Legends and Lyrics, Pt 1 | Page 8

a garden-wall;?Where 'mid princely halls and mansions?Stood the lordliest of all.
"There were trees with giant branches,?Velvet glades where shadows hide;?There were sparkling fountains glancing,?Flowers, which in luxuriant pride?Even wafted breaths of perfume?To the child who stood outside.
"He against the gate of iron?Pressed his wan and wistful face,?Gazing with an awe-struck pleasure?At the glories of the place;?Never had his brightest day-dream?Shone with half such wondrous grace.
"You were playing in that garden,?Throwing blossoms in the air,?Laughing when the petals floated?Downwards on your golden hair;?And the fond eyes watching o'er you,?And the splendour spread before you,?Told a House's Hope was there.
"When your servants, tired of seeing?Such a face of want and woe,?Turning to the ragged Orphan,?Gave him coin, and bade him go,?Down his cheeks so thin and wasted,?Bitter tears began to flow.
"But that look of childish sorrow?On your tender child-heart fell,?And you plucked the reddest roses?From the tree you loved so well,?Passed them through the stern cold grating,?Gently bidding him 'Farewell!'
"Dazzled by the fragrant treasure?And the gentle voice he heard,?In the poor forlorn boy's spirit,?Joy, the sleeping Seraph, stirred;?In his hand he took the flowers,?In his heart the loving word.
"So he crept to his poor garret;?Poor no more, but rich and bright,?For the holy dreams of childhood -?Love, and Rest, and Hope, and Light -?Floated round the Orphan's pillow?Through the starry summer night.
"Day dawned, yet the visions lasted;?All too weak to rise he lay;?Did he dream that none spake harshly -?All were strangely kind that day??Surely then his treasured roses?Must have charmed all ills away.
"And he smiled, though they were fading;?One by one their leaves were shed;?'Such bright things could never perish,?They would bloom again,' he said.?When the next day's sun had risen?Child and flowers both were dead.
"Know, dear little one! our Father?Will no gentle deed disdain;?Love on the cold earth beginning?Lives divine in Heaven again,?While the angel hearts that beat there?Still all tender thoughts retain."
So the angel ceased, and gently?O'er his little burthen leant;?While the child gazed from the shining,?Loving eyes that o'er him bent,?To the blooming roses by him,?Wondering what that mystery meant.
Thus the radiant angel answered,?And with tender meaning smiled:?"Ere your childlike, loving spirit,?Sin and the hard world defiled,?God has given me leave to seek you -?I was once that little child!"
? * *
In the churchyard of that city?Rose a tomb of marble rare,?Decked, as soon as Spring awakened,?With her buds and blossoms fair -?And a humble grave beside it -?No one knew who rested there.
VERSE: ECHOES
Still the angel stars are shining,?Still the rippling waters flow,?But the angel-voice is silent?That I heard so long ago.?Hark! the echoes murmur low,?Long ago!
Still the wood is dim and lonely,?Still the plashing fountains play,?But the past and all its beauty,?Whither has it fled away??Hark! the mournful echoes say,?Fled away!
Still the bird of night complaineth,?(Now, indeed, her song is pain,)?Visions of my happy hours,?Do I call and call in vain??Hark! the echoes cry again,?All in vain!
Cease, oh echoes, mournful echoes!?Once I loved your voices well;?Now my heart is sick and weary -?Days of old, a long farewell!?Hark! the echoes sad and dreary?Cry farewell, farewell!
VERSE: A FALSE GENIUS
I see a Spirit by thy side,?Purple-winged and eagle-eyed,?Looking like a Heavenly guide.
Though he seem so bright and fair,?Ere thou trust his proffered care,?Pause a little, and beware!
If he bid thee dwell apart,?Tending some ideal smart?In a sick and coward heart;
In self-worship wrapped alone,?Dreaming thy poor griefs are grown?More than other men have known;
Dwelling in some cloudy sphere,?Though God's work is waiting here,?And God deigneth to be near;
If his torch's crimson glare?Show thee evil everywhere,?Tainting all the wholesome air;
While with strange distorted choice,?Still disdaining to rejoice,?Thou WILT hear a wailing voice;
If a simple, humble heart,?Seem to thee a meaner part,?Than thy noblest aim and art;
If he bid thee bow before?Crowned Mind and nothing more,?The great idol men adore;
And with starry veil enfold?Sin, the trailing serpent old,?Till his scales shine out like gold;
Though his words seem true and wise,?Soul, I say to thee--Arise.?He is a Demon in disguise!
VERSE: MY PICTURE
Stand this way--more near the window -?By my desk--you see the light?Falling on my picture better -?Thus I see it while I write!
Who the head may be I know not,?But it has a student air;?With a look half sad, half stately,?Grave sweet eyes and flowing hair.
Little care I who the painter,?How obscure a name he bore;?Nor, when some have named Velasquez,?Did I value it the more.
As it is, I would not give it?For the rarest piece of art;?It has dwelt with me, and listened?To the secrets of my heart.
Many a time, when to my garret,?Weary, I returned at night,?It has seemed to look a welcome?That has made my poor room bright.
Many a time, when ill and sleepless,?I have watched the quivering gleam?Of my lamp upon that picture,?Till it faded in my dream.
When dark days have come, and friendship?Worthless seemed, and life in