Part 44 (1/2)
She mourneth for the lovely day, Now deep in darkness shaded; She sheds the dewy tear because Of morning's mantle faded; She misses from her breast the garb In which the moon array'd it.
The evening queen will strive in vain To break the spell which bound her; A million stars can never throw Departed warmth around her; They all must pa.s.s away and leave The earth as they had found her.
But why should gentle Nature weep That night has overtaken The wearied world that needed sleep, Refreshed to re-awaken, So richer light might burst around, The gloomy shadows breaking?
Oh, can she not from yonder sky That gleams above her, borrow A single ray, or find a way To check the tear of sorrow?
A beam of hope would last her till The dawning of to-morrow.
The Late W. V. Wild, Esq.
Sad faces came round, and I dreamily said ”Though the harp of my country now slumbers, Some hand will pa.s.s o'er it, in love for the dead, And attune it to sorrowful numbers!”
But the hopes that I clung to are withering things, For the days have gone by with a cloud on their wings, And the touch of a bard is unknown to the strings-- _Oh, why art thou silent, Australia?_
The leaves of the autumn are scattering fast, The willows look barren and lonely; But I dream a sad dream of my friend of the past, And his form I can dwell upon only!
In the strength of his youth I can see him go by.
There is health on the cheek, and a fire in the eye-- Oh, who would have thought that such beauty could die!
_Ah, mourn for thy n.o.blest, Australia!_
A strange shadow broods o'er the desolate earth, And the cypresses tremble and quiver; But my heart waxeth dark with the thoughts of the worth That has left us for ever and ever!
A dull cloud creepeth close to the moon, And the winter winds pa.s.s with a shuddering croon-- Oh, why was he s.n.a.t.c.hed from his brothers so soon?
_Ah, weep for thy lost one, Australia!_
How weary we grow when we turn to reflect Upon what we have seen and believed in; When harping on promises hopelessly wrecked, And the things we have all been deceived in!
When a voice that I loved lingers near to me yet!
And a kind, handsome face which I'll never forget-- Can I wake to the present and stifle regret-- _Can I smother these feelings, Australia?_
It is useless to grieve o'er the light that has fled But the harp of my country still slumbers; And I thought that some bard in his love for the dead, Would have thrilled it to sorrowful numbers!
Lo, the hopes that I clung to are withering things For the days have gone by with a cloud on their wings, And my hand is too feeble to strike at the strings-- _Oh, why art thou silent, Australia?_
Astarte
Across the dripping ridges, O, look, luxurious night!
She comes, the bright-haired beauty, My luminous delight!
My luminous delight!
So hush, ye sh.o.r.es, your roar, That my soul may sleep, forgetting Dead Love's wild Nevermore!
Astarte, Syrian sister, Your face is wet with tears; I think you know the secret One heart hath held for years!
One heart hath held for years!