Part 26 (1/2)
Soon Fancy, on her airy wing, Was sporting mid Elysian bowers, Where flowers of sweetest odor spring, And birds of golden plumage sing, And wanton thro' the sylvan bowers.
There lakelets sparkled in the glow, Wreathed round with flowers of many a hue, And golden pebbles shone below The wave that bore the swan of snow, Reflecting, in its mirror true, The flowers which o'er its surface grew, The tints of earth--the hues of sky-- That in its limpid bosom lie.
And groups of happy children played Around the verge of each cascade; Or gambol'd o'er the flowery lea In wanton mirth and joyous glee; Pursuing, o'er the sparkling lawn, The insect in its airy flight, Which still eludes, but tempting on From flower to flower, with plumage bright, The hand that woos to stay its flight-- Till soaring high, on pinions wild It leaves the charm'd and tearful child.
One maid there was, divinely fair, Whose cheeks, beneath her peerless eyes, Bloomed like the roses, rich and rare, That yield perfume to summer skies; Her s.h.i.+ning locks of silky hair Hung round her neck like grapes of gold, And o'er her snowy bosom roll'd, Hiding the blush that mantled there.
The brightest of the fairy throng, She led the dancing group along Through tangled brakes and fretted bowers, Where grew the richest, rarest flowers, That wooed the bee to banquet there, Or yielded sweets to Summer air.
But she who moved with elfin pace, And taught the infant throng to play, Raised to heaven her cherub face, While that bright celestial ray, Which halos the throne of glory round, Illumed her azure, orient eye, That seemed to penetrate the sky.
Bending her gaze upon the ground, Her gentle bosom heaved a sigh, And anxious faces press around, While pearls of pity dim each eye, As tho' they'd weep again to rest The troubled spirit of that breast.
”Weep not for me!” the cherub said, While o'er her seraph beauty played A smile like evening's parting beam, That sparkles o'er the gla.s.sy stream, Or lingers on a lucid lake-- Whose dimpling wave the zephyrs break.
”Far thro' yon skies, where orient day Is shedding his last lingering ray, Bright angels beckon me away;-- I go--I go--a last farewell!”
And as she spoke around her fell, From heaven, a bright celestial ray, Whose l.u.s.tre dimm'd the light of day; And 'mid that heavenly blaze unfold Her glittering pinions tipp'd with gold.
While strains of sweet unearthly sound Awoke their dulcet chime around, She soared away on wings of light, Like sparkling meteor of the night; Still lessening, as she further drew Amid the ether of heavenly blue, Till lost within a blazing star That above the horizon shown-- As if from Paradise a car 'Twere sent to bear the cherub home.
No more that happy throng is rending, With gladsome shouts the summer air, Nor songs of love to heaven ascending, From hearts that know no guile nor care; But on each peerless infant brow The gloom of care is settling now; While pa.s.sion madly fires each eye, And swells each bosom beating high; And tongues that lisped an infant name, Now speak in haughty tones of Fame!
While some, in senatorial pride, With scorn their fellow-man deride; And others, more sanguinary still, From words of ire appeal to brands, Nor scruple a brother's blood to spill-- Cain-like!--with ensanguined hands Polluting the flowers which smile--in vain Wooing the heart to love again.
Long o'er this painful scene I sighed, Where licentious pa.s.sion, unrestrained, Was left to riot in her pride-- Spreading destruction where'er she reigned.
”And was this bright--this fair domain-- With all its beauty, formed in vain?
Where Nature, a paradise to grace, Hath loved her every charm to trace, That man, enamored of distress Should mar it into wilderness?”
I raised my arm while thus I spoke, And o'er Beauty's broken bowers sighed; But with the effort I awoke, And found myself by Hela's side.
DEATH AND BEAUTY.
On a lone sequestered mead, Where silver-streamlets flow, I saw a rose and lily twine, And in love and beauty grow; Again to that lone, peaceful spot, From worldly cares I hied-- But the flowers that lately bloom'd so fair, Had wither'd, drooped, and died!
Like love's young dream, they pa.s.sed away, With all their vernal bloom, And they, who lately shone so fair, Now moulder in the tomb!
But ere the minstrels left the bowers, And to summer climes had fled, They sang the dirge o'er fading flowers, That by their stems lay dead.
Slumbering on its mother's breast A beauteous infant lay, The blush upon its dimpled cheek, Was like a rose in May: But the glow that tinged that cheek so fair, Was but the transient bloom, That brightens with the flitting breath-- A flow'ret of the tomb.
The infant oped its azure eyes, And sweetly smiling, said, ”Mamma,” its gentle spirit ebbing, Was numbered with the dead; It laid its throbbing temples on The mother's heaving breast, And its gentle spirit pa.s.s'd to Heaven, With angels bright to rest!
Lovely as the morning flowers, That bloom so fresh and gay, I saw a beauteous fair one decked In the bridal's bright array; But she, who had, at morning rise, Exulted in her bloom, Was doom'd ere evening's sun had set, To grace the silent tomb.
Alas! that things so beautiful, So soon must pa.s.s away, And all of earth that's loveliest Must moulder in the clay; But well we know those charms so bright, Which Heaven hath form'd in love, Tho' ravaged by death's icy hand, Shall bloom again above!
TAKE THE HARP.
TO KATE.
'Tis supposed the muses hang a harp by every stream, where it remains till some lady arises to take it and sing the ”loves and joys, the rural scenes and pleasures,” the beauty and grandeur of the place.
Take the harp, nor longer leave it Sighing on the willow tree; Pa.s.s thy gentle fingers o'er it, And awake its melody; The streams tho' icy chains may bind them, Still will murmur back thy trill, And the roses wild, though blasted, On thy cheeks are blooming still.