Lays Of Ancient Virginia, And Other Poems Part 8

"G.o.d help my helpless little ones, And keep them for his own.

My heart is breaking--husband! long Thou shalt not be alone."

When faded all the autumn flowers The lady surely died-- Broken the bands that bound her life To him--his wife and bride.

Love was the Cause of all things, and the End, For G.o.d is Love, and ever will be Love.

G.o.d's grey-beard prophets sang a future time, When all would be restored in love to G.o.d, And the first Eden be rebuilt on earth; That lions and all lambs should play together, On the long gra.s.s of Eden's greenest lawns.

That man should yet behold that happy scene, When one loud jubilate of wors.h.i.+p--love-- Should climb the heavens from each lone sh.o.r.e of earth.

SONG.

Oh! Love's the sweetest joy of earth, Love's keenest pang is bliss, And, like a wild, delirious bee, We hang upon a kiss:

With lip to lip and heart and heart, We live in that sweet death, And feel the breeze of paradise, Upon a loved one's breath.

We lean upon a beating breast, As on a throne of gold; And, like a monarch, thence, look out, On love-hued sea and wold.

We dwell upon a loved one's song, As on a strain of heaven, And think it charms the throbbing stars That throng the halls of Even.

Oh! Love is like a river-flood, That rolls and pauses never-- An ocean-tide that bears us on Forever and forever.

This is the lore I come to teach the world-- That Love formed all of matter, all of spirit; That Love keeps all things, lest they fall to chaos; That Love's pulse vibrates throughout all G.o.d's works, Whose beat is harmony like angels' songs-- And man is most like G.o.d and least like Devil, When he most loves all things which G.o.d hath made.

HOURS WITH NATURE.

When smiling spring, an angel fair!

Walks o'er the verdant plain, And breathes a soft and balmy air, From isles beyond the main: When robins sing, and waters play, And lambs skip o'er the mead, And forest birds, with music gay, Their callow offspring feed: When May-flowers s.h.i.+ne by every stream, And fragrants showers come down, While sun-rays o'er the mountains gleam, And form a dazzling crown:-- Oh! then 'tis sweet to be with thee, Dear Nature ever fair, To roam thy walks of song and glee, Thy realms, sky, earth and air.

Bright angel spring, thou seem'st divine, With ever smiling brow: No sin-created gloom is thine, Nought dims thy beauty now.

Wide earth, stream, river, lake and sea, s.h.i.+ne forth an angel land, Where spirits, robed in purity, Roam, love-linked, hand in hand.

Now June, like full-blown womanhood, Succeeds the maiden spring, And broods upon the solitude, With broad and bird-like wing.

The air re-echoes forth a song Of full and perfect bliss, Where happy lovers roam along, And melt into a kiss.

But Summer bursts upon the world, With views of waving grain, Beneath the sweating sickle hurled, Upon the fragrant plain.

The warm, long day calls forth at length, The storm's electric fire, That shatters the oak's imperial strength, And bids the shrubs expire.

The cloud rolls off--and see! what pride!

A many colored bow, Hangs on the cloud's retreating side, And o'er the fields below.

Then, glorious summer flies away, From upland, slope and plain; And Autumn, crowned with shocks of hay, Appears in joy again.

Old, jolly Autumn! happy man!

Wild tumbling on the meads; We'll love thee, Autumn, as we can, Thy glory is our needs.

Thou heapest our barns with plenty--thou Art, sure our faithful friend; And, in the aspect of thy brow, Lovely and useful blend.

Thy golden hues recede at length, And seem to sigh decay, Till, thou, despoiled of life and strength, Art borne, a corpse, away.

Wild, bleak, and bl.u.s.tering Winter wild, a.s.sumes the icy throne; Deep snows upon the earth are piled, And hushed is every tone.

The trees stand bare, bleak skeletons, Of bodies once so fair, And dirges, dirges, woeful ones, Resound amid the air.

Bleak, winter wild! thy dreary scenes, Have yet one modest flower; The daisy finds some little greens, Whereby she builds her bower.

The daisy is a preacher wise, Whom heavenly robes array; Each winter lives, and sweetly tries, A loving word to say.

"Oh! man, amid thy darkest woe, Some humble bliss remains;-- Then, let thy murmurings cease to flow, And hush thy doleful strains."

It is the dawn. Faint crimson streaks The dewy, orient sky, Like virtue's blush, on maiden cheeks, Ah! sweet and peerless dye.

At last--the sun, an Eastern king, Comes forth in rested pride; And soars, with bright and burning wing, Above the hill and tide.

Above yon Blue Ridge, towering piles, Uptorn by Nature's throe-- He speeds, he speeds, through myriad miles, To his meridian glow.

The birds sink down, amid the copse, And sing a feeble song; At last, each sound, on sudden, stops, And Silence holds the throng.

But Evening, comes, a sober maid, With one bright, starry eye; And throws her mantle--star-inlaid-- Upon the silent sky.

It is night's noon. How dark, how vast, Yon boundless vault appears; A shadow o'er the earth is cast, That wakes the spirit's fears How death-like hushed! all life seems dead, Does Nature live at all?

Ah, truest symbol! it has said, "The hush--the gloom--the Pall!"

Day is the varying life of Man,-- Some suns.h.i.+ne--clouds again-- Night is his death--which erst began When Sin began to reign.

Dark, spectral Night! I sing of thee; For, thou art lovely, too-- And Death will wake the melody Of him whose life was true.

To walk upon the azure sea, It is a thing of bliss; When skies are bright, and sails are free And smiling wavelets kiss.

How grandly leans the s.h.i.+p, a queen, Above the sparkling tide-- With joy she walks the watery scene, A thing of fear and pride.

To scale the crown of vast Blue Ridge, And eye the world below-- Farm--river--ravine--wiry bridge-- And soaring crane and crow-- And misty woods--and fields afar-- Neat villages and towns-- Blest herds and flocks no beast can mar, That nibble sunny downs.

Oh! that is, sure, a pleasant thing, And bathes the soul in joy; And many a grief-worn man 'twould bring, To be once more a boy.

'Tis sweet to rove, at twilight dim, Beside an aldered stream, To list thy lady's evening hymn, 'Neath starlight's trembling gleam.

'Tis sweet to sit within a bower, Inwrought with flower and vine, What time along yon mountain tower, The shades of eve decline.

'Tis sweet to hear the nightingale, O'erflow the forest shade, With harmony which might avail, To win a Dis-stole maid.

'Twere sweet to cleave the snowy foam, With s.h.i.+p and spirit free, Where tropic spices ever roam, The Caribbean sea.

'Twere sweet to sail by Yemen's sh.o.r.e, And touch that golden strand, Where Indus' river wanders o'er, Its glittering, golden sand.

Oh! Nature! thou art far above, The painter's, Poet's pride-- Thou art the glorious Child of Love-- Adorned a heavenly bride.

YORKTOWN.

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 shroud Of Night and Battle from the land and sea, The Sun looked forth through no obstructing cloud, And saw a Nation FREE.

POET'S ENCHANTED LIFE.

THE ANGEL-CHILD.

A fairy land of gra.s.s 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.