« VorigeDoorgaan »
THERE never yet was flower fair in vain, Ah, weary bird ! thou wilt not fly again :
The silver phantom of the perfect sphere, Some bulwark levelled on the evil side :
Held in its bosom : in one glory now Toil on, then, Greatness ! thou art in the right, Our lives united shine, and many a year However narrow souls may call thee wrong:
Not the sweet moon of bridal only — we Be as thou wouldst be in thine own clear sight, One lustre, ever at the full, shall be : And so thou wilt in all the world's erelong :
One pure and rounded light, one planet whole, For worldlings cannot, struggle as they may,
One life developed, one completed soul ! From man's great soulone great thought hideaway. For I in thee, and thou in me,
Unite our cloven halves of destiny.
I THOUGHT our love at full, but I did err; God knew his chosen time.
And from my boughs withheld the promised fruit,
Thou art become my blood, my life, my light: Deep in my soul another bond to thee
God's mercy thou, and therefore shalt endure. Thrill with that life we saw depart from her ; O mother of our angel child ! twice dear ! Death knits as well as parts, and still, I wis, Her tender radince shall infold us here,
THE DAY RETURNS, MY BOSOM BURNS.
The blissful day we twa did meet;
Though winter wild in tempest toiled,
Ne'er summer sun was half sae sweet.
And crosses o'er the sultry line,
Than kingly robes, and crowns and globes,
Heaven gave me more ; it made thee mine. “It was our wedding-day
While day and night can bring delight, A month ago," dear heart, I hear you say.
Or nature aught of pleasure give,
While joys above my mind can move,
When that grim foe of life below
Comes in between to make us part, And all stood back, and none my right denied,
The iron hand that breaks our band, And forth we walked : the world was free and wide
It breaks my bliss, it breaks my heart. Before us. Since that day I count my life : the Past is washed away.
THE POET'S BRIDAL-DAY SONG.
It was no dream, that vow :
0, MY love 's like the steadfast sun,
Nor mirth, nor sweetest song that flows
Time, like the wingéd wind
When 't bends the flowers, Hath left no mark behind,
To count the hours !
On thee he leaves ;
Perhaps he weaves ;
For joys scarce known;
All else is flown !
I mourn and sing !
Like sudden spring!
Like a pleasant rhyme,
To thee and time !
Though I see smiling at thy feet
O, when more thought we gave, of old,
IF THOU WERT BY MY SIDE, MY LOVE
If thou wert by my side, my love,
How fast would evening fail
Listening the nightingale !
My babies at my knee,
O’er Gunga’s mimic sea !
When, on our deck reclined,
And woo the cooler wind.
I miss thee when by Gunga's stream
My twilight steps I guide,
I miss thee from my side.
The lingering noon to cheer,
Thy meek, attentive ear.
Beholds me on my knee,
Thy prayers ascend for me.
My course be onward still,
O'er bleak Almorah's hill.
THE POET'S SONG TO HIS WIFE.
How many summers, love,
Have I been thine ? How many days, thou dove,
Hast thou been mine?