Lays Of Ancient Virginia, And Other Poems Part 23

I know that I had often sigh'd To other ladies quite as pretty, But then it could not be denied, To let you pa.s.s, would be a pity.

With real pain and much ado, I cut the other chords that bound me, And said the ties proposed by you, Should now be tightly drawn around me.

Farewell, I said, to blooming Nell, Who is too long my pa.s.sion trying, For here is one, whose stanzas tell, Like me, for marriage she is dying.

I am a student small and neat, Not twenty-five, and somewhat dashing, With active limbs and beard complete, And wear a vest that's slightly flashing.

My brow is broad, my eye is black, And quickly changes with my feeling, And to your own, it flashes back, The thought their glance was just revealing.

Some gentle blood runs through my veins, And I suppose you truly know it, And then, to crown my boastful strains, The world has sworn I am a poet.

I'd like to wed and with you dwell, Within some happy rural valley, Where zephyrs round the lily's bell, In summer sigh, and faint, and dally.

Now Lizzie! I have written back, In answer to your publication; So let us promptly tread the track, Before the first of next vacation.

I'll get the license; get your dress, And flowers to make a bride's adorning; Then let us to the chapel press, With bridal friends, at early morning.

We shall be happy. So will, too, Both clerk, and priest, and mantua-maker; My tailor--ah! a fellow true, Will say "I'm proud to see you take her."

And then must come the honey moon, Ah me! that sets me deeply sighing, You leaning on my heart, whose tune, To yours is still in love replying.

MONTICELLO.

'Tis true that when the G.o.d-like die, Their glorious monument Are earth's great mountains and the sky, Their names with all things blent-- But, then, some storied heap should show The grave of worth entombed below.

'Tis true, the pilgrim wandering slow, O'er sad Achaia's plain, Will feel his bosom warmly glow, And memory fire his brain-- Achilles' strength--and Homer's song Across his breast will roll along.

But, had the Grecian chisel wrought, No pile above their graves, Say, could ye point out, save in thought, Their own, from tombs of slaves?

A crumbling column, only shows Where Greece's mighty dead repose.

But tombs of men, more wise, more free, Amid a brighter day, Are like the mounds ye scarcely see, And note not by the way.

No Mausoleums climb the skies, To tell where greater Glory lies.

YOU TOLD ME THAT YOU LOVED ME.

When summer's rosy twilight fell, Upon yon river's gentle swell, Leading the spirit by its song, As through the land it sweeps along;

We watched the stars, those worlds of love, That swim yon azure seas above-- We heard each other's heart-pulse beat, In unison divinely sweet.

Your virgin hand was laid in mine, I gazed into your spirit's shrine: We lost the sense of stars and earth, And of the dancing waters' mirth:

We only saw each other then; We look'd as if no more again, And our tumultuous hearts should die, In that wild dream of ecstasy.

I clasped you to my bosom there, I played with your dishevell'd hair; And then the thoughts which long had slept Within us, waken'd; and we wept.

We wept to think of what had past-- The doubt--the trial--joy at last-- We wept to think of mournful fears-- We wept to hail the future years.

I ceased to shed such happy tears, I whisper'd comfort in your ears, I press'd you closer to my heart, Till mine no more could throb apart.

But then we smiled, we laughed to feel The heaven which deep love can reveal; We laughed that Love had ever bound, His golden bands our souls around!

Do you not know the boundless bliss Which follows true love's lightning kiss; For, in that hour with heaven above, Your cheeks, your mouth received my love.

And when that deep, blest trance was o'er, And we could clasp and kiss no more; Love's dear confessions had been made, And we no more could be afraid;

When Angels' pens had writ the vow Which nothing can dissever now; Our hearts return'd to Nature's face, To planets, and the waters' race.

All, all was calm; all, all was bright; The moon was climbing to yon height, Of Heaven's blue cone, rough round with stars, With Venus--but no angry Mars.

THE SONG OF THE SLAIN AT THE BATTLE OF TICONDEROGA.

Farewell to the land which we sought o'er the wave; We made it our home; it will now be our grave: Farewell, ye proud mountains, and valleys uneven, And thou, bright shining Glory, now setting in heaven.

Farewell to our hearthstones, our cherished ones there, Our wives and our children, now reft of our care: Farewell, everloved of our souls--nevermore, Shall we look on your faces--our lifetime is o'er.

We march to the field--'twill be red with our blood, Which shall make of its soil there a horrible mud; Where our bones by wild beasts on the desolate plain, Shall be torn, and be whiten'd by tempest and rain.

We march to the field--and our comrades in war, Shall shout to the heavens their triumph afar-- And Victory shall perch on our banners on high And Tyrants fore'er from our country shall fly;

Yet never shall we view that glorious sight-- We sink, with yon sun, in the deathgloom of night; Farewell to our homes and our country for aye, We go to our graves, with the setting of day.

Farewell, yes, farewell, Earth, Heavens and all Which here in the last hour of life we recall: Farewell! we are doomed to the night of the grave,-- But our mem'ry shall live with the names of the brave.

TO MY COPY OF SHAKSPEARE WHICH HAD BEEN LOST.

Hast thou come back, my Shakspeare! bard, Who didst dethrone and drive away those others, From cold Parna.s.sus, fate that seem'd too hard, To be inflicted on thy gentle brothers.

Thou didst spare one, left him enthroned fast, The blind old man of Scio, h.o.a.ry Homer, So that of all the harpers first and last, To call him king, is not a base misnomer.

There on those far and ever whiten'd rocks, You two sit monarchs of a rich dominion; But I forgot dark Milton's sacred locks, Serenely resting from his seraph pinion!

Hast thou come back, great bard, to charm and bless My heart with many a grand, illusive vision, And show those gorgeous fields of happiness, With vistas and with rivers all Elysian?