Poems by Denis Florence MacCarthy Part 36

Just when the mind had reached its regal power, And fancy's wing its perfect plume unfurl'd,-- Just when the bud of promise in the flower

Of all completeness opened on the world-- When the pure fire that heaven itself outflung Back to its native empyrean curled,

Like vocal incense from a censer swung:-- Ah, me! to be subdued when all seemed won-- That I should fly when I would fain have clung.

Yet so it is,--our radiant course is run;-- Here we must part, the deathless lay unsung, And, more than all, the deathless deed undone.

RECOLLECTIONS.

Ah! summer time, sweet summer scene, When all the golden days, Linked hand-in-hand, like moonlit fays, Danced o'er the deepening green.

When, from the top of Pelier[111] down We saw the sun descend, With smiles that blessings seemed to send To our near native town.

And when we saw him rise again High o'er the hills at morn-- G.o.d's glorious prophet daily born To preach good will to men--

Good-will and peace to all between The gates of night and day-- Join with me, love, and with me say-- Sweet summer time and scene.

Sweet summer time, true age of gold, When hand-in-hand we went Slow by the quickening shrubs, intent To see the buds unfold:

To trace new wild flowers in the gra.s.s, New blossoms on the bough, And see the water-lilies now Rise o'er the liquid gla.s.s.

When from the fond and folding gale The scented briar I pulled, Or for thy kindred bosom culled The lily of the vale;--

Thou without whom were dark the green, The golden turned to gray, Join with me, love, and with me say-- Sweet summer time and scene.

Sweet summer time, delight's brief reign, Thou hast one memory still, Dearer than ever tree or hill Yet stretched along life's plain.

Stranger than all the wond'rous whole, Flowers, fields, and sunset skies-- To see within our infant's eyes The awakening of the soul.

To see their dear bright depths first stirred By the far breath of thought, To feel our trembling hearts o'erfraught With rapture when we heard

Her first clear laugh, which might have been A cherub's laugh at play-- Ah! love, thou canst but join and say-- Sweet summer time and scene.

Sweet summer time, sweet summer days, One day I must recall; One day the brightest of them all, Must mark with special praise.

'Twas when at length in genial showers The spring attained its close; And June with many a myriad rose Incarnadined the bowers:

Led by the bright and sun-warm air, We left our indoor nooks; Thou with my paper and my books, And I thy garden chair;

Crossed the broad, level garden-walks, With countless roses lined; And where the apple still inclined Its blossoms o'er the box,

Near to the lilacs round the pond, In its stone ring hard by We took our seats, where save the sky, And the few forest trees beyond

The garden wall, we nothing saw, But flowers and blossoms, and we heard Nought but the whirring of some bird, Or the rooks' distant, clamorous caw.

And in the shade we saw the face Of our dear infant sleeping near, And thou wert by to smile and hear, And speak with innate truth and grace.

There through the pleasant noontide hours My task of echoed song I sung; Turning the golden southern tongue Into the iron ore of ours!

'Twas the great Spanish master's pride, The story of the hero proved; 'Twas how the Moorish princess loved, And how the firm Fernando died.[112]

O happiest season ever seen, O day, indeed the happiest day; Join with me, love, and with me say-- Sweet summer time and scene.

One picture more before I close Fond Memory's fast dissolving views; One picture more before I lose The radiant outlines as they rose.

'Tis evening, and we leave the porch, And for the hundredth time admire The rhododendron's cones of fire Rise round the tree, like torch o'er torch.

And for the hundredth time point out Each favourite blossom and perfume-- If the white lilac still doth bloom, Or the pink hawthorn fadeth out:

And by the laurell'd wall, and o'er The fields of young green corn we've gone; And by the outer gate, and on To our dear friend's oft-trodden door.

And there in cheerful talk we stay, Till deepening twilight warns us home; Then once again we backward roam Calmly and slow the well-known way--

And linger for the expected view-- Day's dying gleam upon the hill; Or listen for the whip-poor-will,[113]

Or the too seldom shy cuckoo.

At home the historic page we glean, And muse, and hope, and praise, and pray-- Join with me, love, as then, and say-- Sweet summer time and scene!

111. Mount Pelier, in the county of Dublin, overlooking Rathfarnham, and more remotely Dundrum. To a brief residence near the latter village the "Recollections" rendered in this poem are to be referred.

112. Calderon's "El Principe Constante," translated in the earlier volumes of the author's Calderon. London, 1853.

113. I do not know the bird to which I have given this Indian name.

It, however, imitated its note quite distinctly.

DOLORES.

The moon of my soul is dark, Dolores, Dead and dark in my breast it lies, For I miss the heaven of thy smile, Dolores, And the light of thy brown bright eyes.

The rose of my heart is gone, Dolores, Bud or blossom in vain I seek; For I miss the breath of thy lip, Dolores, And the blush of thy pearl-pale cheek.

The pulse of my heart is still, Dolores, Still and chill is its glowing tide; For I miss the beating of thine, Dolores, In the vacant s.p.a.ce by my side.

But the moon shall revisit my soul, Dolores, And the rose shall refresh my heart, When I meet thee again in heaven, Dolores, Never again to part.

LOST AND FOUND.

"Whither art thou gone, fair Una?

Una fair, the moon is gleaming; Fear no mortal eye, fair Una, For the very flowers are dreaming.

And the twinkling stars are closing Up their weary watching glances, Warders on heaven's walls reposing, While the glittering foe advances.