As unsubstantial too, the daylight fades,
And "leaves the world to darkness and to me."
Primitive Painter! Neither age, nor care,
Nor failing health,-though all conspired to mar
The calmness of thy soul,-could dim the power
Thy pencil caught from Truth. Thou shouldst have lived,
Where sunny Claude his inspiration drew,
By Arno's banks, in Tempe's haunted vale;
Or learned Poussin, 'neath the umbrageous oaks
Of some old forest, bade his sylvan groups,
Goddess with Mortal, Faun with Dryad joined,
To Pan's untutored music circle round.
For such the themes thy chastened fancy loved;
But now thy sun has set, thy twilight sunk
In deepest night, and thou hast sought a sky
Where never cloud or shade can vex thee more.
YES, I will join the world again,
And mingle with the crowd;
And though my mirth may be but pain,
My laughter wilderment of brain,
At least it shall be loud.
'Tis true, to bow before the shrine
Of heartless revelry,
Is slavery to a soul like mine;
Yet better thus in chains to pine,
Than ever crouch to thee.
Ay, better far to steep the soul
In pleasure's sparkling tide;
Bid joy's unholy sounds control
The maddening thoughts that o'er it roll,
Than wither 'neath thy pride.
Yet I have loved thee-oh, how well!
But words are wild and weak ;-
The depth of that pervading spell
I dare not trust my tongue to tell,
And hearts may never speak.
The stubborn pride, none else might rein,
Hath stooped to love and thee;
But, as the pine upon the plain,
Bent by the blast springs up again,
So shall it fare with me.
Though thou hast wrapped me in a cloud,
Nought now may e'er dispel,
In silentness my wrongs I'll shroud,
And love, reproach, pain, passion, crowd
Into one word-Farewell!
'Tis done the task of soul is taught;
At length I've burst the spell
That, 'round my heart so firmly wrought,
Fettered each loftier, nobler thought;
And now, Farewell-Farewell!
SCENES of my childhood, once more I behold ye,
'Mid the green waving lindens that graced ye of yore; Friends of my childhood, once more I enfold ye, What would my gloom-boding spirit have more!
Scenes of my childhood, in sadness I greet ye,
Can your freshness and bloom youth's gay season restore? Friends of my childhood, in sorrow I meet ye,
For a welcome is wanting can glad me no more!
Scenes of my childhood, the breath of your flowers
Is loaded with memories too painful for bliss;
Friends of my childhood, there's gloom in your bowers,
Oh, where are the bright beaming glances I miss!
Scenes of my childhood, let strangers possess ye;
Can ye witness again what ye witnessed of yore?
Friends of my childhood, in vain ye caress me,
For the kiss that was sweetest, can charm me no more!
I THINK of thee, I think of thee,
And all that thou hast borne for me;-
In hours of gloom, or heartless glee,
I think of thee-I think of thee!
When fiercest rage the storms of Fate,
And all around is desolate,
I pour on life's tempestuous sea
The oil of peace with thoughts of thee!
When Fortune frowns, and Hope deceives me,
And summer-friendship veers and leaves me,
A Timon from the world I flee;
My wreck of wealth, sweet dreams of thee;
Or if I join the careless crowd
Where laughter peals, and mirth grows loud,
Even in my hours of revelry
I think of thee, I think of thee!
I think of thee, I think and sigh
O'er blighted years and bliss gone by;—
And mourn the stern, severe decree
That hath but left me thoughts of thee!
In youth's gay hours, 'mid Pleasure's bowers,
When all was sunshine, mirth, and flowers,
We met; I bent th' adoring knee,
And told a tender tale to thee!
'Twas summer's eve; the heavens above, Earth, ocean, air, were full of love; Nature around kept jubilee,
When first I breathed that tale to thee!
The crystal arch that hung on high
Was blue as thy delicious eye;-
The stirless shore and sleeping sea,
Seemed emblems of repose and thee!
I spoke of hope, I spoke of fear,—
Thy answer was a blush and tear ;—
But this was eloquence to me,
And more than I had asked of thee!
I looked into thy dewy eye,
And echoed thy half-stifled sigh,-
I clasped thy hand and vowed to be
The soul of love and truth to thee!
That scene and hour have past; yet still
Remains a deep, impassioned thrill,—
A sunset glow on memory,
That kindles at a thought of thee.
We loved; how wildly, and how well
"Twere worse than idle now to tell:
From love and life alike thou'rt free,
And I am left-to think of thee!
Though years, long years, have darkly sped
Since thou wert numbered with the dead,
In fancy oft thy form I see,-
In dreams, at least, I'm still with thee!
Thy beauty, helplessness, and youth,-
Thy hapless fate, untiring truth;
Are spells that often touch the key
Of sweet but mournful thoughts of thee!
The bitter frown of friends estranged; The chilling straits of fortunes changed; All this, and more, were borne for me;Then how can I be false to thee!
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