Lays of Ancient Virginia | Page 7

reason's stars illume:?But when Eternity shall rise,
All shall their shapes and hues assume.
YEMEN.
My soul has been wandering in Yemen,?The land of the aloe and myrrh;?Where the breezes that blow from the ocean,?Brought feelings of heaven to her.
In the joy-giving vallies of Yemen,?On its mountains that blush with their bloom;?My soul has been wandering but lately,?To hide from the weight of her gloom.
My Soul, like the fleet horse of Yemen,?Flew chainless o'er mountain and plain,?Till she paused by the flower-scented ocean,?Then returned on her pinions, again.
In that beautiful world, in that Yemen,?My Soul lately wandered in bliss;?Till she found there a glorious maiden,?She vainly had sighed for, in this.
Then my Soul walked far with this maiden--?In this beautiful region of gold,?And died on the love-burdened accents,?From the fount of her bosom that rolled.
Oh Yemen! whose name is the Happy,?Whose mountains are fragrant with bloom--?My Soul met her Consort there lately--?And now she says nothing of gloom.
LILLY: A POEM.
The May sun sheds an amber beam,
Upon the river's liquid plain,?But never to that glorious gleam,
Her eyes will ope again:?Sweet Lilly, come again,?Sweet Lilly, come again.
We look across the landscape wide,
Where spring bemocks the thought of pain,?And scatters charms with lavish pride;--
The vernal joy is all in vain:?Sweet Lilly, come again,?Sweet Lilly, come again.
The summer breezes lightly lift
The clustered flowers oppressed with rain,?Which fleecy cloud-sieves downward sift,--
It falls on Lilly's form in vain:?Sweet Lilly, come again,?Sweet Lilly, come again.
Oh! can the glory of the year,
The Spring that decks the widening plain,?Thus strive to make the maid appear,
But yield the hopeless task in vain:?Sweet Lilly, come again;?Sweet Lilly, come again.
Silence!--where brighter May suns beam,
On greener hills and vales,?Bright Lilly walks, as in a dream,
Fann'd by celestial gales:--?Now, Lill! come not again!?Now, Lill! come not again.
ADIEU TO EMORY.
Adieu to thee, Emory! adieu to thee now!?There is grief in my spirit, there's gloom on my brow,?I have left the sweet scenes where I knelt at thy shrine,?O Learning! thy wreath with my name to entwine.
Adieu to the scenes where, when study was o'er,?And the toil of the mind was remembered no more;?I roamed o'er the mountains, forgetful, afar,?'Neath the light of the beautiful Evening Star.
Like the light of that star--like a splendor on high--?Like a Heavenly Dream that was born in the sky--?Bright Poesy burst on my pathway even there,?And a rainbow of Beauty encircled the air.
Ah! she shone with a brilliance more dazzling and strong,?Than e'er to a child of the earth could belong;?And her pinions that waved through the rose-scented air,?Had a tint that was brighter than thought can declare.
Yet adieu to thee, Emory,--thy scenes I regret;?In a far distant scene, I may think of them yet;?Fond Fancy may roam o'er thy mountains again,?And love them as freshly and warmly as then.
Yet, the tears gush unbidden, when breathing adieu,--?With the change of our years, our hearts are changed too!?And, haply, the world, with its coldness, will chill?My feelings at length, as bleak winter the rill.
Adieu to thy scenes, adieu to thee now!?There is grief in my spirit--there is gloom on my brow--?Though Fancy may paint all thy beauty once more,?The days that have flitted, she cannot restore.
VIRGINIA.
Thy soil, Virginia! is all hallowed ground,?Made such by steps of patriots; thy high fame,?Alway unto our ears, a glorious sound,?Kindles, in all high hearts, heroic flame.
I walk beneath thy forests, high and lone,?I hear a voice that sinks into my heart,?The voice of fetterless Liberty; the tone?Which bids the flame of patriotism start.
Greece was the land of heroes, and her soil?Is sacred with the deathless memory?Of martyred virtue, which on Death could smile,?At Marathon and proud Thermopyl?:
Gray Rome shall never lose the magic charm,?That valor's fire can pour along a land;?That charm shall bid the hearts of mankind warm,?Long after her last stone hath ceased to stand:
Yet, thou, Virginia! art a prouder land,?For when thy hills become red shrines to Right;?Thy plains become the spots, where, smiling, stand,?The angels, gentle Peace and true Delight.
And now, how fair thy homes! on every hand,?Thy cities and thy country domes arise,?From mountains vast, to ocean's shelly strand,?And bring a pride into our gazing eyes!
How brave thy polished sons! their hearts how free!?How far above the plotting of the mean!?How they contemn all base chicanery,?And proudly move, as men, through every scene!
And when thy daughters, an angelic train,?Roam mid thy flowery walks, how sweet their love!?And when they speak--the sound seems like a strain,?That wander'd from a blissful clime above!
Immortal land! my soul is proud, to think?I yet can walk upon thy mother soil,?And, willing that her mouldering frame may sink,?Back to thy breast, after its lifetime toil.
WATOGA.
Oh, think not that the polished breast,?Only, can feel the fire of love,?Pure as the flames that brightly rest?In bosoms of the realms above.?Yes! often in the rudest form,?A heart may be, more clear and