A glittering idol stood she there, For many a heart's strong worshipping; Bright gems were on her sunny hair O'er her white forehead clustering; Oh! shower-like was her sunshine-bright, And glad her lot as summer's day, And gazing there I asked, if night Could e'er obscure her fortune's ray? I pondered on life's rugged path, And the world's worldly mindedness, And thought how few the dark earth hath Its rocky journeyings to bless; I thought, it could not be, its scorn Could reach one fair and good as she; Thought that no heart could leave hers lorn Who trusted its fidelity. But ah! a voice came from the past, And as bright flowers sere. And then I could but hope-but pray, A VISION OF BEAUTY. 39 That tempestless might be her way, I have not seen her since that day, That there were sun-rays in my cell; I felt, such beauteous ones were given, Bright forms-bright flowers-the clear blue heaven Are shining with the pole-star's ray, Around-above us; and whene'er I waver in the rushing storm, I soothe my spirit's rising care, ON A BEAUTIFUL CHILD DRESSED IN DEEP MOURNING. A VISION OF DEATH AND CHILDHOOD. OH! thou art young for sorrow, child! Nor checked to cold and lingering words Yet strangely falls that sable veil And strangely o'er that fragile form ON A CHILD IN MOURNING. Though now where'er thy footsteps roam Well know I, by thy eye's dark glance, And by thy deep-toned voice, 41 That when the warm-warm love was crushed Of childhood's sunny years, Death never gazed on deeper grief, Or bitterer flood of tears. But like the flower, that bends beneath And it was well;-could childhood brook That stern grief's slow decay, That eateth, sharp as serpent's tooth, Man's stubborn heart away! What strange, strange thoughts were in thy breast, Upon that woful day, When bending o'er the clay-cold corpse, Thou shuddering turned away! Death was a strange thing to thee, child! Thou hadst not come to know, How surely flies the leaping shaft Ah! it is sad to think that thou, E'er twenty years are gone, That brow shall furrowed be with care, While thine, drink in life's sweetest draught, Pluck every flower that decks its May! Prolong with dance, and laugh, and song, The coming of a darker day! When friends grow few, and passion strong, The hey-day of existence sped, Thy mourning garment tells me, that Thou then shalt mourn the dead. |