Lays Of Ancient Virginia, And Other Poems Part 10

Dear Mary, why, why should we stay, While Nature calls us forth?

See! love and pleasure, smiling, stray, O'er all the gladsome earth!

While all around is mirth and song, Let us be joyful, too, And, listening to the feathered throng, Our vows of love renew.

AN INCIDENT.

The sighs of summer night, were sweet without, As the breath of spirits, on the folded roses, The sweet moon, like a young and timid bride, Came softly trembling through the eastward oaks-- Where I espied a Glorious Beauty standing, Glowing and bright, in a portico vine-wreathed.

Shaken by wrestling Hope and Doubt within, I quickly slid unto her side; and she Wore no dark frown--but smiled--she smiled on me!

Her white brows shone amid her darkest hair, Like that moon's beams amid the opening gloom: And her slight, delicate shape would shame the limbs Of fairies tripping on the moonlit green.

And she did smile on me--that Glorious Beauty!

And I stood there, and clasped her lily hands!

And I did peer into her l.u.s.trous eyes!

And they gave back my ardent gaze of love!

She spake--the tremulous accents of her voice Was like a sweet stream breaking upon rocks; And when the music of those thrilling words, Rushed on my soul--I sank upon her bosom, And felt that we could part no more on earth.

THE LETTER.

Amid a flower-strown cottage room, The Lady sat at even, Beneath the peerless evening star, Just peeping out in heaven; And, in her hands, as lilies, white, She held a billet-doux, Which, round upon the tranquil air, A grateful fragrance threw.

And now she bends her beauteous head, To read the written lines-- Her white hand starts--a crystal tear Upon the paper shines; Her startled bosom gently heaves, Like billows capped with snow, And quickly o'er her lovely face, Her blushes come and go.

Those glowing words have waked within Her soul, the flame of love, Which blends her woman nature with The natures of above:-- A fire whose rays will change to light Her lover's darkest gloom, Till he beholds it beam again, On Heaven's undying bloom.

THE LOST PLEIAD.

No more with thy bright sisters of the sky, Who warble ever, Wilt thou send forth thy choral melody, Sad maid! for ever.

No more the bright, innumerable train, Who move in Heaven, Will know thy face upon the etherial plain, At rosy even.

The night will mourn thine absence ever more, With dewy tears, And, the bright day, will, dimmer now, deplore, The darkened years.

Our wandering eyes will search for thee in vain, And we shall sigh That thy high beauty could not conquer pain, The doom to die.

Earth scarce had mourned some lesser beauty--thou, Celestial maid!

Mid all didst wear a so unearthly brow, And thou--decayed!

The beauteous thought of thee which, ray-like, slept, In our pure love, Became a memory which we have kept To grieve above.

Gone, like the withered pride of early Spring-- Like sweet songs, o'er-- Ah! thou hast turned from us thine angel wing, To come no more.

Struck from thy high and glittering sapphire throne, In upper light, Say, did thy loveliness go, hopeless, down, To nether night?

Or, throned beyond the gloomy fate to fall, Bright maid divine!

Sublime amid the Eternal's flaming Hall, Dost thou e'er shine?

THE SLEEPER.

The sleeper lies, with closed eyes, And softly moving breath, So soft, so still, her life's sweet thrill, 'Tis only more than death.

Her dark, dark hair, reposing there, Upon her pillow's snow, And sweeping down her cheek's faint brown, And bosom's spotless glow.

She wakes at last, her sleep has past, Her eyes on me are thrown; My sleeping love--my heavenly dove-- Has been in realms unknown.

DWELLING IN HEAVEN.

They do not--nay, they cannot die; They go to dwell in Heaven; Where G.o.d a free and full supply Of purest joys hath given.

They do not--nay, they cannot die: Because we see them not Do objects cease--oh! brothers! why This lesson now forgot?

They die not--nay, they cannot die: In joy's serene, calm air, Their cheek yet wears its roseate dye Their smiles are yet as fair.

Their tones yet breathe as sweet a strain, Their hearts are still as true, And still their wonted love retain, My friend, for me and you.

Oh no! they do not, cannot die, They live far up in Heaven, Beyond where flame yon portals high, At still and silent even.

They dwell--they dwell eternally, Where roll no winds--no storm, And, if we seek them, we shall see, Each bright and happy form.

THE FACE I SEE IN DREAMS.

Strangely sweet, and softly clear, With pure and starry beams, Reposing there, and moving here; The face I see in dreams.

Oh! lovely is that wild, sweet face, Which thus and ever gleams, And smiles, with a seraphic grace, Upon my heart's deep streams.

Oft at pale midnight's holy calm, Beside imagined streams, I recognize the soothing balm, The face I see in dreams.

And, even at noon's wideseeing glare, When earth, with clamor teems, That face appears, as strangely fair, That face I see in dreams.