Poetic Musings [pp. 595-598]

1840.] Pttetic Musings; 597
Wandering by mount, by vale, by tree,
With springy step, and heart of glee.
Where nought his harp cumbers,
Save its burthen of praise!"
To share these joys, partake this bliss,
-(Was ever joy more pure than this?)
And cheer his steps, there with him came
His gentle, good, kind-hearted dame;Who,-no indeed! I've vainly sought
To paint HER portrait as I ought,
Or more,-within the group, to trace
Another form, of youthful grace,
That cam e, as Summer's breeze might stray
O'er some lone vale in careless play,
Waking a passing breath of gladness,
Which instant dies in notes of sadness.
E'en while these stanzas have been written here,
God, to himself hath taken one, as fail,
As young as Thou;-[and like in form and face:]From t his to her eternal resting-place.
And it hath deeply stamped upon my heart
This sad conviction, which will ne'er depart:
We are more frail than aught beneath the sky;
E'en summer-foliage hath its "time to die!"
But neither time nor season mark our lot;To day, we are,-to-morrow we are not!
Is Summer's breeze so like to THEE?
In softness it may truly be;But, in its careless, wandering way,
More like to him who breathes this lay:-A lay, most blest, if like such breeze,
It can one passing moment please!
And scanning o'er this ever fickle scene,
Of toils, and cares, and sorrows, that have been;
It seems that this epitome, though brief
And sad, is true:-REALITY is GRIEF;
And DISAPPOINTMENT,-differing but in name,Is, with FUTURITY indeed the same.
There was a wandering zephyr once,
Who, like a most presuming dunce,
-('Tis thus at least the story goes,)
Became enamoured of a Rose;
And near the soft and blushing flower
Would linger many a silent hour:Till, forced at last to leave her side,
And thro' the world to wander wide,
His timid song reluctant flows,
In farewell murmiurs to the rose.
So well he told his mournful fate,
-To wander lone and desolate,That, ere his plaintive song was done,
The lovely rose was fairly won;And when again he reached her side
The gentle flower became his bride.
I can't discern,-I' faith not I!The deep enchantment of his sigh;But still I will his strain repeat,
And hope that You may think it sweet.
My song began in pleasant strain,
Regarding with a softened eye,
Hours that had passed too swiftly by;
Yet speaking too of happier hours,
More richly bright with "fount and flowers;"
And turning youth's unclouded gaze
Full on those joyous coming days.
But o'er my spirit steals a cloud,
Which,-wrapping in its gloomy shroud
All that is bright, and pure, and fair,Leaves only shade and darkness there.
I fain would wake such song again,
To breathe for Thee its fondest strain;
But past is the " enraptured fire"
That warmed at first my humble lyre;
And as the stinset's parting gleam
Makes Night itself more gloomy seem,
The shade that o'er these strings is cast
Seems sadder, for their brightness past!
Yet, bright your future days will prove,
With all you wish, and all you love!
"Oh! pity poor zephyr,
Who wanders so lonely;
Whose sighs, now and ever,
Are breathed for THEE only.
Yes! Joy herself shall crown thy days,
And Hope, her promise fond, flilfil;
While Rapture yields her purest rays,
To gild thy gladisomne pathway still.
H e i s d riven o'er hill,
And he wanders thro' vale;But his breath lingers still
On the wings of the gale.
Longer, the tears of Night may lie
In Morning's sunshine, unexhaled,
Than'neath the glaince of thy bright eye
Shall sadness linger, undispelled!
He may wander o'er sea,
But his harp has no tone;Its notes were for THEE,
Now their spirit has flown!
Fair lady! you perhaps may deem,
A fond enthusiast's glowing dream
Is building, on unstable air,
A Future, thus serenely fair,
Peopled with many forms of light
Whose lives,-so much more brief than bright!His feeble spells may not prolong,
Till distance to their ears shall give
The first faint echo, of the song
Whose trembling numbers bade them live:But, know you not, that oft is thrown
Around the lyre, prophetic tone,
While hidden,'mid its chords doth lie
The solemn voice of Destiny?
He'll wing his flight lightly
'Mid the blue of the skies,
W'here the l ight b eam s mor e brightly,
'Mid Thy love-blushing dyes;
1840.]
Po,etic Musin O.S.7 b
697
A
Should the wild gale of life
Curb-its ruthless career,
And the tempest's loud strife
Die away from his ear,
Then wake his sweet numbers,
And pour his soft lays,
I