Transmitted to a Young Lady, in a distant county, who had desired " a few lines" in the Author's own hand-writing.
BY JAMES MONTGOMERY, ESQ..
SPIRITS in heaven may interchange
Thoughts, without voice or sound;
Spirits on earth at will can range
Wherever man is found ;-
Their thoughts (as silent and as fleet
As summer-lightnings in the west,
When evening sinks to glorious rest,)
In written symbols meet.
The motion of a feather darts
The secrets of sequestered hearts
To kindred hearts afar,
As in the stillness of the night,
Quick rays of intermingling light
Sparkle from star to star.
A spirit to a spirit speaks
Where these few letters stand;
Strangers alike,—the younger seeks
A token from the hand
That traced an unpretending song,'
Whose numbers won her gentle soul,
While, like a mountain-rill, they stole
In trembling harmony along :-
What shall the Poet's spirit send
To his unseen, unseeing friend?
-A wish as pure as e'er had birth
In thought or language of this earth.
CYNTHIA is young,-may she be old;
And fair, no doubt,-may she grow wrinkled; Her locks, in verse at least, are gold,— May they turn silver, thinly sprinkled; The rose her cheek, the fire her eye, Youth, health, and strength successive fly, And in the end-may CYNTHIA die!
"Unkind!-Inhuman!"-Stay your tears,
I only wish you length of years;
And wish them still, with all their woes
And all their blessings, till the close:
For Hope and Fear, with anxious strife,
Are wrestlers in the ring of life;
And yesterday,-to-day,-to-morrow,—
Are but alternate joy and sorrow.
Now mark the sequel ;-may your mind
In wisdom's ways true pleasure find,
Grow strong in virtue, rich in truth,
And year by year renew its youth;
Till, in the last triumphant hour,
The spirit shall the flesh o'erpower,
This from its sufferings gain release,
And that take wing, and part in peace!
THY stream, oh Love divine! rolls on
The sweeter for the waste around;
'Tis when all other joys are gone,
Thy joys are most refreshing found.
So, down dread Etna's burning side,
A wondrous rill for ever flows;
As pure, as cool, as those which glide
Through regions of unmelting snows.
WHEN first I saw sweet KATHERINE,
What fond ambition filled my soul!
Could I but make that creature mine,
How happily my years would roll!
Hers were the limbs so finely formed,
Round, polished, soft, and feminine;
To life the marble Venus warmed-
Oh, could I make that creature mine!
Hers was the shape's luxuriant swell;
The bosom full, and full of truth;
Hair that in raven ringlets fell
O'er the clear careless eye of youth.
Hers music's voice,-hers beauty's smiles,
The small white hand, the grace divine;
All Nature's charms-all Love's dear wiles :-
Oh, could I make that creature mine!
Sweet KATHERINE'S mother next I saw,
Plump, fair, and forty-pleasing still :
Her time had been men's hearts to draw,
And hold them captive at her will.
And recollected joys might yet
In images less passionate move; Repeating, till taught to forget
What ecstacies were thine, young Love!
Still buxom was the cheerful dame,
Still bright her eye, still fresh her face; Age nor had curbed her spirit tame,
Nor ploughed her brow with furrowy trace. Pondering, methought when I might see
Some Springs o'er Hope's fruition passed,And to my throbbing heart would she, My KATE, as stirless be at last.
But higher up the stream of life,
KATE'S mother had a mother too :
She had been wooed, had been a wife,
And Love's and Wedlock's feelings knew.
Now dim her eye and moist, but ah!
Youth's liquid lustre was not there;
Her once soft hand a bony claw,
And gray and thin her ebon hair.
Faded the rose upon her cheek;
Shrivelled her limbs, as if in scorn;
Her voice, once music, harsh though weak;
Palsied her head, once stately borne.
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