Poems by Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell Part 22

Farewell, then, all that love, All that deep sympathy: Sleep on: Heaven laughs above, Earth never misses thee.

Turf-sod and tombstone drear Part human company; One heart breaks only--here, But that heart was worthy thee!

LAST WORDS.

I knew not 'twas so dire a crime To say the word, "Adieu;"

But this shall be the only time My lips or heart shall sue.

That wild hill-side, the winter morn, The gnarled and ancient tree, If in your breast they waken scorn, Shall wake the same in me.

I can forget black eyes and brows, And lips of falsest charm, If you forget the sacred vows Those faithless lips could form.

If hard commands can tame your love, Or strongest walls can hold, I would not wish to grieve above A thing so false and cold.

And there are bosoms bound to mine With links both tried and strong: And there are eyes whose lightning shine Has warmed and blest me long:

Those eyes shall make my only day, Shall set my spirit free, And chase the foolish thoughts away That mourn your memory.

THE LADY TO HER GUITAR.

For him who struck thy foreign string, I ween this heart has ceased to care; Then why dost thou such feelings bring To my sad spirit--old Guitar?

It is as if the warm sunlight In some deep glen should lingering stay, When clouds of storm, or shades of night, Have wrapt the parent orb away.

It is as if the gla.s.sy brook Should image still its willows fair, Though years ago the woodman's stroke Laid low in dust their Dryad-hair.

Even so, Guitar, thy magic tone Hath moved the tear and waked the sigh: Hath bid the ancient torrent moan, Although its very source is dry.

THE TWO CHILDREN.

Heavy hangs the rain-drop From the burdened spray; Heavy broods the damp mist On uplands far away.

Heavy looms the dull sky, Heavy rolls the sea; And heavy throbs the young heart Beneath that lonely tree.

Never has a blue streak Cleft the clouds since morn; Never has his grim fate Smiled since he was born.

Frowning on the infant, Shadowing childhood's joy Guardian-angel knows not That melancholy boy.

Day is pa.s.sing swiftly Its sad and sombre prime; Boyhood sad is merging In sadder manhood's time:

All the flowers are praying For sun, before they close, And he prays too--unconscious-- That sunless human rose.

Blossom--that the west-wind Has never wooed to blow, Scentless are thy petals, Thy dew is cold as snow!

Soul--where kindred kindness, No early promise woke, Barren is thy beauty, As weed upon a rock.

Wither--soul and blossom!

You both were vainly given; Earth reserves no blessing For the unblest of heaven!

Child of delight, with sun-bright hair, And sea-blue, sea-deep eyes!

Spirit of bliss! What brings thee here Beneath these sullen skies?

Thou shouldst live in eternal spring, Where endless day is never dim; Why, Seraph, has thine erring wing Wafted thee down to weep with him?

"Ah! not from heaven am I descended, Nor do I come to mingle tears; But sweet is day, though with shadows blended; And, though clouded, sweet are youthful years.

"I--the image of light and gladness-- Saw and pitied that mournful boy, And I vowed--if need were--to share his sadness, And give to him my sunny joy.

"Heavy and dark the night is closing; Heavy and dark may its biding be: Better for all from grief reposing, And better for all who watch like me--

"Watch in love by a fevered pillow, Cooling the fever with pity's balm Safe as the petrel on tossing billow, Safe in mine own soul's golden calm!

"Guardian-angel he lacks no longer; Evil fortune he need not fear: Fate is strong, but love is stronger; And MY love is truer than angel-care."

THE VISIONARY.

Silent is the house: all are laid asleep: One alone looks out o'er the snow-wreaths deep, Watching every cloud, dreading every breeze That whirls the wildering drift, and bends the groaning trees.

Cheerful is the hearth, soft the matted floor; Not one shivering gust creeps through pane or door; The little lamp burns straight, its rays shoot strong and far: I trim it well, to be the wanderer's guiding-star.

Frown, my haughty sire! chide, my angry dame!

Set your slaves to spy; threaten me with shame: But neither sire nor dame, nor prying serf shall know, What angel nightly tracks that waste of frozen snow.

What I love shall come like visitant of air, Safe in secret power from lurking human snare; What loves me, no word of mine shall e'er betray, Though for faith unstained my life must forfeit pay

Burn, then, little lamp; glimmer straight and clear-- Hush! a rustling wing stirs, methinks, the air: He for whom I wait, thus ever comes to me; Strange Power! I trust thy might; trust thou my constancy.

ENCOURAGEMENT.

I do not weep; I would not weep; Our mother needs no tears: Dry thine eyes, too; 'tis vain to keep This causeless grief for years.

What though her brow be changed and cold, Her sweet eyes closed for ever?

What though the stone--the darksome mould Our mortal bodies sever?