Page:Fugitive Poetry 1600-1878.djvu/230
This page has been proofread, but needs to be validated.
212
To a Lady,
Gazing on a Beautiful Landscape.
Lady, the earnest smiles of living light
That kindle on thy lips, and in thine eyes,
At the fair landscape which surrounds thee,—sires,
Groves, glades, and fountains,—all that fairy sight
Of beauty and of bliss,—will take their flight,
And vanish with the scene from whence they rise.
Not so their secret influence. When youth flies,
Ceasing to spread its mantle of delight
O'er this mysterious world, that sight shall seem
Like the remembered face of a dead friend,
To smile on thee from heaven. It shall blend
With thy best thoughts, and, like a happy dream,
Repeat its silent music, till the stream
Of thy pure life hath reached its peaceful end.
That kindle on thy lips, and in thine eyes,
At the fair landscape which surrounds thee,—sires,
Groves, glades, and fountains,—all that fairy sight
Of beauty and of bliss,—will take their flight,
And vanish with the scene from whence they rise.
Not so their secret influence. When youth flies,
Ceasing to spread its mantle of delight
O'er this mysterious world, that sight shall seem
Like the remembered face of a dead friend,
To smile on thee from heaven. It shall blend
With thy best thoughts, and, like a happy dream,
Repeat its silent music, till the stream
Of thy pure life hath reached its peaceful end.
Gaze on, then, gaze thy fill! These silent shows
Of all-sufficing Nature, speak with voice
More eloquent than books, bidding rejoice,
With purest joy, the heart that wisely knows
To trust them. As life's rapid river flows,
In sunshine or in shade, be but its course
Through scenes where Art has not put rude divorce
Between thy heart and Nature's, sweet repose
Shall ever be within thee and about,—
Smiling away all ills. The rabble rout
Of the world's vulgar pains, and vapid pleasures,
Shall never dare approach thee; while new treasures
Of thought and feeling, to thy pure soul given,
Shall change this fair earth to another heaven.
Of all-sufficing Nature, speak with voice
More eloquent than books, bidding rejoice,
With purest joy, the heart that wisely knows
To trust them. As life's rapid river flows,
In sunshine or in shade, be but its course
Through scenes where Art has not put rude divorce
Between thy heart and Nature's, sweet repose
Shall ever be within thee and about,—
Smiling away all ills. The rabble rout
Of the world's vulgar pains, and vapid pleasures,
Shall never dare approach thee; while new treasures
Of thought and feeling, to thy pure soul given,
Shall change this fair earth to another heaven.
A Beautiful Maiden.
Whence that completed form of all completeness?
Whence came that high perfection of all sweetness?
Speak, stubborn earth, and tell me where, oh where!
Hast thou a symbol of her golden hair?
Not oat-sheaves dropping in the western sun;
Not thy soft hand, fair sister! Let me shun
Such follying before thee—yet she had,
Indeed, locks bright enough to make me mad;
Whence came that high perfection of all sweetness?
Speak, stubborn earth, and tell me where, oh where!
Hast thou a symbol of her golden hair?
Not oat-sheaves dropping in the western sun;
Not thy soft hand, fair sister! Let me shun
Such follying before thee—yet she had,
Indeed, locks bright enough to make me mad;