« AnteriorContinuar »
SHALL A LIGHT WORD PART US?
We have been friends together,
In sunshine and in shade;
Since first beneath the chestnut trees
In infancy we play'd.
But coldness dwells within my heart,
A cloud is on my brow;
We have been friends together-
Shall a light word part us now?
We have been gay together ;
We have laugh'd at little jests ;
For the fount of hope was gushing
Warm and joyous in our breasts.
But laughter now hath fled thy lip,
And sullen glooms thy brow;
We have been gay together-
Shall a light word part us now?
We have been sad together,
We have wept with bitter tears,
O'er the grass-grown graves,
The hopes of early years.
The voices which are silent there
Would bid thee clear thy brow;
We have been sad together-
Oh! what shall part us now?
THE TREASURES OF THE DEEP.
What hid'st thou in thy treasure-caves and cells?
Thou hollow-sounding and mysterious main ! Pale glistening pearls, and rainbow-coloured shells,
Bright things which gleam unreck'd of and in vain. Keep, keep thy riches, melancholy sea !
We ask not such from thee.
Yet more, the depths have more !— What wealth untold
Far down, and shining through their stillness, lies ! Thou hast the starry gems, the burning gold,
Won from ten thousand royal Argosies. Sweep o'er thy spoils, thon wild and wrathful main!
Earth claims not these again !
Yet more, the depths have more! Thy waves have rollid
Above the cities of a world gone by! Sand hath fill'd up the palaces of old,
Sea-weed o'ergrown the halls of revelry! Dash o'er them, Ocean ! in thy scornful play,
Man yields them to decay!
Yet more! the billows and the depths have more !
High hearts and brave are gather'd to thy breast ! They hear not now the booming waters roar, —
The battle-thunders will not break their rest. Keep thy red gold and gems, thou stormy grave !
Give back the true and brave !
Give back the lost and lovely! Those for whom
The place was kept at board and hearth so long ; The prayer
went up thro' midnight's breathless gloom, And the vain yearning woke 'midst festal song! Hold fast thy buried isles, thy towers o'erthrown,
-But all is not thine own!
To thee the love of woman hath gone down,
Dark flow the tides o'er manhood's noble head, O'er youth's bright locks and beauty's flowery crown!
-Yet must thou hear a voice-Restore the dead : Earth shall reclaim her precious things from thee,
--Restore the dead, thou Sea !
I NEVER cast a flower away,
The gift of one who cared for me,
A little flower, ,-a faded flower,--
But it was done reluctantly.
I never look'd a last adieu
To things familiar, but my heart
Shrank with a feeling almost pain,
E'en from their lifelessness to part.
I never spoke the word Farewell !
But with an utterance faint and broken ;
A heart-sick yearning for the time
When it should never more be spoken.
AN EVENING WALK IN BENGAL.
Our task is done !-on Gunga's breast
The sun is sinking down to rest :
And, moor'd beneath the tamarind bough,
Our bark has found its harbour now.
With furled sail, and painted side,
Behold the tiny frigate ride.
Upon her deck, 'mid charcoal gleams,
The Moslems' savoury supper steams,
While all apart, beneath the wood,
The Hindoo cooks his simpler food.
Come walk with me the jungle through:
If yonder hunter told us true,
Far off in desert dank and rude,
The tiger holds his solitude ;
Nor (taught by recent harm to shun
The thunders of the English gun)
A dreadful guest but rarely seen,
Returns to scare the village green.
Come boldly on; no venom'd snake
Can shelter in so cool a brake;
Child of the sun, he loves to lie
Mid Nature's embers, parch'd and dry,
Where o'er some tower in ruin laid,
The peepul spreads its haunted shade,
Or round a tomb his scales to wreathe,
Fit warder in the gate of death!
Come on! yet pause! behold us now
Beneath the bamboo's arched bough,
Where gemming oft that sacred gloom,
Glows the geranivm's scarlet bloom,
And winds our path through many a bower
Of fragrant tree and crimson flower ;
The ceiba's crimson pomp display'd
O'er the broad plantain's humbler shade,
And dusk anana's prickly blade ;
While o'er the brake, so wild and fair,
The betel waves his crest in air.
With pendant train and rushing wings,
Aloft the gorgeous peacock springs ;
And he, the bird of hundred dyes,
Whose plumes the dames of Ava prize,
So rich a shade, so green a sod,
Our English fairies never trod.
Yet who in Indian bower has stood,
But thought on England's good green-wood ?
And bless'd, beneath the palmy shade,
Her hazel and her hawthorn glade,
And breathed a prayer (how oft in vain !)
To gaze upon her oaks agaio.
A truce to thought! The jackal's cry
Resounds like sylvan revelry;
And through the trees yon falling ray
Will scantly serve to guide our way.
Yet mark! as fade the upper skies,
Each thicket opes ten thousand eyes ;