« السابقةمتابعة »
Where long they lived in love, and to the elf | In the deep vales, even when the storms Now fondly clinging to her grandam's knee,
are roaring In all the love of quick-won infancy, High up among the cliffs: and that sweet Point with the triumph of a mother's smile.
river The sweet child then will tell her tale That round the white walls of her cottage Of her own blossom'd bower, and palmy
With gliding motion most like to repore, And birds with golden plames, that sweetly A quicker current to her blood restoring,
Will cheer her long before her eye-lids close. Tunes of their own, or borrow'd from her And yonder cheek of rosy light,
Dark-clustering hair, and star-like eyes, And, as she speaks, lo! flits with gorgeous And fairy - form, that wing’d with rapture wing
flies, Upon her outstretch'd arm, a fearless bird, And voice more wild than songstress of the Her eye obeying, ere the call was heard,
night And wildly warbles there the music of its E'er pour’d unto the listening skies;
Yon spirit, who, with her angel-smile,
With Nature, and with Nature's art,
Will twine herself about the heart How changed seem now town, sea, and sky! Of her who hoped not for a grand - child's She feels as if to youth restored,
kiss ! Such fresh and beauteous joy is pour'd These looks will scare disease and pain, O’er the green dancing waves, and shelly Till in her wasted heart again
Life grow with new-born bliss. The crowded masts within the harbour stand, Emblems of rest : and yon ships far away, Brightening the entrance of the Crescent-bay, Far is the city left hehind, Seem things the tempest never can destroy, And faintly-smiling through the soft - blae To longing spirits harbingers of joy.
skies, How sweet the music o'er the waves is borne, Like castled clouds the Cambrian hills arise: In celebration of this glorious morn! Sweet the first welcome of the mountainRing on, ye bells! most pleasant is your
And ever nearer as they come, And the quick flash that bursts along the Beneath the hastening shades of silent Even,
Some old familiar object meets their sight, The volumed smoke, and city-shaking roar, Thrilling their hearts with sorrowful delight, Her happy soul now feels to be sublime. Until through tears they hail their blessed How fair upon the human face appears
home, A kindling smile! how idle all our tears ! Bathed in the mist, confusing earth with Short - sighted still the moisten'd eyes of
With solemn gaze the aged matron sees To-day our woes can never end,
The green roof laughing beneath greener Think we!-returns a long-lost friend,
trees ; And we are blest to-morrow.
And thinks how happy she will live and die Her anguish, and her wish to die,
Within that cot at last, beneath the eye Now seem like worst impiety,
Of them long wept as perish'd in the seas. For many a year she hopeth now to live; And what feel they? with dizzy brain they And God, who sees the inmost breast,
look The vain repining of the sore distrest, On cot, field, mountain, garden, tree, and In mercy will forgive.
brook, With none contented, although loving all;
While deep-delighted memory,
Doth all their names recall.
With smiles of most bewitching grace,
calm That 'mid her native mountains sleeps for Husht now these island-bowers as death
And ue'er may human foot or breath,
Their dew disturb again; but not more still | Encompass’d with delight.
Thou gray - hair'd one! - like some sweet Than this deserted cottage! O'er the green,
night Once smooth before the porch, rank weeds of winter, cold, but clear, and shining far
Through mists with many a melancholy star. Choking the feebler flowers: with blossoms -0 Fairy-child! what can I wish for thee?
Like a perennial flow'ret inayst thou be, And verdant leaves, the unpruned eglantine That spends its life in beauty and in bliss ! In wanton beauty foldeth up the door; Soft on thee fall the breath of time, And through the clustering roses that entwine And still retain in heavenly clime The lattice-window, neat and trim before, The bloom that charm'd in this ! The setting sun's slant beams no longer shine. The hive stands on the ivied tree, But murmurs not one single bee;
O, happy Parents of so sweet a child, Frail looks the osier-beat, and gray,
Your share of grief already have you known; None hath sat there for many a day; But long as that fair spirit is your own, And the dial, hid in weeds and flowers, To either lot you must be reconciled. Hath told, by none beheld, the solitary hours; Dear was she in yon palmy grove, No birds that love the haunts of men
When fear and sorrow mingled with your Hop here, or through the garden sing ;
love, From the thick-matted hedge the lonely And oft you wish'd that she had ne'er been
born; Flits rapid by on timid wing,
While, in the most delightful air Even like a leaf by wandering zephyr moved. Th' angelic infant sang, at times her voice, But long it is since that sweet bird, That seem'd to make even lifeless things That twitters 'neath the cottage-eaves,
rejoice, Was here by listening morning heard: Woke, on a sudden, dreams of dim despair, For she, the summer-songstress, Icaves As if it breathed: For me, an Orphan, mourn! The roof by laughter never stirr'd, Now can they listen when she sings Still loving human life and by it still beloved. With mournful voice of mournful things,
Almost too sad to hear;
And when she chants her evening-hymn, 0! wildest cottage of the wild !
Glad smile their eyes, even as they swim I see thee waking from thy breathless sleep! With many a gushing tear. Scarcely distinguish'd from the rocky steep, Each day she seems to them more bright High o'er thy roof in forms fantastic piled. And beautiful, ,-a gleam of light More beauteous art thou than of yore, That plays and dances o’er the shadowy With joy all glistering after sorrow's gloom;
earth! And they who in that paradise abide, It fadeth not in gloom or storm,By sadness and misfortune beautified, For Nature charter'd that aērial form There brighter walk than o'er yon island- In yonder fair Isle when she bless'd her shore,
birth! As loveliness wakes lovelier from the tomb. The Isle of Palms! whose forests tower Long mayst thou stand in sun and dew,
again, And spring thy faded flowers renew, Darkening with solemn shade the face of l'nharm’d by frost or blight!
heaven. Without, the wonder of each eye,
Now far away they like the clouds are driven, Within, as happy as the sky,
And as the passing night-wind dies my strain ! 220
THE SCHOLAR'S FUNERAL. Whether on silent throne a stedfast flarne,
Or roll'd in music round the Universal Frame. Why hang the sweet belle mute in Magda
lene-Tower, Still wont to usher in delightful May,
And now the day looks mournful as the night, The dewy silence of the morning-hour
For all o'er heaven black clouds begin to roll, Cheering with many a changeful roundelay? Through which the dim sun streams a fitful And those pure youthful voices where are
In sympathy with man's desponding soul. That hymning far up in the listening sky,
Is nought around but images of dole! Seem'd issuing softly through the gates of The distant towers a kindred sorrow breathe,
Struck ’mid their own groves by that disAs if a troop of sainted souls on high
mal toll; Were hovering o'er the earth with angel- And the gray cloisters, coldly stretch'd bemelody?
neath, Hush’d in profounder calm confess the power
of death. This day the pensive Choristers are mute, The Tower stands silent in the shades of
Sad for the glory that hath parted thence, And well that darkness and those shadows Through spire, tower, temple, theatre, and suit
dome, The solemn hush shed o'er the courts below. Mourns Oxford in her old magnificence, There all is noiseless as a plain of snow,
Sublimely silent 'mid the sunless gloom. Nor wandering footstep stirs th’ unechoing But chief one College weeps her favourite's wall.
doomHark— hark! the muffled bell is tolling All hearts turn thither in the calm of morn;
Silent she standeth like one mighty tomb, Into my mournful soul its warnings fall
In reverend beauty-desolate-forlornIt is the solemn day of Vernon's funeral.
For her refulgent star is all-untimely shorn.
No sound last night was heard these courts Hercourts grow darker as the hour draws near
When that blest corpse must sink for everSave sleepless scholar sobbing in his cell;
more, For mirth had seem'd a sacrilegious sin Let down by loving hands to dungeon drear Against the dead whom all did love so well. From the glad world of sunshine cover'd o'er Only-at evening-prayer the holy swell By the damp pavement of the silent floor! of organ at the close of service sent
Sad all around—as when a gentle day (While on their knees the awe-struck weep- All dimly riseth o'er a wreck-strewn shore,
When Love at last hath ceas'd to Heaven Or on the pillar'd shade in anguish leant)
to pray, Through the dim echoing aisle a sorrow- And Grief hath wept her fill, and Hope turn'd ful lament.
All night the melancholy moonshine slept Yea!even a careless stranger might perceive O'er the lone chamber where his corpse was That death and sorrow rule this doleful laid:
placeAmid the sighing groves the cold dews wept, Passing along the gray-hair'd menjals grieve, And the sad stars in glimmering beams Nor is it hard a tender gloom to trace
On the young chorister's sunshiny face, In heaven seem'd mourning o'er the parted While slow returning from the mournful shade
room Of him who knew the nature and the name of friend where they were weeping o'er the Cf every orb to human ken display'd,
With Vernon past-profoundly sunk in gloom Pale as a statue bending o’er a tomb, The pale-lac'd scholar walks, still dreaming The childless mother! as a statne still!
of the tomb. But Resignation, Hope, and Faith illume
Her upward eyes! and her meek spirit fill
With downy peace, which blasts of earthly ill Now ghastly sight and lowly-whispering May never ruffle more—a smile appears
At times to flit across her visage chill, On every side the sadden'd spirit meet- More awful rendering every gush of tears And notice give to all the courts around Shed at the dark eclipse of all life's sunny Of doleful preparation-the rude feet
years. Of death's hir'd menials through this calm
retreat With careless tread are hurrying to and from The whole path from his cradle to his grave And loving hearts with pangs of anguish She travels back with a bewilder'd brain!
Bright in the galcs of youth his free locks To see the cloisters blackening all below
wave, With rueful sable plumes--a ghastly funeral- As if their burnish'd beauty laugh’d at pain,
Of grief, decay, and death! Her touch doth Come let us now with silent feet ascend
meet The stair that leads up to yon ancient tower— Lips cold as ice that ne'er will glow again, There, lieth in his shroud my dearest And lo! from there wan lipa unto his feet
Drawn by the hand of death a ghostly windOh! that the breath of sighs, the dewy
ing-sheet! shower Stream'd from so many eye-lids had the power Gently to stir, and raise up from its bed She hop'd to have seen him in yon hallow'd The broken stalk of that consummate flower!
grove, Nought may restore the odours once when With gay companions laughing at his side,
And listening unto him whom all did love! That sunshine smiles in vain-it wakens not For she had heard with pure maternal pride
How science to his gaze unfolded wide
The Temple's inner shrine, he sank and Behold! his parents kneeling side by side,
diedStill as the body that is sleeping there! And all of him that hath not gone to God Far off were they when their sweet Henry Within her loving clasp lies senseless as died,
the clod. At once they fell from bliss into despair. What sorrows slumber in that silvery hair! The old man groans, nor dares his face to With tottering steps she to the window show
gocs. To the glad day - light - while a sobbing O! what a glorious burst of light is there!
Rejoicing in his course the river flows, Steals from the calmer partner of his woe, And ’neath its coronet of dark-blue air Who gently lays her hand upon those locks The stately Elm-grove rises fresh and fair,
Blest in the dewy silence of the skies!
Turns to the coffin where her Henry lies— He lifts his eyes-quick through a parting The green carth laughs in vain before his cloud
closed eyes ! The sun looks out-and fills the room with
light, Hath given a purer lustre to the shroud, The Old Man now hath no more tears to And plays and dances o'er those cheeks so
Wasted are all his groans so long and deepCurst be the cruel Sun! who shines 60 He looks as if he car'd not for the dead!
Or thought his Son would soon awake from Upon my dead boy's face ! one kiss
An agony there is that cannot weep, Before thou sink to everlasting night! That glares not 'on the visage, but is borne My child — my child !-oh! how unlike to Within the ruin'd spirits dungeon-keep,
In darkness and in silence most forlorn, The last embrace I gave in more than mor- Hugging the gravo-like gloom, nor wishing tal bliss.
for the morn.
Lo! suddenly he starteth from his knees! Lo! now the Pall comes forth into the light And hurrying up and down, all round the And one chill shudder thrills the weeping walls
crowd! Glances wild looks—and now his pale hands There is it ʼmid the sunshine black as night!
And soon to disappear—a passing cloud! Just as the light on its expression falls, Grief can no longer bear-but bursts alond ! Yon picture, whose untroubled face recalls Youth, manhood, age, one common nature A smile for ever banish'd from the air!
sways O dark! my Boy! are now thy Father's And hoary heads across the pall are bowed
Near burnish'd locks where youthful beauty But I will hang this silent picture there,
playsAnd morn and night will kneel before it in For all alike did love the Form that there despair.
With trembling grasp he lifts the idle gown List ! list! a doleful dirge—a wild death-song! Worn by his Son—then closing his dim eyes, The coffin now is placed upon its bier, With a convulsive start he flings it down, And through the echoing cloisters borne Goes and returns, and loads it where it lies
along! With hurried kisses! Then his glance espies –How touching those young voices thus to A letter by that hand now icy-cold
hear Fill'd full of love and homebred sympathies; Singing of sorrow, and of mortal fear Naming familiarly both young and old, To their glad innocence as yet unknown! And blessing that sweet Home he ne'er was Singing they weep- but transient every tear,
Nor may their spirits understand the groan That age or manhood pours above the
funeral stone. And now the Father lays his wither'd hand Upon a book whore leaves are idly spread: Gone-gone is he who well could understand Waileth more dolefully that passing psalm, The kingly language of the mighty dead ! At every step they take towards the cell - There lies the flute that oft at twilight That calls the coffin to eternal calm !
At each swing of the melancholy bell Airs that beguild the old man of his tears; More loud the sighing and the sobbing swell, But cold the master's touch — his skill is More ghostly paleness whitens every face!
Slow the procession moves-slow tolls that And all his innocent life at once appears
knellLike some sweet lovely tune that charmd But yet the funeral at that solemn pace
Alas! too soon will reach its final resting
in other years.
But now the door is opend soft and slow.
When o'er that Tower the rising moon disAnd bow their heads low down beneath the
Not puer than his sonl her cloudless light. of one soul-sickening moment of despair! Still was his lamp-lit window burning brigbt, Grief cometh deadly when it cometh late, A little earthly star that shone most sweet And with a Fury's hand delights to tear To those in heaven-but now extinguish'd From Eld's deep-furrow'd front the thin
quiteand hoary hair. -Fast-chain'd are now those nightly-wand
In bonds that none may burst-folds of the His eyes are open, and with tearless gleam
winding-sheet. Fix'd on the coffin! but they see it not, Like haunted Guilt blind - walking in a
Wide is the chapel-gate, and entereth slow With soul intent on its own secret blot. With all its floating pomp that sable pall! The coffin moves !--yet rooted to the spot, Silent as in a dream the funeral-show He sees it borne away, with vacant eyes, (For grief hath breath'd one spirit into all) Unconscious what it means! hath even forgot Is ranged at once along the gloomy wall! The name of Her who in a death-fit lies,Ah me! what mournful lights athwart the His heart is turn'd to slone, nor heeds who
gloom, lives or dies! From yonder richly-pictur'd window fall!