SONG. E sail toward evening's lonely star, That trembles in the tender blue; One single cloud, a dusky bar, Burnt with dull carmine through and through, Slow smouldering in the summer sky, Lies low along the fading west; How sweet to watch its splendors die, Wave-cradled thus, and wind caressed! The soft breeze freshens; leaps the spray And through the warm deeps of the sky How like a dream are earth and heaven, Wave-cradled thus, and wind-caressed! PLEASURES OF MEMORY. WILIGHT'S soft dews steal o'er the village green, With magic tints to harmonize the scene. Stilled is the hum that through the hamlet broke, When round the ruins of their ancient oak The peasants flocked to hear the minstrel play, And games and carols closed the busy day. Her wheel at rest, the matron thrills no more With treasured tales and legendary lore. All, all are fled; nor mirth nor music flows To chase the dreams of innocent repose. All, all are fled; yet still I linger here! What secret charms this silent spot endear? As o'er my palm the silver piece she drew, To learn the color of my future years! Lulled in the countless chambers of the brain, Our thoughts are linked by many a hidden chain. Awake but one, and, lo! what myriads rise! Each stamps its image as the other flies. Each, as the various avenues of sense Delight or sorrow to the soul dispense, Brightens or fades; yet all, with magic art, Hark! the bee winds her small but mellow horn, Blithe to salute the sunny smile of morn. O'er thyiny downs she bends her busy course, And many a stream allures her to its source. "Tis noon, 'tis night. That eye so finely wrought, Beyond the search of sense, the soar of thought, Now vainly asks the scenes she left behind; Its orb so full, its vision so confined! Who guides the patient pilgrim to her cell? Who bids her soul with conscious triumph swell? With conscious truth retrace the mazy clew Of summer-scents, that charmed her as she flew? Hail, Memory, hail! thy universal reign Guards the least link of Being's glorious chain. To meet the changes time and chance present O thou! with whom my heart was wont to share From reason's dawn each pleasure and each care; With whom, alas! I fondly hoped to know The humble walks of happiness below; If thy blest nature now unites above An angel's pity with a brother's love, Still o'er my life preserve thy mild control, Correct my views, and elevate my soul; Grant me thy peace and purity of mind, Devout yet cheerful, active yet resigned; Grant me, like thee, whose heart knew no disguise, Whose blameless wishes never aimed to rise, Thy pleasures moɛt we feel when most alone; SAMUEL ROGERS. A JOY FOREVER. THING of beauty is a joy forever: A bower quiet for us, and a sleep Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing. Therefore, on every morrow are we wreathing A flowery band to bind us to the earth, Spite of despondence, of the inhuman dearth Of noble natures, of the gloomy days, Of all the unhealthy and o'er-darkened ways Made for our searching; yes, in spite of all, Some shape of beauty moves away the pall From our dark spirits. Such the sun, the moon, JOHN KEATS. H, a wonderful stream is the River Time, How the winters are drifting like flakes of snow As they glide in the shadow and sheen. There's a magical Isle up the River Time Where the softest of airs are playing; There's a cloudless sky and a tropical clime, And a voice as sweet as a vesper chime, And the Junes with the roses are staying And the name of this Isle is the Long Ago, And we bury our treasures there; There are brows of beauty and bosoms of snow- There are fragments of song that nobody sings, And the garments that she used to wear. And we sometimes hear through the turbulent roar Oh, remembered for aye be the blessed Isle May that "GREENWOOD" of soul be in sight. |