Mazelli, and Other Poems Part 11

'Tis not in youth, when life is new, when but to live is sweet, When Pleasure strews her starlike flow'rs beneath our careless feet, When Hope, that has not been deferred, first waves its golden wings, And crowds the distant future with a thousand lovely things;--

When if a transient grief o'ershades the spirit for a while, The momentary tear that falls is followed by a smile; Or if a pensive mood, at times, across the bosom steals, It scarcely sighs, so gentle is the pensiveness it feels

It is not then the, restless soul will seek for one with whom To share whatever lot it bears, its gladness or its gloom,-- Some trusting, tried, and gentle heart, some true and faithful breast, Whereon its pinions it may fold, and claim a place of rest.

But oh! when comes the icy chill that freezes o'er the heart, When, one by one, the joys we shared, the hopes we held, depart; When friends, like autumn's withered leaves, have fallen by our side, And life, so pleasant once, becomes a desert wild and wide;--

As for her olive branch the dove swept o'er the sullen wave, That rolled above the olden world--its death-robe and its grave!-- So will the spirit search the earth for some kind, gentle one, With it to share her destiny, and make it all her own!

TO A LADY.

Suggested By Hearing Her Voice During Services At Church.

At night, in visions, when my soul drew near The shadowy confines of the spirit land, Wild, wondrous notes of song have met my ear, Wrung from their harps by many a seraph's hand; And forms of light, too, more divinely fair Than Mercy's messenger to hearts that mourn, On wings that made sweet music in the air, Have round me, in those hours of bliss, been borne, And, filled with joy unutterable, I Have deemed myself a born child of the sky.

And often, too, at sunset's magic hour, When musing by some solitary stream, While thought awoke in its resistless pow'r, And restless Fancy wove her brightest dream: Mysterious tongues, that were not of the earth, Have whispered words which I may not repeat,-- But Thought or Fancy ne'er have given birth To form and voice like thine,--so fair and sweet!

Nor have I found them when my spirit's flight Had borne me to the far sh.o.r.es of delight.

Above the murmurs of an hundred lips, They rose, those silvery tones of praise and pray'r, Soft as the light breeze, when Aurora trips The earth, and, lighting up the darkened air, Carols her greetings to the waking flow'rs!

They fell upon my heart like summer rain Upon the thirsting fields,--and earlier hours, When I too breathed th' adoring pray'r and strain, Came back once more; the present was beguiled Of half its gloom, and my worn spirit smiled.

Pray, lady, that the sad, soul-searing blight, Which comes upon us when we tread the ways Of sin, may not be suffered to alight On thy pure spirit in its youthful days; Or like the fruitage of the Dead Sea sh.o.r.e, Tho' outward bloom and freshness thou may'st be, Stern bitterness and death will gnaw thy core, And thou wilt be a heart-scathed thing like me, Bearing the weight of many years, ere thou Hast lost youth's rosy cheek and lineless brow.

IMPROMPTU, On The Reception Of A Letter.

I would love to have thee near me, But when I think how drear Is each hope that used to cheer me, I cease to wish thee here.

I know that thou, wouldst not shrink from The storms that burst on me, But the bitter chalice I drink from, I will not pa.s.s to thee.

I would share the world with thee, were it With all its pleasures mine, But the sorrows which I inherit, I never will make thine!

THE OLD MAN AND THE BOY.

"Glenara, Glenara, now read me my dream."

Campbell.

Father, I have dreamed a dream, When the rosy morning hour Poured its light on field and stream, Kindling nature with its pow'r;--

O'er the meadow's dewy breast, I had chased a b.u.t.terfly, Tempted by its gaudy vest, Still my vain pursuit to ply,--

Till my limbs were weary grown, With the distance I had strayed, Then to rest I laid me down, Where a beech tree cast its shade,

Soon a heaviness came o'er me, And a deep sleep sealed my eyes; And a vision past before me, Full of changing phantasies.

First I stood beside a bower, Green as summer bow'r could be; Vine and fruit, and leaf and flower, Mixed to weave its canopy.

And within reclined a form, As embodied moonlight fair, With a soft cheek, fresh and warm, Deep blue eye and sunny hair.

By her side a goblet stood, Such as baccha.n.a.lians brim; High the rich grape's crimson blood, Sparkled o'er its gilded rim.

As I gazed, she bowed her head, With a gay and graceful move, And in words of music said, "Drink, and learn the lore of love!"

Next I stood beside a mountain, Of majestic form and height; Cliff and crag, and glen and fountain, Mingled to make up its might.

On its lofty brow were growing Flowers never chilled by gloom, For the sky above them glowing, Dyed them with a deathless bloom.

And I saw the crystal dome, Wondrous in its majesty, Where earth's great ones find a home, When their spirits are set free.

By its portals, I espied One who kept the courts within; High he waved a wreath and cried, "Come up hither,--strive and win!"

Then my vision changed again: In a fairy-coloured sh.e.l.l, O'er the wide sea's pathless plain, I was speeding, fast and well.

Suddenly, beneath its prow, Parted were the azure waves, And I saw where, far below, Yawn the vast deep's secret caves.

Where the Syren sings her song, To old Ocean's sons and daughters; And the mermaids dance along, To the music of the waters.

Where the coral forest o'er, Storm or tempest ne'er is driven And the gems that strew its floor, Sparkle like the stars in heaven.

Treasures, such as never eye Of the earth has looked upon, Gold and pearls of many a dye, There in rich profusion shone.

And a voice came to my ear, Saying, in a stern, cold tone, Such as chills the heart with fear, "Seize and make the prize thine own."

Then across a clouded wild, Lone and drear and desolate, Where no cheerful cottage smiled, I pursued the steps of fate.

Ever bearing in my breast, Thoughts almost to madness wrought; Ever, ever seeking rest, Never finding what I Sought--

Till I gave my wanderings o'er, By a black and icy stream,-- Deep I plunged and knew no more:-- Father, read me now my dream.

The old man bowed his head, And pressed his thin hand to his withered brow, As if he struggled with some rising thought Which should have kept its place in memory's urn Till he had cast the shadow from his soul, Which for a while had bound it in a spell Born of the bygone years,--then thus he spoke:

Now listen, boy, and I will show to thee The import of thy vision,--I will tell Thee what its scenes and shapes of mystery Foreshadow of the future,--for full well I know the wizard lore, whose witchery Binds e'en the time to come in its wild spell!

And from approaching years a knowledge wrings Of what they bear upon their viewless wings.

Along life's weary way of pain and care, From earliest infancy to eldest age, Forms, viewless as the soft-breathed summer air, Attend man's footsteps in his pilgrimage; And if his destiny be dark or fair, If Pleasure gilds, or Sorrow blots the page Whereon is traced his history, still his ear Will ever catch their warning voices near.

And they--those guardian ones, who, while thy sleep Hung o'er thee like a curtain, came around And fanned thee till thy slumber grew more deep,-- Flung o'er thy rest, so perfect and profound, A dream whose mem'ry thou shouldst ever keep Bound to thy spirit, for altho' it wound, Thy young heart now, perchance, in after years, 'Twill save thee much of toil, and many tears.

It was a dream of life: of boyhood's strong And soul-consuming yearnings after love!

His eager search to find, amid the throng, Some heart to give him thought for thought--to move And mingle with his own, as twines the song From Beauty's lyre and lips! to know and prove The dearest joy to care-cursed mortals given, The one with least of earth, and most of heaven