Volume Iii Part 34 (2/2)
What ardently I wished, I long believed, And, disappointed still, was still deceived.
By expectation every day beguiled, Dupe of _to-morrow_ even from a child.
Thus many a sad to-morrow came and went, Till, all my stock of infant sorrow spent, I learned at last submission to my lot, But, though I less deplored thee, ne'er forgot.
Where once we dwelt our name is heard no more, Children not thine have trod my nursery floor; And where the gardener Robin, day by day, Drew me to school along the public way, Delighted with my bauble coach and wrapped In scarlet mantle warm, and velvet cap, 'Tis now become a history little known, That once we called the pastoral house our own.
Short-lived possession! but the record fair, That memory keeps of all thy kindness there, Still outlives many a storm, that has effaced A thousand other themes less deeply traced.
Thy nightly visits to my chamber made, That thou might'st know me safe and warmly laid; Thy morning bounties ere I left my home, The biscuit; or confectionery plum; The fragrant waters on my cheeks bestowed By thy own hand, till fresh they shone and glowed: All this, and more endearing still than all, Thy constant flow of love, that knew no fall.
Ne'er roughened by those cataracts and breaks, That humor interposed too often makes; All this still legible in memory's page, And still to be so to my latest age, Adds joy to duty, makes me glad to pay Such honors to thee as my numbers may; Perhaps a frail memorial, but sincere, Not scorned in Heaven, though little noticed here.
Could Time, his flight reversed, restore the hours, When, playing with thy vesture's tissued flowers, The violet, the pink, and jessamine, I p.r.i.c.ked them into paper with a pin (And thou wast happier than myself the while, Wouldst softly speak, and stroke my head, and smile), Could those few pleasant days again appear, Might one wish bring them, would I wish them here?
I would not trust my heart--the dear delight Seems so to be desired, perhaps I might,-- But no--what here we call our life is such, So little to be loved, and thou so much, That I should ill requite thee to constrain Thy unbound spirit into bonds again.
Thou, as a gallant bark from Albion's coast (The storms all weathered and the ocean crossed), Shoots into port at some well-havened isle, Where spices breathe, and brighter seasons smile, There sits quiescent on the floods, that show Her beauteous form reflected clear below, While airs impregnated with incense play Around her, fanning light her streamers gay; So thou, with sails how swift! hast reached the sh.o.r.e, ”Where tempests never beat, nor billows roar,”
And thy loved consort on the dangerous tide Of life long since has anch.o.r.ed by thy side.
But me, scarce hoping to attain that rest, Always from port withheld, always distressed-- Me howling blasts drive devious, tempest-tossed, Sails ripped, seams opening wide, and compa.s.s lost, And day by day some current's thwarting force Sets me more distant from a prosperous course.
Yet O the thought, that thou art safe, and he!
That thought is joy, arrive what may to me.
My boast is not, that I deduce my birth From loins enthroned, and rulers of the earth; But higher far my proud pretensions rise-- The son of parents pa.s.sed into the skies.
And now, farewell--Time unrevoked has run His wonted course, yet what I wished is done.
By contemplation's help, not sought in vain, I seemed to have lived my childhood o'er again; To have renewed the joys that once were mine, Without the sin of violating thine; And, while the wings of Fancy still are free, And I can view this mimic show of thee, Time has but half succeeded in his theft-- Thyself removed, thy power to soothe me left.
WILLIAM COWPER.
IN HEAVENLY LOVE ABIDING.
In heavenly love abiding, No change my heart shall fear, And safe is such confiding, For nothing changes here.
The storm may roar without me, My heart may low be laid; But G.o.d is round about me, And can I be dismayed?
Wherever He may guide me, No want shall turn me back; My Shepherd is beside me, And nothing can I lack.
His wisdom ever waketh, His sight is never dim, He knows the way He taketh, And I will walk with Him.
Green pastures are before me, Which yet I have not seen; Bright skies will soon be o'er me, Where darkest clouds have been.
My hope I cannot measure, My path to life is free; My Father has my treasure, And He will walk with me.
ANNA H. WARING.
ST. AGNES' EVE.
Deep on the convent roof the snows Are sparkling to the moon: My breath to heaven like vapor goes: May my soul follow soon!
The shadows of the convent towers Slant down the snowy sward, Still creeping with the creeping hours That lead me to my Lord: Make Thou my spirit pure and clear As are the frosty skies, Or this first snowdrop of the year That in my bosom lies.
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