Canada and Other Poems | Page 9

sadly fail, to stand the crucial test??Say, why should all the brightness of man's schemes?Full often fade away, like earth's forgotten themes?
Why do you ask, O sad inquirer? How?Can things like that be known to mortal ken??Suffice it, that it suits the mortal Now,?And leads our thoughts to the eternal Then,?When darkness shall be light, to ransom'd men,?When dreams of bliss, with glad fruition crown'd,?And happiness, untold by prophet's pen,?Shall fill the hearts of those who sought and found?That peace, which lighted up, and cheer'd life's weary?round.

HAPPINESS.
Fair Happiness, I've courted thee,?And used each cunning art and wile,?Which lovers use with maidens coy,?To win one tender glance or smile.?Thou hast been coy as any maid,?So lofty, distant, stern and cold,?And guarded from a touch of mine,?As miser guards his precious gold.
To win a smile from thee, did seem?A painful, fruitless thing to try,?Thy scornful, thin and cruel lips,?No pity gave thy steely eye.
Thy countenance, so sternly set,?Did seem to say how vain to knock?At thy heart's door, for all within?Was hard, as adamantine rock.
Thus unto me thy visage seem'd,?But faces do not always tell?The feelings of the heart within,?Or thoughts that underneath them dwell.
For e'en at times, I saw thy face?Relax, and look with pity down,?On struggling, weary mortals here,?Without one scornful glance or frown.
At times I've seen thy steely eye,?Sheath'd with a look of tender love,?As if thou saw our mortal woes,?And fain would help, but dare not move.
As if some higher power than thine,?Directed all things here below,?And for some wise and happy end,?Let struggling mortals suffer woe.
Except at times, when from thy face,?A cheerful light is shed on men,?And when, withdrawn within thyself,?We, hopeful, watch for it again.
Such is the happiness of earth,--?A sudden light, a glancing beam,?Which cheers us in our lonely bark,?Upon times dark, relentless stream.
The stormy waves roll darkling on,?And with the current we must go,?Perchance to meet some cheerful beams?Of happiness, amid our woe.
But, if we guide our bark aright,?And guard the precious tenant there,?We soon shall reach a sea of light,?From this dark, troubl'd stream of care.
Then, may we never let the shade?Of bitter trouble and despair,?Hide from our eyes the happy gleams,?Which even we, at times, may share.

LOVE.
Thou source of bliss, thou cause of woe,?Disturber of the mind of man,?Wilt thou still calmly onward go,?A sightless leader of the van?
In court and camp wilt thou still rule,?And nation's destinies still sway;?Make wise men act as doth the fool,?And blindly follow thee, away?
Thou siren nymph, ethereal sprite,?Thou skilful charmer of mankind,?Oh, when wilt thou lead man aright,?And when will they thy cords unbind?
Thy potent spells have still their force,?And reason's dictates still are scorn'd,?And reason runs a shackl'd course,?While life, with love, is still adorn'd.
Thou fond inmate of maiden's breast,?Thou lighter up of manly heart;?Thou surely hast some high behest,?And we shall surely never part.
We'll never part, but oh, thou friend?And cheerer of life's dreary way.?May reason guide us to the end,?And may she ever with thee stay.

HATE.
While love inspires, and friendship warms?All hearts, in ev'ry state,?High over thee, grim hatred storms,?As pitiless as fate.
Remorseless, unrelenting, hard,?It holds its stubborn way,?Which duty's claim cannot retard,?Nor righteous thoughts delay.
With steady look, it keeps its eye?Fixed firmly on its foe;?With panting zeal it hurries by,?To make its deadly throw.
In bosoms white it sits in state,?And often, faces fair?Conceal the rankling fire of hate,?Which looks may not declare.
It is not strange to church or state,?For oft beneath the gown?Of prelate grave, and judge sedate,?It sits with hideous frown.
Disturbing truth and righteous law,?It scorns the bitter tear,?And laughs at all we hold in awe,?And all that causes fear.
O God of love, and not of hate,?Look down where'er we be,?And snatch us, ere 'tis yet too late,?From hate's black, raging sea.
From rolling tides of vengeful thought,?Oh, lift us far above,?And may we thank Thee as we ought,?From pleasant seas of love.

DISPLAY.
Deep planted in the heart of man,?Wherever you may go,?Display hath fertile seeds, which sprout,?And daily larger grow.
As oftentimes, in happy soil,?A lofty tree may rise,?And 'neath its gloomy, blighting shade,?A sprout, fair, tender, dies.
One lovely sprout, yes, more than one?Droops, dies beneath the shade,?And, where might be a garden plot,?A tangl'd waste is made.
Ill favor'd weeds, and poison'd fruit,?In rank luxuriance reign,?And virtuous plants may strive to grow,?But strive to grow in vain.
Oh, man, why in thy foolish heart?Should one seed grow so well,?That naught but chaos there should reign,?'Mid poison plants of hell.
Oh, man, immortal in thy soul,?Thou dost possess a will,?Then why not prune these noxious sprouts,?With firm and steady skill.
If thou would'st make thy heart a plot,?Trimm'd, bright, and pure, and clean,?Oh, let no tree o'erpow'r the rest,?Or rank o'ergrowth be seen.

THOUGHT.
The blight of life, the demon, Thought--BYRON.
With demon's shriek or angel's voice,?'Mid hellish gloom, or heav'nly light,?Thought haunts our path o'er land and