Mazelli, and Other Poems Part 10

"They say thou hast another's love,-- Well, cherish it, but thou Its lack of strength and depth wilt prove, Should sorrow cloud thy brow.

Though she may own a statelier form, A fairer cheek than mine, Her heart cannot so well and warm, Respond each throb of thine."

Her words were gentle, but their tone Was sad as sorrow's sigh,-- A tear-drop trembled in his own As he sought her downcast eye.

A chord was struck within his breast That long untouched had lain, Old memories started from their rest,-- The maid was loved again.

Stanzas.

On! there are hours of sadness, when the soul, Torn from its every stay, and crushed beneath Its many griefs, and spurning faith's control, Pants with an earnest longing for the death Which would for ever close its dark career, With the pale shroud and the remorseless bier; When the harsh, sterile nothingness of life, First breaks upon the hope-deluded breast, And the heart sickens with the bootless strife That wrings its chords, and longs to be at rest; Ev'n if the blow that frees it from distress, Should strike it into utter nothingness.

Ah, nothingness! The thought at times will come, The mind will wrestle with the mystery That clouds its being! from its clay-made home, Its dwelling of a moment, it will flee Into the far depths of the vast UNKNOWN, In its vain searchings for th' eternal throne Of that Omnipotence which gave it birth, And, giving it a nature which might suit A seraph, bound its destiny to earth!

And a few years, in which to eat the fruit Of life's strange tree, so bitter at its core, Then death, the quiet grave, sleep, and--what more?

Whence came we? whither go we? All is still And voiceless in the past! A veil is drawn Across the future! by life's mystic rill We sit and ponder, watching for the dawn Of some yet unconceived, far-reaching thought, By which our nature's secret shall be taught!

Why sorrow is our element--why sin Is native in us--by what curse we bear An ever aching, crus.h.i.+ng void within Our secret souls! and why the little share Of happiness that mingles with our fate, Is of such fleeting, transitory date 1

Our loves! our hopes! what are they? fruits which turn To ashes on our lips! illusive lights That cast a moment's brightness while they burn, Then die, and leave a darkness which affrights Our spirits with its thrice redoubled gloom, Making the sky a pall--the earth a tomb!

And yet these are the all of life for which 'Tis worth the wearing of its chain to know, Wealth, fame, and power are but toys! the rich, The high and mighty, with the base and low, Alike before the reaper Death must fall,-- So be it! in the grave is rest for all.

Stanzas.

When the leaf is on the tree, And the bird is in the bower, And the b.u.t.terfly and bee, Bear its treasures from the flower; When the fields put on the sheen, That to young-eyed Spring belongs; When the groves and forests green, Echo with a thousand songs;

When wild Beauty wanders forth, Giving, with no stinted care, All her loveliness to earth, All her sweetness to the air: Then the heart, with gladness stirred, Mindful of its griefs no more, Mounts and carols, like a bird When the pearly shower is o'er!

But the summer's sunny hours, As we count them, pa.s.s away; And its fairest fruits and flowers, Are but food for stern decay.

Then with wailings, deep and loud, Like the sea's in its unrest, Winter spreads his icy shroud, O'er the bare earth's frozen breast.

Thus the spirit's early gladness, Sorrow chills or time removes; And the soul, in tears and sadness, Mourns its perished joys and loves.

Hope will lose its trusting boldness, One by one its beams depart, And Despair, with icy, coldness, Winds its mantle round the heart.

AFTER WITNESSING A DEATH-SCENE.

Press close your lips, And bow your heads to earth, for Death is here!

Mark ye not how across that eye so clear, Steals his eclipse?

A moment more, And the quick throbbings of her heart shall cease, Her pain-wrung spirit will obtain release, And all be o'er!

Hus.h.!.+ Seal ye up Your gus.h.i.+ng tears, for Mercy's hand hath shaken Her earth-bonds off, and from her lip hath taken Grief's bitter cup.

Ye know the dead Are they who rest secure from care and strife,-- That they who walk the th.o.r.n.y way of life, Have tears to shed.

Ye know her pray'r, Was for the quiet of the tomb's deep rest,-- Love's sepulchre lay cold within her breast, Could peace dwell there?

A tale soon told, Is of her life the story; she had loved, And he who won her heart to love, had proved Heartless and cold.

Lay her to rest, Where s.h.i.+nes and falls the summer's sun and dew; For these should s.h.i.+ne and fall where lies so true And fond a breast!

A full release From every pang is given to the dead,-- So on the stone ye place above her head, Write only "Peace."*

When Spring comes back, With music on her lips,--joy in her eye,-- Her sunny banner streaming through the sky,-- Flow'rs in her track--

Then come ye here, And musing from the busy world apart, Drop on the turf that wraps her mouldering heart, Sweet Pity's tear.

* The most touchingly beautiful epitaph I have ever read, was written in that one word, "Peace." It seemed like the last sigh of a departing spirit, over the clay which it was about to abandon for ever.

LOVE AND FANCY.

"Whenever, amid bow'rs of myrtle, Love, summer-tressed and vernal-eyed, At morn or eve is seen to wander, A dark-haired girl is at his side."

De La Hogue.

One morn, just as day in the far east was breaking, Young Love, who all night had been roving about, A charming siesta was quietly taking, His strength, by his rambles, completely worn out.

Round his brow a wreath, woven of every flower That springs from the hillside, or valley, was bound; In his hand was a rose he had stol'n from some bower, While his bow and his quiver lay near on the ground.

Wild Fancy just came from her kingdom of dreams, The breath of the opening day to enjoy, And to catch the warm kiss of its first golden beams On her cheek, caught a glimpse of the slumbering boy!

With a light, noiseless step she drew near to the sleeper, And gazed till her snowy-breast heaved a soft sigh; Then she bade sleep's dull G.o.d bring a sounder and deeper And heavier trance for Love's beautiful eye.

Then back to her shadowy kingdom she flow, And called up the bright mystic forms she has there; And filling an urn from a fountain of dew, She bade them all straight to Love's couch-side repair.

They came, and stood round, as her hand, o'er his pillow, From a chalice of pearl, poured its magical stream: While his red rosy lips, that now sighed like a billow At play with the breeze, told how sweet was his dream.

He dreamed that he sat on a s.h.i.+ning throne, wrought Of the purest of gold that the earth could supply, While a trio of beautiful maids, who each brought A gift for his shrine, in succession past by.

First Fame, with the step and the glance of a queen, Came up, and before him bent down her proud knee, And held up a garland, whereon played the sheen Of the beams which insure immortality!

Next Wealth, the stern mistress of men, for whose smile They toil like the galley slave,--brought in her hand The fair gems of many an ocean isle, And the diamonds of many a far off land.

And Beauty came too, with her blue, laughing eye, Her fair flowing locks, and her soft rosy cheek, And red lips, whose sweet smile told silently The tale which they seemed ashamed to speak.

'Neath the shade of a palm branch a fourth one stood by, With locks like in hue to the tresses of Night, With a pale, pensive brow, and a dark dreamy eye, Where the soul of sweet softness lay gleaming in light!

It was Fancy: Love gazed, and his eager eye shone With a l.u.s.tre of feeling, deep, fervent, and sweet; And he thought it were better to give up his throne For a place, on his knees, at the coy maiden's feet.

And from that bright hour, through calm and through storm, Through the sunlight of summer, and winter's dark reign, These twain have been bound by ties, tender and warm, Which ne'er through all time shall be severed again.

And ever where Love weaves his fond witchery, Will Fancy the aid of her brightness bestow, And give the loved object, whatever it be, A purer, a dearer, a heavenlier glow!

LINES WRITTEN IN A YOUNG LADY'S ALb.u.m