Lays Of Ancient Virginia, And Other Poems Part 13

SABBATH.

The Sabbath morn! How beautiful, How peaceful and how blest; An Angel's whisper seems to lull The weary world to rest.

Hark! how the churchbell's music steals From yonder sacred fane; Then echoes, like a heavenly sound, O'er neighboring hill and plain.

And see! along each different way, To yonder temple fair, With soft, slow step, and solemn mien, The village folk repair.

And now, great Nature sends on high Her orison of prayer, And wears upon her sacred face A smile divinely fair.

THE THUNDER STORM.

'Twas a cloudless night in August, and the earth all silent lay, With hills, and glittering rivers and mountains far away, And angels then seemed bending through the whiteness of the beams, Whispering to weary mortals soft and sorrow-soothing dreams.

Oh! surely, eye of mortal never gazed on fairer scene, Than there lay sweetly dreaming in that loveliness and sheen:-- But what is darkening yonder? and hark! that distant sound, That comes like ghostly mutters faintly o'er the echoing ground.

And now that lightning flashes, like sulphureous light of h.e.l.l, And now the winds come rushing o'er the far off wood and fell.

That cloud grows quickly larger, and the lightning flashing more-- Hark! Earth and Heaven are rocking in a consentaneous roar!

And heavily the deluge floods the hills, the vales, the streams, And beasts howl out for terror and men start up from dreams.

Oh! 'tis a dreadful scene to-night, the dreadest e'er we saw, The hardest heart that beateth now, in watery fear will thaw.

But lo! 'twas but a moment, like a wayward Beauty's wrath, And the moon resumes in heaven, see! her all serener path-- And the clouds receding slowly rest upon the horizon round, And the katydids and waters make the only living sound.

'Tis yet a night of loveliness, and fondly we may deem, That Heaven and Earth are resting in the beauty of a Dream.

THE LIFE-LAND.

Oh yes, there's a land, far away, out of sight, Where the fairest of flowers forever bloom bright-- Where the groves never wither--the buds never die-- And bright rivers of crystal forever roll by.

'Tis the clime of the Christian--the home of the blest-- Where the wretched are happy--the weary at rest.

'Neath its bowers in bloom, by its waters so still, The righteous shall walk, free from anguish and ill;-- And they never shall pa.s.s from its portals again, For their pleasures forever and aye shall remain.

TO MISS ----.

The flowers you gave, dear girl, will fade, Nor shun the common lot, to die; The thoughts they spoke, still undecayed, Shall bloom immortal as the sky.

Beneath the sun's meridian ray, They'll fade and leave no trace behind: The love they woke shall ne'er decay, But be immortal like the Mind.

THE WIFE TO THE ABSENT HUSBAND.

Come back to me, my absent friend!

Since thou wast far away, The vernal flowers have lost some charms, Less bright the vernal day.

The wild, sweet voices of the fields; Of birds amid the sky; Of streams that wander through the wood, With dreamy melody; Sound not so sweet--and shine less bright, Unto my pensive soul, Since thou wentest forth, O dearest friend, To brook the world's control.

Come back to me! come back to me!

Let not the dream of fame, Too long allure thy lingering feet To worship at a name.

Yet, I would have thee n.o.bly strive To win that glorious meed, But still, of Woman's saving love, Hast thou not urgent need?

Come back to me! come back to me!

Thou never yet hast known, How lone and desolate I feel When left, by thee, alone.

The dove without her loving mate, Repeats a song like mine-- Thus seems, o'er sad, neglected love, To murmur and repine.

Come back to me--oh! quickly come!

The joy that I shall know Will more than pay for all this depth Of dark and bitter woe,

Which thou hast doomed my heart to feel Through many a weary day; And I will then forgive thy fault, In lingering thus away.

OH, BLUE-EYED MAID, I SIGH FOR THEE.

Oh! blue-eyed maid, I sigh for thee, A gentle twilight's close, When music dies upon the lea, And dew drops wet the rose.

I look on tranquil nature round, And list to music's fall, And think but half their charms are found, Since thou art far from all.

Oh, blue-eyed maid! the gorgeous beams That light a monarch's hall, The glittering wealth of golden streams, To me were darkness all; Unless thy light of loveliness, Adorned the regal scene, And thou bedecked in royal dress, Shouldst reign my loving Queen.

TO MARY.

Oh, Mary, when afar from thee, And mountains rise between, And I am wandering pensively Through many a varied scene;

It soothes to bid my fancy stray, On freest wings, to thee, And cherish all the memories So very dear to me.

I view again thy face, thy form, Thy look, thy ready smile, I hear again those magic words, That all my soul beguile.

I sit beside thy chair, and gaze, Upon thy willing face, And there behold the speaking glow Of that mysterious grace,

Which binds my constant soul to thee, And makes, through all life's years, All that can make thy heart rejoice, Or bathe thy cheek with tears,