Poems, first period | Page 9

flee?
The earth's smiling face,
With its sweet youthful grace,
A tomb must, alas, be for me!
Arise, then, thou sunlight of morning, and fling?O'er plain and o'er forest thy purple-dyed beams!?Thou twilight of evening, all noiselessly sing?In melody soft to the world as it dreams!
Ah, sunlight of morning, to me thou but flingest?Thy purple-dyed beams o'er the grave of the past!?Ah, twilight of evening, thy strains thou but singest?To one whose deep slumbers forever must last!
TO MINNA.
Do I dream? can I trust to my eye??My sight sure some vapor must cover??Or, there, did my Minna pass by--?My Minna--and knew not her lover??On the arm of the coxcomb she crossed,?Well the fan might its zephyr bestow;?Herself in her vanity lost,?That wanton my Minna?--Ah, no!
In the gifts of my love she was dressed,?My plumes o'er her summer hat quiver;?The ribbons that flaunt in her breast?Might bid her--remember the giver!?And still do they bloom on thy bosom,?The flowerets I gathered for thee!?Still as fresh is the leaf of each blossom,?'Tis the heart that has faded from me!
Go and take, then, the incense they tender;?Go, the one that adored thee forget!?Go, thy charms to the feigner surrender,?In my scorn is my comforter yet!?Go, for thee with what trust and belief?There beat not ignobly a heart?That has strength yet to strive with the grief?To have worshipped the trifler thou art!
Thy beauty thy heart hath betrayed--?Thy beauty--shame, Minna, to thee!?To-morrow its glory will fade,?And its roses all withered will be!?The swallows that swarm in the sun?Will fly when the north winds awaken,?The false ones thine autumn will shun,?For whom thou the true hast forsaken!
'Mid the wrecks of the charms in December,?I see thee alone in decay,?And each spring shall but bid thee remember?How brief for thyself was the May!?Then they who so wantonly flock?To the rapture thy kiss can impart,?Shall scoff at thy winter, and mock?Thy beauty as wrecked as thy heart!
Thy beauty thy heart hath betrayed--?Thy beauty--shame, Minna, to thee?To-morrow its glory will fade--?And its roses all withered will be!?O, what scorn for thy desolate years?Shall I feel!--God forbid it in me!?How bitter will then be the tears?Shed, Minna, O Minna, for thee!
THE FLOWERS.
Ye offspring of the morning sun,?Ye flowers that deck the smiling plain,?Your lives, in joy and bliss begun,?In Nature's love unchanged remain.?With hues of bright and godlike splendor?Sweet Flora graced your forms so tender,?And clothed ye in a garb of light;?Spring's lovely children weep forever,?For living souls she gave ye never,?And ye must dwell in endless night?
The nightingale and lark still sing?In your tranced ears the bliss of love;?The toying sylphs, on airy wing,?Around your fragrant bosoms rove,?Of yore, Dione's daughter [6] twining?In garlands sweet your cup-so shining,?A pillow formed where love might rest!?Spring's gentle children, mourn forever,?The joys of love she gave ye never,?Ne'er let ye know that feeling blest!
But when ye're gathered by my hand,?A token of my love to be,?Now that her mother's harsh command?From Nanny's [7] sight has banished me--?E'en from that passing touch ye borrow?Those heralds mute of pleasing sorrow,?Life, language, hearts and souls divine;?And to your silent leaves 'tis given,?By Him who mightiest is in heaven,?His glorious Godhead to enshrine.
THE TRIUMPH OF LOVE.
A HYMN.
By love are blest the gods on high,?Frail man becomes a deity?When love to him is given;?'Tis love that makes the heavens shine?With hues more radiant, more divine,?And turns dull earth to heaven!
In Pyrrha's rear (so poets sang?In ages past and gone),?The world from rocky fragments sprang--?Mankind from lifeless stone.
Their soul was but a thing of night,?Like stone and rock their heart;?The flaming torch of heaven so bright?Its glow could ne'er impart.
Young loves, all gently hovering round,?Their souls as yet had never bound?In soft and rosy chains;?No feeling muse had sought to raise?Their bosoms with ennobling lays,?Or sweet, harmonious strains.
Around each other lovingly?No garlands then entwined;?The sorrowing springs fled toward the sky,?And left the earth behind.
From out the sea Aurora rose?With none to hail her then;?The sun unhailed, at daylight's close,?In ocean sank again.
In forests wild, man went astray,?Misled by Luna's cloudy ray--?He bore an iron yoke;?He pined not for the stars on high,?With yearning for a deity?No tears in torrents broke.
. . . . .
But see! from out the deep-blue ocean?Fair Venus springs with gentle motion?The graceful Naiad's smiling band?Conveys her to the gladdened strand,
A May-like, youthful, magic power?Entwines, like morning's twilight hour,?Around that form of godlike birth,?The charms of air, sea, heaven, and earth.
The day's sweet eye begins to bloom?Across the forest's midnight gloom;?Narcissuses, their balm distilling,?The path her footstep treads are filling.
A song of love, sweet Philomel,?Soon carolled through the grove;?The streamlet, as it murmuring fell,?Discoursed of naught but love,
Pygmalion! Happy one! Behold!?Life's