell of enchantment as soft as a dream,
Moves over the mountain, the valley, and stream;
And the bird and the rill with a sleep-bringing rhyme,
Soothe the gliding away of the current of time.
Away, swift away to this dream-world of bliss—
From a place all so tiresome and tasteless as this.
And would I might ever abandon its beams
That radiate but feebly, to dwell by the streams
That gleam from the mountains of green fairyland,
And, at last, in bright morn of Heaven expand.
Whate'er may be my unknown fateUpon this dark, terrestrial sphere,Wilt smile to hear that I am blest,And o'er my anguish shed thy tear?Methinks it were a happy lot,That thou would'st grieve or smile with me;And though all others prove most false,I ne'er should find untruth in thee.Yes! thou wouldst seem some heavenly oneIf such thy friendship followed me,Nor would I cease, through every change,To crave of Heaven its love for thee.
Whate'er may be my unknown fateUpon this dark, terrestrial sphere,Wilt smile to hear that I am blest,And o'er my anguish shed thy tear?
Whate'er may be my unknown fate
Upon this dark, terrestrial sphere,
Wilt smile to hear that I am blest,
And o'er my anguish shed thy tear?
Methinks it were a happy lot,That thou would'st grieve or smile with me;And though all others prove most false,I ne'er should find untruth in thee.
Methinks it were a happy lot,
That thou would'st grieve or smile with me;
And though all others prove most false,
I ne'er should find untruth in thee.
Yes! thou wouldst seem some heavenly oneIf such thy friendship followed me,Nor would I cease, through every change,To crave of Heaven its love for thee.
Yes! thou wouldst seem some heavenly one
If such thy friendship followed me,
Nor would I cease, through every change,
To crave of Heaven its love for thee.
Beneath those stars of summer,I told thee my wild love;And I beheld thy blushes,And saw thy bosom move.It was a holy moment,And bliss o'erflowed my heart;For thou did'st say that neverI should from thee depart.I thought how very happyOur future life would be,That life's worst pain and sufferingWere sweet, if shared with thee.Thou said'st thy deepest pleasure,Thy highest pride would be,Through all of life to gladden,To soothe and comfort me.And now when years have glided,As silver waves depart,I feel that thou did'st utterThe truth from out thy heart:For thou hast never pained me,Through all these happy years,But still hast fondly loved me,And charmed me even to tears.Thou hast been such a blessing,Thy virtues so much worth;'Twere not profane to call theeAn angel upon earth.And if those souls most loving,Upon this spot of care,Shall feel most bliss in heaven,Thou'lt be a bright one there.
Beneath those stars of summer,I told thee my wild love;And I beheld thy blushes,And saw thy bosom move.It was a holy moment,And bliss o'erflowed my heart;For thou did'st say that neverI should from thee depart.I thought how very happyOur future life would be,That life's worst pain and sufferingWere sweet, if shared with thee.Thou said'st thy deepest pleasure,Thy highest pride would be,Through all of life to gladden,To soothe and comfort me.And now when years have glided,As silver waves depart,I feel that thou did'st utterThe truth from out thy heart:For thou hast never pained me,Through all these happy years,But still hast fondly loved me,And charmed me even to tears.Thou hast been such a blessing,Thy virtues so much worth;'Twere not profane to call theeAn angel upon earth.And if those souls most loving,Upon this spot of care,Shall feel most bliss in heaven,Thou'lt be a bright one there.
Beneath those stars of summer,
I told thee my wild love;
And I beheld thy blushes,
And saw thy bosom move.
It was a holy moment,
And bliss o'erflowed my heart;
For thou did'st say that never
I should from thee depart.
I thought how very happy
Our future life would be,
That life's worst pain and suffering
Were sweet, if shared with thee.
Thou said'st thy deepest pleasure,
Thy highest pride would be,
Through all of life to gladden,
To soothe and comfort me.
And now when years have glided,
As silver waves depart,
I feel that thou did'st utter
The truth from out thy heart:
For thou hast never pained me,
Through all these happy years,
But still hast fondly loved me,
And charmed me even to tears.
Thou hast been such a blessing,
Thy virtues so much worth;
'Twere not profane to call thee
An angel upon earth.
And if those souls most loving,
Upon this spot of care,
Shall feel most bliss in heaven,
Thou'lt be a bright one there.
My Fannie dear! when absence rendsMy faithful heart from thee,What gloomy thoughts oppress my mind,There is no joy for me.By day, woe wastes my sinking soul,By night I wake and sigh;And still the grief that kills me quite,Is, Fannie is not nigh.Oh! may that God whose name is LoveHer form to me restore;That I may never, never partFrom darling Fannie more.
My Fannie dear! when absence rendsMy faithful heart from thee,What gloomy thoughts oppress my mind,There is no joy for me.
My Fannie dear! when absence rends
My faithful heart from thee,
What gloomy thoughts oppress my mind,
There is no joy for me.
By day, woe wastes my sinking soul,By night I wake and sigh;And still the grief that kills me quite,Is, Fannie is not nigh.
By day, woe wastes my sinking soul,
By night I wake and sigh;
And still the grief that kills me quite,
Is, Fannie is not nigh.
Oh! may that God whose name is LoveHer form to me restore;That I may never, never partFrom darling Fannie more.
Oh! may that God whose name is Love
Her form to me restore;
That I may never, never part
From darling Fannie more.