And I have dreamed-though madness 'twas to
In the warm contact of so bright a theme-
Of the deep treasure of that fountain blest,
Whose sacred source is woman's peaceful breast;
Whence smiles of light-while prosperous breezes
And joyous words and streams of kindness flow; But when dread sorrow glooms our wintry skies, Inspiring hopes and notes of courage rise.
Thus have I dreamed, 'till round celestial light
Disclosed bright visions veiled to mortal sight;
And I beheld a beauteous form, that wore
The well-known smile I oft had seen before.
Thus let me dream-of one ordained to be
A fountain of high hopes and sympathy;
A joy to heighten every joy we know,
A guardian angel in an hour of wo;
A spirit fair, a being bright and warm
With a high soul—not a mere gilded form
Or fair automaton, to move by art,
Needing or using neither head nor heart;
Graceful to lead where butterflies excel,
And knave and coxcomb can do just as well!
We walk upon a world, o'ershadowed high
With the broad concave of the glorious sky,
Spread out to catch the feeblest sounds that fly,
And send them thundering back, 'till you and I
Shall hear our neighbour's softest whispered sigh,
Which he had thought in his own heart did die.
We move amid an atmosphere, which, stirred
With the soft wing of scarcely whispered word,
Rolls on its echoes, till the world has heard,
What he had hoped in silence was interred!
And think'st thou that I love thee not,
Or love thee with but half a heart?
And have these eyes their skill forgot
The secret of the soul to impart?
And hath no glance of kindness shown,
Whence that warm fountain's source may be,
Whose music mounts in every tone,
To speak the love I've felt for thee?
And hast thou seen no sudden light
Upon this brow, when thou wert near-
No rising smile of deep delight,
To whisper that thou wert most dear?
Then hath this brow essayed in vain,
A mirror of my heart to be;
And smiles alone may ne'er explain
The hidden love I've felt for thee.
In courtlier phrase the coxcomb swears,
Than the full heart of love can boast;
More glib the tongue the less it bears-
The shallow streamlet chatters most;
Ne'er toss'd on careless lips have been
The blushing thoughts that dearest be. E'en where the life-blood glides unseen, Sleeps the deep love I've felt for thee!
A cheek that knows no blush, conceals
A heart unswayed by love's control;
And the loud flowing tongue reveals
The shallow current of the soul.
Oh, far too deep for tongue or eyes
To express to stranger ear or e'e,
In the soul's holiest chamber lies
The deathless love I've felt for thee! 1843.
Music is sorrow's knell!
And through the halls, where bright lamps shine,
And glancing eyes their secrets tell,
Beauty arrays her charms divine.
Like waves the graceful dancers go,
rosy cheek and brow of snow,
And nimble foot and form of light,
'Neath music's deep commanding swell,
Sparkle and sport in circles bright,
Like flowers that play through a summer night, With the singing breeze of a fairy dell.
Saw ye the smile of the parting day,
O'er the earth its splendour throwing?
She hath passed like a sunbeam on her way,
And a hundred cheeks are glowing.
|