(1808-1877)
The Bride
SHE is standing by her loved one's side,
A young and a fair and a gentle bride,
But mournfulness hath crost her face
Like shadows in a sunny place,
And wistfully her eye doth strain
Across the blue and distant main.
My home! my home!--I would I were
Again in joyous gladness there!
My home! my home!--I would I heard
The singing voice, like some small bird,
Of him, our mother's youngest child,
With light soft step, and features mild.--
I would I saw that dear one now,
With the proud eye and noble brow,
Whose very errors were more loved
Than all our reason most approved.
And she, my fairy sister, she,
Who was the soul of childish glee;
Who loved me so--oh, let me hear
Once more those tones familiar, dear,
Which haunt my rest; and I will smile
Even as I used to do erewhile.
I know that some have fall'n asleep--
I know that some have learnt to weep--
But my heart never feels the same
As when those light steps round me came:
And sadness weighs my heavy eye
Beneath this cheerless stranger sky:
Tho' fewer now might round me come--
It is my home--my own old home!
She is back again in her sunny home,
And thick and fast the beatings come
Of that young heart, as round she sees
The same sweet flowers, the same old trees;
But they, the living flowers she loved,
Are they the same? are they unmoved?--
No--time which withers leaf and stem
Hath thrown his withering change o'er them.
Where there was mirth, is silence now--
Where there was joy, a darkened brow--
The bounding step hath given place
To the slow stealing mournful pace;
The proud bright eye is now less proud,
By time, and thought, and sickness bowed.
And the light singing voice no more
Its joyful carols echoes o'er,
But whispers; fearful some gay tone
May wake the thought of pleasures gone.
It is her home--but all in vain
Some lingering things unchanged remain:
The present wakes no smile--the past
Hath tears to bid its memory last.
She knew that some were gone--but oh!
She knew not--youth can never know
How furrowed o'er with silent thought
Are brows which grief and time have taught.
The murmuring of some shadowy word,
Which was a name--which now, unheard,
May wander thro' the clear cold sky,
Or wake the echo for reply:
The lingering pause in some bright spot
To dream of those who now are not:
The gaze that vainly seeks to trace
Lost feelings beaming on a face
Where time and sorrow, guilt and care,
Have past and left their withering there:--
These are her joys; and she doth roam
Around her dear but desert home;
Peopling the vacant seats, till tears arise,
And blot the dim sweet vision from her eyes.
Escape from the Snares of Love.
YOUNG LOVE has chains of metal rare,
Heavy as gold--yet light as air:
It chanced he caught a heart one day
Which struggled hard, as loth to stay.
Prudence, poor thing, was lingering near--
She whispered in the captive's ear,
"Cease, little flutterer; bear thy chain,
And soon thou shalt be free again!"
No; I assert my right to fly--
The chain shall break, and Love shall die
What! I remain a willing slave?
No--freedom, freedom, or the grave!
Meanwhile Love slumbered by his prize
His languid limbs and closing eyes
Prudence beheld--she spoke again,
"Oh! yet a moment bear thy chain!"
Unheeded prayer! the struggling heart
Strove still the slender links to part,
While timid Prudence gazed and sighed,
Weary of strife, and loth to chide.
One moment more the links had broke,
But slumbering Love, alarmed, awoke;
With iron rivets bound the chain,
And turned secure to sleep again.
Let hearts which now in bondage weep,
Repose, till wearied Love shall sleep:
Oh! struggle not, lest he should wake ;--
Slip off the chain--it will not break.
I was not False to Thee.
I WAS not false to thee, and yet
My cheek alone looked pale;
My weary eye was dim and wet,
My strength began to fail.
Thou wert the same; thy looks were gay,
Thy step was light and free;
And yet, with truth, my heart can say,
I was not false to thee!
I was not false to thee, yet now
Thou hast a cheerful eye,
With flushing cheek and drooping brow
I wander mournfully.
I hate to meet the gaze of men,
I weep where none can see;
Why do I only suffer, when
I was not false to thee?
I was not false to thee; yet oh!
How scornfully they smile,
Who see me droop, who guess my woe,
Yet court thee all the while.
'Tis strange! but when long years are past,
Thou wilt remember me;
Whilst I can feel until the last,
I was not false to thee!
When Poor in all but Hope and Love.
WHEN, poor in all but hope and love,
I clasped thee to my faithful heart;
For wealth and fame I vowed to rove,
That we might meet no more to part!
Years have gone by--long weary years
Of toil, to win thee comfort now--
Of ardent hopes--of sickening fears--
And wealth is mine--but where art thou?
Fame's dazzling dreams, for thy dear sake,
Rose brighter than before to me;
I clung to all I deemed could make
My burning heart more worthy thee.
Years have gone by--the laurel droops
In mockery o'er my joyless brow :
A conquered world before me stoops,
And Fame is mine--but where art thou?
In life's first hours, despised and lone,
I wandered through the busy crowd;
But now that life's best hopes are gone,
They greet with pride and murmurs loud.
Oh! for thy voice! thy happy voice,
To breathe its laughing welcome now;
Wealth, fame, and all that should rejoice,
To me are vain--for where art thou?
Dreams.
SURELY I heard a voice--surely my name
Was breathed in tones familiar to my heart!
I listened--and the low wind stealing came,
In darkness and in silence to depart.
Surely I saw a form, a proud bright form,
Standing beside my couch! I raised mine eyes:
'Twas but a dim cloud, herald of a storm,
That floated through the grey and twilight skies.
Surely the brightness of the summer hour
Hath suddenly burst upon the circling gloom!
I dream; 'twas but the perfume of a flower,
Which the breeze wafted through the silent room.
Surely a hand clasped mine with greetings fond!
A name is murmured by my lips with pain;
Woe for that sound--woe for love's broken bond.
I start--I wake--I am alone again!
Sage and Rosemary