Lays Of Ancient Virginia, And Other Poems Part 9

The mother loved her beauteous child; Oft gazing on his sleep, The joy that smoothed her matron brow, Was beautiful and deep.

The summer flower hath hasty growth-- The sweet child grew apace, And lo! a brighter loveliness, Was born upon his face.

So fair--so fair--and oh! so dear!

Alas! a mother's love May be too strong to please her G.o.d-- The child went up above.

And now alone the mother was In all this world so wide, For ere the child had lisped his name Her stricken husband died.

Alone in all this world so wide, Alone the mother was; If this were true--G.o.d wot 'twas false, Our hearts should sigh alas.

The child--the child--transformed! come down, On rainbow-colored wings, Whose flashing, o'er the mother's path, A mystic glory flings.

He set gay flowers of heavenly pride Amid this cursed clime-- Ah! brilliant flowers--ah! brighter flowers, Than bloomed in Eden's prime.

He softly led her on the way, And sang to her charm'd soul, A sweet, low strain that men heard not, And fiends could not control.

At last the mother went with him To dwell on Heaven's wide plain, Where father, mother, cherub now, Sing forth a glorious strain.

SUNSET.

The Summer's sunset throws a tender spell, Along the hills, o'er ocean's softened swell; The G.o.d of day goes flaming down the sky, And zephyr floats on perfumed pinions by.

Oh! who can gaze upon this gorgeous sight, Nor feel his bosom chain'd by deep delight, This hour when beauty wears her richest dye, And love o'erflows charmed ocean, earth and sky; Till fancy, dreaming in her lovely bower, Hears far off strains of deep, o'erwhelming power, And, lifting up her pensive orbs above, Spies Angels winging through yon vault of love, And says that "they are wafting souls forgiven On their bright pinions, to yon nameless Heaven."

On such an eve, so peaceful and so bright, Two loved ones flee beyond yon failing light, No more to droop within this gloomy world, Their angel pinions next G.o.d's throne were furled; There now--for aye forgot this earthly night-- They lave those bright wings in eternal light.

IMAGINATION.

Now fir'd imagination soars on high, and shows Magnific scenes. The first--a summer's dawn-- A sky of purest blue--a golden sea Beneath--earth bright with lovely hues like Heaven.

Yon orb of fire suspended o'er that sea Of molten gold, burns like a throne in Heaven.

His foaming, flashing radiance, floods earth--sky-- And throbbing sea, till each lies bathed in glory, Which seems the break of a celestial morn.

That scene has pa.s.sed. Another charms The gaze. The mighty orb of blazing flame, Has run a curve of brightness o'er the sky, And presently will cut the Western main, With its bright rim. We stand upon an isle, One of the Hesperian, in the unknown seas, Toward the setting sun. The waves which gush, And softly splash against the rocky sh.o.r.es, Are dyed by richest, ever varying tints, Like those, we fancy, tinge that sea that flows, Around the throne of G.o.d, and, in whose billows, The seraphs, as wing'd birds, embathe their b.r.e.a.s.t.s-- Whilst heaven becomes another sea like that-- And all is bright waves dashing o'er our hearts, And making music sweeter than the songs Of those we loved in youth, ere hatred grew.

That scene has pa.s.s'd. Imagination sleeps To husband strength for more ambitious flight.

But, soon restored, with native, heavenly might, She soars beyond the sun high thron'd at noon-- And, with her hand that flows with gold and gems, Flings wide Heaven's gates that flame with living beams.

And lo! the scene of Heaven! Oh! brighter far, Than aught earth shows of beautiful or fair, Is that bright heaven of our hopes and dreams.

Yet even imagination's piercing eye Receives into its scope but humble part Of all the glory that o'erflows that heaven.

A boundless sea of love--all hued like love, Gleams round the throne of Triune G.o.d, which seems To rise from out that placid depth, built of Its water, crystallized to gold and pearl, Wherein joy's beauteous light forever plays.

Over that sea rings set beyond vast rings Of burning seraph, saint, and cherub, stand With starry crowns; and, with unceasing songs, Struck from their lyres that burn as morning suns, And born in hearts that burn in joys of heaven-- Louder than twelvefold thunder, yet more sweet Than all the sweetest strains e'er heard on earth, Fill Heaven with light and song ineffable, Along the bright flow of eternity.

Then swift in flight as saint and seraph there, She pa.s.ses back through those vast gates of fire, And slowly drops upon some flowery peak, Or ocean isle, upon this mundane sphere; Then sleeps soft in the folds of some fair flower, Or, in the crystal bosom of a dewdrop.

MILLY.

A fairy thing was Milly when She blest my wondering sight; I ne'er shall meet her match again-- A maid so gaily bright.

Her ringlets flowed about her neck-- A neck that mocked the snow!

A sunny robe her bosom decked, That proudly heaved below.

Sometimes she roamed the leas at morn, And sang like a sweet bird-- Until a melody was born On each outgushing word.

Sometimes amid her cottage home, She touched the breathing lyre, And then her quivering lips were dumb, Her soaring soul on fire.

She was a very fairy maid; And then we sinned to crave That she with us might be delayed, And never reach the grave.

One twilight when a star came forth, She clapped her hands and smil'd, And said that star within the North Would take an earthly child.

Did some near, viewless angel speak That word unto the maid, That thus with sweet, unblanched cheek, That awful word she said?

But thus it was; when autumn told The yellow leaves to fall, The maid no more could we behold, No more she knew our call.

And now I watch that cold, high star, Amid the leaden North, And think she looks on me afar, Forlorn upon this earth.

THE WINTRY DAYS.

The wintry days have come once more, The birds are still, the sweet flowers dead, And faint winds sigh a wailing song O'er leaves heaped high within their bed.

The neighboring stream that lately leapt, And laughed, and played adown the glen, Is now as hushed and mute as though It ne'er would leap and smile again.

A mournful silence fills the sky, And falls upon the gazer's soul, And down the sympathizing cheek, The watery teardrops silent roll.

The beauty of the peaks and plains, The loveliness of earth and sky, Have pa.s.sed away, and, pa.s.sing, said, "Ye mortals frail! ye too must die."

So has the beauty of my hopes Withered beneath woe's wintry touch,-- My heart has yielded to despair, Though lingering long and weeping much.

But oh! bright Hope, mid bleak Despair, Sprang, cheerly speaking to my heart, Sweet, smiling spring shall yet return, And joyless winter must depart.

And Mercy throned beyond the sun, Whose breath thy living soul hath given, Will lead thee to a deathless spring Within the glorious gates of heaven.

Ah! deeply do I bless that word!

It drives my gloomy fears away;-- I kneel upon the dreary snow, And bid my G.o.d be praised for aye.

SPRING.

Now, Mary fair, the Spring has come, Back to our fairyland, And buds begin to breathe perfume, The breeze blows sweet and bland; The gay, green groves are ringing clear, The crystal waters shine; Now, Mary sweet, the scene is dear, The moments are divine.

And, Mary, hearken how the birds Are courting in the grove, Oh! listen how their music words Speak tender things of love.

Let us be happy, Mary fair, We waste these heavenly hours, Let's rove where fragrance fills the air, Among the opening flowers.

Yes, Mary dear, let's quit the throng, And from the tumult flee, The birds these living bowers among, Shall sweetly sing for thee; And happy zephyr wave his wing, And streams make melody, And loveliest flowers gaily spring Thy matchless face to see.