Lays from the West Part 10

In concert grand the tuneful waves Break wildly on the foam-girt sh.o.r.e, And through a thousand secret caves The shrill wind-voices loudly roar.

Now are the harps of the Ocean waking, 'Mid the howling winds and the billows breaking!

The mermaid leaves her ocean home To sing her love-songs, soft and tender; The moonlight gilds the breaker's foam, And bathes the sea in silvery splendour; And the splashing spray on the White Rocks falling Sounds like lonely voices of Ocean calling.

Oh, lone Dunluce! looking o'er the sea, With tower and keep so grim and h.o.a.ry, Do the waves' wild revels recall to thee The days of your long-departed glory-- When the wan, weird moonlight is round thee streaming, With the stars' pale light on your gray walls beaming?

Oh, stern old relic of bygone ages!

Oh, stout old scorner of Time's rude hand!

Your name shall live in our history's pages While a poet sings in our native land; And your fame shall be heard in old Erin's story When we tell of the days of her vanished glory.

Ah! many a tale not in history's keeping, Of lordly chieftain and lady fair, in the gloom of Oblivion now are sleeping, And can never be told in the twilight there; Who repose unremembered in graves unknown, Where the storms of past ages have o'er them blown.

I can almost fancy the winds are singing Those stories forgotten by all but thee, And the rolling waves in their turn are bringing Back mem'ries of olden chivalry; Wild minstrels around thee in darkness stealing The scenes of the long ago revealing

I hear in the distance their harp-notes swelling In a dirge-like wail o'er the moaning sea, And I think that their mournful strains are telling A thousand tales of the past to me.

The echoing caves to their songs replying, As each fitful sound on the gale is dying.

Wild minstrels of Nature, whose poet-fire Rings out through her solitudes, wild and grand.

Let your spirit rest on my feeble lyre, And I'll chain it there with a willing hand.

And when Night hangs her myriad star-lamps shine Let me blend her notes with your wondrous chord.

THOUGHTS AT EVENTIDE.

"I hold it true, with one who sings To one clear lute of divers tunes.

That men may rise on stepping-stones Of their dead selves to higher things."--TENNYSON

Lo! the sunset fire is burning in the roseate sky of evening Where grand in dying glory sinks the G.o.d of day to rest And wide o'er the dewy meadows lie the golden lights and shadows, Like gleams that come to cheer us from the regions the blest!

Slow the fiery orb is sinking down below the purple mountains; Still the splendour of his radiance lingers round us for a while; And the peaceful country bowers, and the stately run towers, Are rejoicing in the beauty of the glad, refulgent smiles.

From the trees and from the meadows the bird-song wild and tender, In sweet and mingled chorus, like vesper songs, arise With the evening zephyrs blending, on their airy wings ascending, Like anthems of thanksgiving they are ringing thro' the skies.

The children's happy voices from the village playground stealing, With the cadence of their laughter, come floating through the air; And the face of Nature smiling, every thought of care beguiling, Soothes my restless soul to musing in the twilight calm and fair,--

Keeps my soul in peaceful musing, 'mid the tranquil summer gloaming, When the cares of day are ended, and its labours all are done; When the Dove of Peace is stealing o'er the valleys, bringing healing On her white wings to the weary, with the rest that they have won.

Here let me sit and ponder on life's long and varied story, On the things that are, and have been, and the times that are to be; Of the past and of the present, of the darksome days and pleasant, And the future years, still hidden, that are kept in store for me.

But, the past--should I deplore it? All my longing can't restore it; Still it lies beyond my reaching, to come back to me no more; It is right to keep and cherish, or to let its memory perish, Like a dream to be forgotten, when the hours of sleep are o'er?

Like a dream to be forgotten, like a phantom, a delusion That but lured away our moments with its subtle, witching powers, Till it sinks our souls in sadness with the dreams of gladness, And the thoughts of vanished pleasures that can ne'er again be ours.

Let me cease this idle longing for the days that have departed, It is worse than useless wishing for a light grown dim and dead: For joy so lovely seeming, when we clasp them in our dreaming, And know we must awaken and remember all is fled.

Let past failures be our beacon through the breakers spread around us, To show where danger meets us on life's rough and troubled main-- Where earth's joys like billows meeting, on the rock's care are beating, And we see them dashed and shattered where they can not rise again.

Let me wake, and cease repining; let me learn life's sternest lesson-- Joys when born of earth are earthy, and must therefore fade and die; Let me feel new knowledge glowing, on my opening eye bestowing The experience that will lead me to a fairer, by-and-by.

'Tis our past has made our present, so our present makes our future, Let us work, and cease of wishing--let us _do_, not _dream_ through life; Ever mindful, never straying, with our earnest hearts still praying For the guerdon of the worker, and the winner in the strife.

LIFE.

Life is a day. In its morning bright We frolic and scamper, free and light.

'Tis a happy path that we have to run, The way is pleasant when new-begun.

The sky of our youth is clear and blue, With no clouds to impede our raptured view; There's a prize to win in its golden hours-- Let us work with zeal, and that prize is ours.

There's a laurel crown for the victor's brow, And a time to win it--that time is now!

Now, when our hearts are young and gay, Ere the light of our morning fades away.

It is hard to work 'neath the noon-day sun, But the rest shall be sweet when the work is done; It is hard to struggle and fight alone, But the prize we win shall be all our own.

The noontide fades, and the evening grey Overtakes us soon on our weary way; But our day of working will soon be o'er, And the rest is nearer us than before.

Life is a night, to watch and pray For the coming dawn of a brighter day; But our lamps are trimmed--we have nought to fear, The darkness is fleeting--the dawn is near.

And now we see through a darkened gla.s.s The shadowy scenes of the future pa.s.s; But then, in a morn of unclouded light, It shall break in glory upon our sight.

The Master shall come when the night is o'er, And bid us to work and watch no more; He shall tell His servants their work is done, And bestow the crown they have n.o.bly won!

A SUMMER SONG.

The summer flowers in regal bloom Make field and garden fair, Their fragrance in the dreamy noon Perfumes the balmy air; The river murmurs through the vale Upon its sea-bound way, And o'er the pleasant hill and dale The birds sing blythe and gay,-- And river, flowers, and birds to me Are ever bringing thoughts of Thee!

The woods at eve are cool and lone; And when I linger there, There's something in the wind's soft moan That whispers Thou art near.

My thoughts by Fancy's chains are bound As by a magic spell, And strange, sweet visions wrap me round While in the lonely dell,-- And rustling leaves and murmuring streams To me are bringing sweetest dreams.

The sunset saddens in the West, The stars peep through the skies; The weary day is hush'd to rest By gentlest zephyr sighs; The wavelets break upon the sh.o.r.e.

The moon shines o'er the sea, The sandy beech I wander o'er Alone to dream of Thee,-- And stars, and sky, and moonlit sea, All, all are bringing thoughts of Thee!

EVENING.

Red shines the sunset in the evening sky, And paints the cloud-ranks in rich crimson glow, Till every varying tint in rival splendour burns, And earth and ocean catch the gleam, and smile In new-born glory for a time, and then, As the enraptured gaze absorbs the scene, It fades, and, growing dim and dimmer, dies.

It is a glimpse from worlds unseen--a light from the Invisible, Foreshadowing things the brighter yet to be.

A soft wind-whisper wanders thro' the boughs, And wakes a thousand harps in forest lands, That all the sultry day were hushed, till now, When the fair twilight spreads her dreamy spell: They wake to melody so softly sweet that one might think An angel's wing had stirr'd the varied leaves.

And swept the woodlands with ethereal song.

Now the great sea, with all its restless waves, Seems calmer grown, as forth the stars appear, And smile upon us from the silent skies, Where nightly, looking down the azure depths, Like guardian angels o'er a sinning world, In their grand, silent eloquence, they show The marvels of their great Creator's power.

This is the time when dreams will come, and bring Days which have fled, and we would fain recall.