Sidor som bilder
PDF
ePub

When the Angel this had said, Out his burnished wings he spread, And above the tree-tops sped; Upward, upward, where the moon Floated in her cloudy noon, Leaving me to guard the door

Of my heart for ever more—

Ah! ever more !

But this heart would not obey
What the missioned sprite did say—

It would have its wilful way;

It made Love its chiefest guest,

Till he banished peace and rest,

When he straight went out the door,

Locking woe in ever more—

Ah! ever more!

SONNETS TO MY STUDY.

I.

THIS is

MY STUDY.

my world-my angel-guarded shrine,

Which I have made to suit my heart's great need,
When sorrow dooms it overmuch to bleed:
Or, when aweary and athirst I pine
For genial showers and sustenance divine;
When love, or hope, or joy, my heart deceive,
And I would sit me down alone to grieve-
My mind to sad or studious mood resign.
Here oft, upon the stream of thought I lie,
Floating whichever way the waves are flowing-
Sometimes along the banks of childhood going,
Where all is bud, and bloom, and melody,

Or, wafted by some stronger current, glide,

Where darker frown the steeps and deeper flows the tide.

II.

IT IS MY CAABA.

YES, 'tis my Càabà-a shrine below,
Where my soul sits within its house of clay,
Listing the steps of Angels come and go-
Sweet missioned heralds from the realms of day.
One brings me rays from regions of the sun,
One comes to warn me of some pending dart,
One brings a laurel leaf for work well done,
Another, whispers from a kindred heart.-
Oh! this I would not change for all the gold
That lies beneath the Sacramento's waves,
For all the jewels Indian coffers hold,
For all the pearls in Oman's starry caves-
The lessons of all pedagogues are naught
To those I learn within this holy fane of Thought.

III.

HERE HOMER TEACHES.

HERE blind old Homer teaches lofty song;
The Lesbian sings of Cupid's pinions furled,
And how the heart is withered up by wrong;
Dante depictures an infernal world,
Wide opening many a purgatorial aisle ;
Torquato rings the woes of Palestine,
Alphonso's rage, and Leonora's smile-
Love, beauty, genius, glory all divine;
Milton depaints the bliss of Paradise,
Then flings apart the ponderous gates of hell,
Where Satan on the fiery billow lies,
"With head uplift," above his army fell,-
And Avon's bard, surpassing all in art,

Unlocks the portals of the human heart.

IV.

TO THE GENIUS OF LITERATURE.

[A STATUETTE ON THE MANTEL IN MY STUDY.]

THY little foot uplifted on thy knee,
Thine eyes intently bent upon thy book,
As in a transcendental revery,

Ne'er deigning round my study-room to look,
There thou dost mutely sit from day to day,
Lost in the dreamy realm of fantasy.

Yet o'er my heart thou hold'st a mighty sway,
And sagest lessons dost impart to me
Of art, and beauty, and the wealth of lore;
The unfathomable seas of mind and love;
The meed for lofty effort held in store,
Till aspiration lifts my soul above,
And I am drunk in intellectual joy—
My charming, beautiful, mute marble boy.

« FöregåendeFortsätt »