Lays Of Ancient Virginia, And Other Poems Part 17

Methinks it were a happy lot, That thou would'st grieve or smile with me; And though all others prove most false, I ne'er should find untruth in thee.

Yes! thou wouldst seem some heavenly one If such thy friendship followed me, Nor would I cease, through every change, To crave of Heaven its love for thee.

BENEATH THOSE STARS OF SUMMER.

RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED TO MISS ----.

Beneath those stars of summer, I told thee my wild love; And I beheld thy blushes, And saw thy bosom move.

It was a holy moment, And bliss o'erflowed my heart; For thou did'st say that never I should from thee depart.

I thought how very happy Our future life would be, That life's worst pain and suffering Were sweet, if shared with thee.

Thou said'st thy deepest pleasure, Thy highest pride would be, Through all of life to gladden, To soothe and comfort me.

And now when years have glided, As silver waves depart, I feel that thou did'st utter The truth from out thy heart: For thou hast never pained me, Through all these happy years, But still hast fondly loved me, And charmed me even to tears.

Thou hast been such a blessing, Thy virtues so much worth; 'Twere not profane to call thee An angel upon earth.

And if those souls most loving, Upon this spot of care, Shall feel most bliss in heaven, Thou'lt be a bright one there.

TO FANNIE.

My Fannie dear! when absence rends My faithful heart from thee, What gloomy thoughts oppress my mind, There is no joy for me.

By day, woe wastes my sinking soul, By night I wake and sigh; And still the grief that kills me quite, Is, Fannie is not nigh.

Oh! may that G.o.d whose name is Love Her form to me restore; That I may never, never part From darling Fannie more.

A STROLL DOWN QUALITY ROW.

The other day I took a stroll, Just when the sun grew low, A down the Row of Quality, That gay and charming row.

I had been dreaming all the day Of bright, poetic forms Moving through silent fairyland, Bedecked with glorious charms.

As down the row, I slowly walked, First came proud Majesty; Love shone in all her queenly looks, Command was in her eye.

Then gentle Grace came smiling next, Without the aid of art, And, with a soft and pleasing bliss, She past into my heart.

Then Beauty came supreme o'er all, A Heaven-anointed queen; But modest Goodness walked behind, With mild yet winning mien.

Then I returned to dream and sing Through many a pleasant hour, Of all that evening's loveliness, And beauty's matchless power.

THERE IS A G.o.d.

The azure vault so far above, Arrayed in smiles of peace and love, Would sweetly seem the truth to prove-- "There is a G.o.d."

The blooming earth so glad below-- The fragrant flowers--the streams that flow-- The tuneful birds--would bid us know, "There is a G.o.d."

Yon soaring sun on wings of fire, Proclaims his great, celestial Sire-- 'Tis chanted by the starry choir, "There is a G.o.d."

We know it, too, at nights' fair noon, When lo! the pale and placid Moon, Illumes the balmy night of June, "There is a G.o.d."

The smiling Spring, and Autumn brown, Hoa.r.s.e-raging Winter's angry frown, And Summer fair, unceasing own, "There is a G.o.d."

The mountains high, and dark, and vast-- The thunder's roar--the howling blast-- The lightnings springing thick and fast, Amid the gloom,

That wraps the Earth, and Sea, and Sky-- The Storm-fiend's wild, terrific cry-- The Earth-quake's shock--proclaim on high, "An awful G.o.d!"

But oh! that awful G.o.d above, Is yet a gracious G.o.d of love-- A bleeding Lamb--a wounded Dove-- The sinner's G.o.d.

Poor sinner! love His holy name, And when this world shall pa.s.s in flame A heavenly mansion thou mayst claim, To dwell with G.o.d.

TO THE BELOVED.

I dream of thee, beloved one, When the moon comes o'er the sea, And hangs her horns of silver, In yonder forest tree!

I wake from out my slumber, I think I hear thy voice, It thrills my list'ning spirit, It makes my soul rejoice.

Oh love! thy fair, bright image, Is hov'ring near to mine, Oh love! I see thy pa.s.sion, In those deep eyes of thine: Ah me! those bright eyes gleaming, Have bound my senses quite, Those eyes are o'er me beaming, The only stars of night.

TO LORA GORDON BOON.

Sweet maiden of the feeling soul, I saw thy little form, Arrayed in gay and glittering garb, And felt thy beauty's charm.

And, Lora! when I saw thee show The mighty poet's thought, The poet's truth, with vivid force, Before my mind was brought.

And when I heard thee sweetly sing, The bold gay "Cavalier,"

I thought that was the sweetest tone E'er fell on mortal ear.

"Sweet Maid!" 'twas love's most plaintive voice, That echoes from the soul, And makes the listening spirit pause In that divine control.