Sidor som bilder
PDF
ePub

X.

THE OASES

THINK not that I am hapless, ye who read
The pensive numbers of my fervent lyre.
That in the heart are sown some upas-seed,
Is not to prove all healthful germs expire.
That in a garden are some withered bowers,
Crisped buds and yellow leaves bestrew the ground,

Is not to prove it hath nor herbs nor flowers.
Think not because I've stood on every round

Of Fortune's ladder, that no oases
Amid the desert of my heart upglow
Above the sands and sallow cypresses,

Cheering the weary pilgrims as they go

Not all the fires that Terra's breast consume,

Can kill these emerald spots that mid my heart-waste

bloom.

XI.

JOYS OF INTELLECTUAL EMPLOYMENT. JOYS

'Tis true I'm poor in what the world calls bliss ;
"Tis true I have known many wounds of pride,
With which a weaker nature would have died.
"Tis true I've passed Charybdis in distress,
Yet mid the maelstrom thrilled with happiness.
We should not murmur 'gainst an earthly trial-
It throws a stronger sunlight on life's dial,
Awakes the spirit in its chrysalis,

And plumes it to the broad, bright heavens to soar.

O God! if I could sing the bliss I've known,

While sitting in this study-room alone,

Listing the soul-waves wash the eternal shore ;

If I could ring it out in one loud song,

"Twould shake the throne of grief and banish wrong

XII.

HEART JOYS.

THE disappointments that did drape my youth,
And heavily upon my heart-strings lay;
The yellow fennel that entwined my way,
Breathing upon my soul the dews of ruth;
The many failings I have known of truth,
And love, and friendship-gnawing cares,
Toils, tears, bereavements-inward aches of years,
That teach me life's realities, in sooth;

All have not banished from my bosom hope,

Nor drank the freshness of its youthful bloom-
There are some feelings grief cannot entomb-
Joys that to common daybeams never ope-
My spirit feeds on inborn blessedness,

And still hath faith in truth, and love, and happiness.

XIII.

TO POESY.

I.

THE earth, the sea, the air, are full of thee—
All animated nature owns thy sway—
The Angels thy entrancing spells obey,
Inexplicable-Heaven-born Poesy!

Thou art the holiest gift of Deity-

The High-Priest of the heart, that soothing e'er
To its confessions lend'st a willing ear;
O'er its dark waters breath'st serenity,
And giv'st a voice to all its sacred feeling.

Thou dwellest with the humble, sad, and lone,

And broken-hearted, when love, hope have flown,
And death life's shallow current is congealing;

Thou bidd'st the soul look heavenward from this clod—
And art the heart's best refuge next to GOD.

[blocks in formation]

XIV.

TO POESY.

II.

How could I live without thee! Unto whom,
In melancholy moments, could I fly,

To breathe or thought, or wish, or hope, or sigh,

And claim, in turn, a smile to light the gloom

That hovers o'er my heart, as o'er a tomb!
Who could allure me from the embrace of Sorrow,

My spirit cheer with visions of to-morrow,

But thou? Who dwell with me mid bud and bloon;
By hill, and dale, and stream, and rustling grove,
Teaching me Nature's language-those great truths,
With which she elevates, instructs, and soothes ?
Who lead me through those starry aisles above,
Unveiling to mine eyes Eternity,

If thou shouldst leave me―blest-inspiring Poesy ?

« FöregåendeFortsätt »