Poems by Samuel G. Goodrich Part 8

Thy memory will pa.s.s; thy sheltering shade, Will weave no more its tissue o'er the sod; And all thy leaves, ungathered in the glade, Shall, by the reckless hoof of time, be trod.

My cherished hopes, like shadows and like leaves, Name, fame, and fortune--each shall pa.s.s away; And all that castle-building fancy weaves, Shall sleep, unthinking, as the drowsy clay.

But from thy root another tree shall bloom-- With living leaves its tossing boughs shall rise; And the winged spirit--bursting from the tomb,-- Oh, shall it spring to light beyond these skies?

To a Wild Violet, in March.

[Ill.u.s.tration: To a Wild Violet, in March]

My pretty flower, How cam'st thou here?

Around thee all Is sad and sere,-- The brown leaves tell Of winter's breath, And all but thou Of doom and death.

The naked forest Shivering sighs,-- On yonder hill The snow-wreath lies, And all is bleak-- Then say, sweet flower, Whence cam'st thou here In such an hour?

No tree unfolds its timid bud-- Chill pours the hill-side's lurid flood-- The tuneless forest all is dumb-- Whence then, fair violet, didst thou come?

Spring hath not scattered yet her flowers, But lingers still in southern bowers; No gardener's art hath cherished thee, For wild and lone thou springest free.

Thou springest here to man unknown, Waked into life by G.o.d alone!

Sweet flower--thou tellest well thy birth,-- Thou cam'st from Heaven, though soiled in earth!

Illusions.

I.

As down life's morning stream we glide, Full oft some Flower stoops o'er its side, And beckons to the smiling sh.o.r.e, Where roses strew the landscape o'er: Yet as we reach that Flower to clasp, It seems to mock the cheated grasp, And whisper soft, with siren glee, "My bloom is not--oh not for thee!"

II.

Within Youth's flowery vale I tread, By some entrancing shadow led-- And Echo to my call replies-- Yet, as she answers, lo, she flies!

And, as I seem to reach her cell-- The grotto, where she weaves her spell-- The Nymph's sweet voice afar I hear-- So Love departs, as we draw near!

III.

Upon a mountain's dizzy height, Ambition's temple gleams with light: Proud forms are moving fair within, And bid us strive that light to win.

O'er giddy cliff and crag we strain, And reach the mountain top--in vain!

For lo! the temple, still afar, Shines cold and distant as a star.

IV.

I hear a voice, whose accents dear Melt, like soft music, in mine ear.

A gentle hand, that seems divine, Is warmly, fondly clasped in mine; And lips upon my cheeks are pressed, That whisper tones from regions blest: But soon I start--for friendship's kiss Is gone, and lo! a serpent's hiss.

V.

The sun goes down, and shadows rest On the gay scenes by morning blest; The gathering clouds invest the air-- Yet one bright constant Star is there.

Onward we press, with heavy load, O'er tangled path and rough'ning road, For still that Star shines bright before; But now it sinks, and all is o'er!

The Rose: to Ellen.

[Ill.u.s.tration: The Rose]

The sportive sylphs that course the air, Unseen on wings that twilight weaves, Around the opening rose repair, And breathe sweet incense o'er its leaves.

With sparkling cups of bubbles made, They catch the ruddy beams of day, And steal the rainbow's sweetest shade, Their blushing favorite to array.

They gather gems with sunbeams bright, From floating clouds and falling showers-- They rob Aurora's locks of light To grace their own fair queen of flowers.

Thus, thus adorned, the speaking Rose, Becomes a token fit to tell, Of things that words can ne'er disclose, And nought but this reveal so well.

Then take my flower, and let its leaves Beside thy heart be cherished near, While that confiding heart receives The thought it whispers to thine ear!

The Maniac.

[Ill.u.s.tration: The Maniac]

On a tall cliff that overhung the deep, A maniac stood. He heeded not the sweep Of the swift gale that lashed the troubled main, And spread with showery foam the watery plain.

His reckless foot was on the dizzy line That edged the rock, impending o'er the brine; His form was bent, and leaning from the height, Like the light gull whose wing is stretched for flight.

Far down beneath his feet, the surges broke; Above his head the pealing thunders spoke; Around him flashed the lightning's ruddy glare, And rushing torrents swept along the air.

But nought he heeded, save a gallant sail That on the sea was wrestling with the gale.

Far on the ocean's billowy verge she hung, And strove to shun the storm that landward swung.

With many a tack she turned her bending side To the rude blast, and bravely stemmed the tide.

In vain! the bootless strife with fate is o'er-- And the doomed vessel nears the iron sh.o.r.e.

A mighty bird, she seems, whose wing is rent By the red shaft from heaven's fierce quiver sent.

Her mast is shivered and her helm is lashed, Around her prow the kindled waves are dashed-- And as an eagle swooping in its might, Toward the dark cliff she speeds her headlong flight.

She comes, she strikes! the trembling wave withdraws, And the hushed elements a moment pause; Then swelling high above their helpless prey, The billows burst, and bear the wreck away!

One look to heaven the raptured Maniac cast, One low breathed murmur from his bosom pa.s.sed: 'G.o.d of the soul and sea! I read thy choice-- Told by the shipwreck and the whirlwind's voice.

In this dread omen I can trace my doom, And hear thee bid me seek an ocean-tomb.

Like the lost ship my weary mind hath striven With the wild tempest o'er my spirit driven; That strife is done--and the dim caverned sea Of this wrecked bosom must the mansion be.