Sweeping past thy lowly bed, Is the noble Douglas nigh, Wins me from their splendours brief; Nor, amidst its lone domain, Call the faith in relics vain! NATURE'S FAREWELL. "The beautiful is vanish'd, and returns not." COLERIDGE's Wallenstein. A YOUTH rode forth from his childhood's home, NATURE'S FAREWELL. 115 "Knew'st thou with what thou art parting here, Long would'st thou linger in doubt and fear; Thy heart's light laughter, thy sunny hours, Thou hast left in our shades with the spring's wild flowers. "Under the arch by our mingling made, On rode the youth—and the boughs among, "Thou may'st come to the summer woods again, On rode the youth-and the founts and streams "Listen but once to the sound of our mirth! For thee 'tis a melody passing from earth. Never again wilt thou find in its flow, The peace it could once on thy heart bestow. "Thou wilt visit the scenes of thy childhood's glee, With the breath of the world on thy spirit free; Passion and sorrow its depth will have stirr'd, "Thou wilt bear in our gladsome laugh no partWhat should it do for a burning heart? Thou wilt bring to the banks of our freshest rill, Thirst which no fountain on earth may still. "Farewell!-when thou comest again to thine own, Thou wilt miss from our music its loveliest tone; Mournfully true is the tale we tell— Yet on, fiery dreamer! farewell, farewell!" And a something of gloom on his spirit weigh'd As he caught the last sounds of his native shade; But he knew not, till many a bright spell broke, How deep were the oracles Nature spoke! THE BEINGS OF THE MIND. "The beings of the mind are not of clay; Essentially immortal, they create And multiply in us a brighter ray, And more beloved existence; that which Fate BYRON. COME to me with your triumphs and your woes, THE BEINGS OF THE MIND. 'Midst the glad music of the spring alone, And sorrowful for visions that are gone! 117 Come to me! make your thrilling whispers heard, That bursts from grief, like lightning from a cloud, Come to me! visit my dim haunt !—the sound Floats through the air, in rich and sudden streams, Friends, friends!—for such to my lone heart ye are Unchanging ones! from whose immortal eyes The glory melts not as a waning star, And the sweet kindness never, never dies; Bright children of the bard! o'er this green dell Pass once again, and light it with your spell! Imogen fair Fidele! meekly blending In patient grief, "a smiling with a sigh ;"* And thou, Cordelia! faithful daughter, tending That sire, an outcast to the bitter sky; * "Nobly he yokes A smiling with a sigh." Cymbeline. Thou of the soft low voice!-thou art not gone! Still breathes for me its faint and flute-like tone. And come to me!-sing me thy willow-strain, Come, bowing thy young head to wrong and scorn, And thou, too, fair Ophelia! flowers are here, That well might win thy footstep to the spotPale cowslips, meet for maiden's early bier, And pansies for sad thoughts,*-but needed not! Come with thy wreaths, and all the love and light In that wild eye still tremulously bright. And Juliet, vision of the south! enshrining All gifts that unto its rich heaven belong; The glow, the sweetness, in its rose combining, The soul its nightingales pour forth in song, Thou, making death deep joy!-but could'st thou die? No!-thy young love hath immortality! From earth's bright faces fades the light of morn, "Here's pansies for you-that's for thoughts." Hamlet. |