Lays Of Ancient Virginia, And Other Poems Part 16

Where is our brother? I have come From wandering far and long, And oh! I miss one well-known face, Gone from our little throng.

Where is our brother? Where is he, Ye late saw smiling here, I look in vain his face to see To catch his tones so clear.

Where is my brother? Can it be, That we shall never more Behold his form upon the earth, As oft, so oft, before.

Ah! till we meet before the bar At Time's last, awful day, We shall not see his face again, Although we mourn alway.

In youth cut down, he lies so still, That all the strength of grief, Cannot restore his form to us, One moment though so brief.

Through Life's long day, we'll think on him, And mourn his early flight, And Earth, to us, hath lost a star, Gone down in endless night.

To us, gone down in endless night,-- Beyond the sun afar, He beams beside his Savior-G.o.d, A bright immortal star.

STAR OF REST.

Star of Rest! thy silvery l.u.s.tre, Brightly streams from heaven above, Ere each sweet and glittering cl.u.s.ter Ope on earth their eyes of love.

Star of Rest! how gently closeth Every bud beneath thy brow, And the wearied frame reposeth From its daily labor now.

Star of Rest! thy streaming splendor, Lends the proud and queenly moon, Till a glorious host attend her Through her deep and silent noon.

Star of Rest! we bless thy beaming, From that vault so calm and blue, For thou bringest sweetest dreaming, And thou fillest the heart with dew.

Love of Heaven--oh! brightly shining, Gleam above our dying bed, When the Day of life declining, Tells us that its toil has sped.

MELANCHOLY.

There comes a time for flowers to fade, and light to die in gloom, There is a time for mortal bliss to know a certain doom.

Sometimes I feel that I have reached that hour, and I have felt, When pondering o'er the dreary change, my spirit in me melt.

The joyful trust, the bounding hopes, that laughed at scorned defeat, The feeling, like pure rock-born streams, as strong, as deep, and sweet; The soul that thrilled with transport wild, at Beauty's magic name; Ah! all have strangely altered now,--I am no more the same.

And now I feel alone and sad amid an ocean wide, I care not much to what strange coast my single plank may ride, I am alone--what matters it where my bowed frame may be, Since now my heart is never more by land or rolling sea.

I feel that as yon Night now throws its mantle o'er the earth, Till ghostly shapes and ghostly sounds, go dimly walking forth-- That soon the night of Death may throw its mantle over me, And unfamiliar things shall rise from dark eternity.

Yet, would I hope, when such shall come, to dwell not with pain, But walk, with a triumphant song, o'er heaven's unshadowed plain-- Where Youth and Hope, and Love and Joy, (the angels,) ever smile, And evermore the aching heart from woe and grief beguile.

FOR MARY.

Oh! may the brightest smiles of heaven That beam on men below, Still shine upon sweet Mary's path, Wherever she may go.

May Angels, like herself! still guard Her steps from every ill, Until she walks in robes of white, O'er G.o.d's high, happy hill.

And, when, in that celestial clime, She beams a spirit bright-- How sweet to think she'll love me then Where nought our love can blight.

LINES.

Oft have I heard thine accents steal, Like music on the air, Then quickly turned to see thy form, Sweet Mary! standing there.

But thou did'st ever glide away, Nor heed my pleading prayer-- But now, alas! thou'rt but a Thought, A phantom like the air.

THE FLOWERS.

The flowers! the flowers! I love ye, flowers; Ye have a mystic voice To speak unto my inmost soul And make my heart rejoice.

Your charms illume the splendid halls Where wealthy princes move, And light the humble peasant's cot, Like gleams of heavenly love.

Oh flowers, bright flowers! I feel within My inmost heart, your power; And know I see the light of Heaven, Within a blooming flower.

Had I a lovely home amid Some valley green and fair-- The flowers--sweet flowers--should ever gleam, In star-like beauty there.

THE ENCHANTED REALM OF JOY.

Oh! I am sick of the ennui that comes of the earth, All tasteless its landscapes--and charmless its mirth.

Away, swift away, on a pinion, as sprite, I will speed to a kingdom not day and not night: Where a spell of enchantment as soft as a dream, Moves over the mountain, the valley, and stream; And the bird and the rill with a sleep-bringing rhyme, Soothe the gliding away of the current of time.

Away, swift away to this dream-world of bliss-- From a place all so tiresome and tasteless as this.

And would I might ever abandon its beams That radiate but feebly, to dwell by the streams That gleam from the mountains of green fairyland, And, at last, in bright morn of Heaven expand.

TO MISS M.T.R.

Whate'er may be my unknown fate Upon this dark, terrestrial sphere, Wilt smile to hear that I am blest, And o'er my anguish shed thy tear?