Section 4

And I have lov'd e'en thus, until my brain. Went wild, and in my spirit's wretchedness, Have curs'd me for that worship. All in vain Have striven the spell to break. Oh ! who could guess That those sweet dreams would bring such deep dis- tress ?
50 MRS. munday's poems.
Ah ! ne'er again such love my breast shall know, ^or it became a madness, and did press The life-blood from my heart, like lava streams to flow O'er my scorch'd eye-balls, burning with their woe.
tears have roll'd on, and o'er my cheek and brow, j^ale sorrow's impress ever sits to tell. That all the past is but a waste, as now, A fearful, pleasing dream, on which I dwell, With such strange happiness, striving to quell These passion-hopes. Hear me ye gods ! I bow In tearless anguish which my bosom swells, And 'fore the shrine of heaven this last wild vow I'll breathe : love to nought earthly shall my lips avow
Hear me,-ye burning spheres ! behold it, heaven ! Thou melancholy moon and glorious sun ; Bear ye all witness, how my heart was given With its proud hopes and quenchless love to one Who sighs with blighted heart o'er joy-dreams done, And far from me by cruel fate — alone — Was o'er the waste of disappointment driven ; — Love wept as oft it mark'd the wreck begun. O'er the free hearts it scarcely iust had won.
Alas ! for me the wreck'd-crush'd, and heart riv'n. There smiles no future dream of hope or rest. Ah ! why to me was life so joyless given ? Which seems a fearful and mysterious jest ; Yet shall the earth-worn pilgrim still be bless 'd,
MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 51
'?
If in the unrefunding tomb there is repose For soon within its halls I'll be a g-uest. Heedless alike of all life's follies and its woes Where love forgets its tears, and hate its foes
Autumn Winds are Sighing.
A Dirge.
*' ^hy do ye rustle on your dark wings, ye whistlins: storms ofthesky?"— Ossmn. -
Sad autumn winds are si Sweet summer gems are dying, The forest leaves are lying,
All withered, scorch'd and sear.
And through the air are flying. Strange birds that fast seem hieing, To a land with ours vieino-,
E'er the j^elling blasts were here.
The wind-god's wildly sweeping. His lyre that erst was sleeping. Midst modest violets weeping. Their sweet cerulean dew.
No silver founts are leaping, The wood-nymphs fair are weeping. And summer days are creeping. On to their sad adieu.
52 MRS. munday's poems.
'' The melancholy days are here," With mournful sounds and storm clouds drear^ Telling with many an emblem sear, We all shall pass away.
The blast is round me pealing,
A gloom o'er earth revealing ;
O'er nature's cheek is stealing,
The hectic of decay.
No choristers are singing, No buds or flow'rets springing, For battling sounds are ringing
With the storm-trump's blast.
The circean song from pleasure's bower. And leaf, and bird, and bud, and flower. And springing fount, and summer hour, Are buried with the past.
Hollow winds are roaring, Chill autumn rains are pouring. All nature seems deploring, Her glowing beauties fled.
Moan ! moan ! ye sobbing winds. Since in your wail, the sorrowing mindj, Of its wild griefs a semblance finds, Like us, ye wail the dead.
I
MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 53
To A Young Poetess.
" Come let us wander, * * * * 1 essay'd to say, along fair Tempe's vales, And drink Parnassian dews."
Listen, oh, list ! sweet minstrel maid,
Upon whose thoughtful brow, Parnassian wreaths are blooming laid,
Bright songstress, hear me now.
Thou hast arous'd my slumbering lyre,
Its " wood-notes" woke again ; While every thrilling spirit-wire,
Yields back an answering strain.
I ween that thou art young and fair.
Of mild and gentle ways ; With sad sweet eyes, and sunny hair,
So tender are thy lays.
The plume tips of its viewless wings,
Some fairy sprite doth sweep Across thy lyre's electric strings.
So full its tones and deep.
Thy song is like the winds that float,
Among the autumn leaves ; Or like the ring-dove's plaintive note,
So mournfully it grieves.
Where thou the early flow'ra did'rit cull.
54 MRS. munday's poems.
That grace thy mountain streams, Did'st learn those musings beautiful — Pure thoughts and holy dreams ?
Ah ! where the lofty " elm woods" rise,
The pine encircled hills, That seem to emulate the skies,
Where gush thine own wild rills.
There hast thou learn'd that mystic lore, While o'er thy musing mind,
A pensive joy sits evermore, A happiness refined.
Say, gentle priestess of the lyre. Amid thy heart's wild springs ;
Hath felt unquenched no deep desire — A hope that upward springs ?
For joys more infinite and high.
For glories more sublime. In yon pure world beyond the sky,
That soul-illumin'd clime ?
And doth not through thy slumbers glide. Some soft entrancing spell ;
As though still watching by thy side, Kind sister spirits dwell.
From angel Kathleen's dreamy eyes. Didst inspiration quaff.''
MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 55'
While on the evening wind's low sigh, Was borne her syrean laugh.
For oh ! may not the lost return ?
From their far realm of light — The lov'd for whom our tried hearts yearn,
Tell thou of visions bright !
I may not now behold thy face,
In this our narrow sphere ; But in that blest and happy place.
With those we cherislied here ;
With choral hymns may we not meet.
Amid an angel throng ; Where we that seraph band shall greet,
The sisterhood of sons.
'O'
But hark ! the pulse of time throbs on, And hush'd the answering strain,
The willow's sighing boughs upon, I'll hang my lyre again.
56 MRS. mundAy's poems.
TheShipwreck.
The queenly ship ! brave hearts had striren, And true ones died with her.
I stood on the sea-wash'd beach alone, Listening the ocean's solemn moan ; The winds were pillow'd on the waves, Up-sparkling from their pearl-spar 'd caves ; And swift the dolphin leap'd in light. Like a radient meteor beaming bright, Scathing the face of the glassy plain, As it rose in air, then swam again. All hush'd and calm was the deep serene, When the shadowy form of a ship was seen, Slow sailing onward to the land, Of those who sought a kindred band. Tell us ye winds — oh ! did not they, Of friends and homes far, far away. Bright dreams of hope and joy create ? Or dream 'd they of the coming fate. That o'er their visions fair should cast, Its shadows dark to kill and blast Each hope-born dream } Oh ! fearful night. When loved ones there with eyes of light. Still sought the shore with yearning sight. Who thought of some sweet happy day. Ere childhood's hours had pass'd away, Spent in some consecrated bower : Or parting words, or joyous hour.
MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 57
Or low sweet voice, or murmur'd vow,
Or smile of one that's sleeping now.
Alas ! alas — no more — no more —
Those lov'd ones e'er shall press the shore,
For lo ! a cloud in the sun-set sky,
Caught the quick glance of the seaman's eye,
And long on its darkness in dread he gazed.
E'en while the sun in beauty blazed,
Till 'clipsed within that threatening cloud.
As 'tw^ere w^ithin a sable shroud.
Like a fiery serpent wildly flew,
Adown the heavens the lightnings blue.
Hark ! a burst of thunder deep and far,
As the war-drum's note, or the clattering car,
And many an ominous sound was heard
With the stormy petrel, that fearful bird.
Lashed by wild circumambient waves.
Oft plunged the barque to ocean caves.
The liquid thunders of the deep
Were summons dread of dreamless sleep ;
From the sea-green gulf the ship emerged,
As o'er her masts broke the angry surge,
While o'er the waters inky face.
The white foam sailed like ghosts in chase.
Fast did the gaping billows rise.
Like mountains lifted to the skies.
O'er which the ship as in mad spasm,
Roll'd on and down the mighty chasm ;
Then prayerful cries died on the startled air,
58 MRS. munday's poems.
With curses hoarse, and wailings of despair, 'Twas vain, — lost was the ship — their doom was
cast; One mad'ning shriek rose on the yeUing blast ; Then all went down with bubbling roar — The stately bark and crew to rise no more ! Now floats the wreck in ocean spray, And the moaning surges murmur — where are they ?
The Graduate's Farewell.
When will ye think of me my friends ? Wljen will ye think of me? — Hemans.
Farewell ! my classmates — here's my hand,
Tears are around my heart. Thick crowding thoughts are thronging up,
In this sad hour we part.
Patient we've trod the classic hall^
Together day by day ; Where science on the dark'nd mind,
Pours her celestial ray.
Together at the shrine of truth. We've beiit with toil and pain ;
Together spent the wealth of youth In learning's sacred fane.
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And oft has midnight's weary hour,
Bedim'd the radient eye , As we the musty page explored ;
Nay, do not heave a sigh.
For when the daily task was o'er,
In circles we have met ; To spend in mirth the rosy hours —
Those hours shall we foro:et ?
Nay brother — do not turn away,
There's sadness on thy brow ; Now gird thee up the manly heart,
'Tis life's commencement now.
Hark ! a silvery voice — say, dost thou hear }
It is the trump of fame ; Its notes come ringing sweet and clear.
And- sings a deathless name.
Then nerve thy arm and bare thy brow,
To meet the world's dark strife. And proudly breast the gales that blow.
Amid the storms of life.
Thy noble energy of soul.
Shall not be spent in vain ; The world shall feel the strong control
Which minds like thine maintain.
In truth ye are a gallant band. My heart exults with pride ;
60 MRS. munday's poems.
As proudly beautiful ye stand Together by my side
The Moon.
To Fazio.
Beholding thee, Thou beauteous moon, forgotten passages, In the writ pages of life's volume come To me afresh, and thoughts of dim years past, Move in the soul. — S. C. Kinney.
When comes the solemn twilight hour, With noiseless step and sombre shade,
'Tis then I feel a wizzard povs^er — A sadness soft my breast pervade.
And then the moon, so coldly bright. Lends sweet enchantment to the scene j
Sheds forth a flood of holy light, O'er stirless wood and vale serene.
Sweet friend, did ne'er her silvery face,
Fair images to thee recall } On memory's page, didst ne'er retrace
The past — with its sad changes all }
The pale round moon — 'tis still the same, As when Chaldean Shepherd swains,
MISCELLANEOUS PIECES' 61
With flocks and herds oft 2;razing came, Beneath her ray on Shinar's plains.
The same as when the Moslem came, Beneath her crescent pale and wan,
Razing each tower and Christian fane, Of powerful Byzantium.
E'en now she's looking sadly down.
Upon those lonely solitudes ; Where marble columns — sculphtur'd stone.
Lie scattered round in fragments rude.
Where once Palmyra's haughty queen,
Zenobia — led in golden chains ; Through Roman streets was sadly seen,
Conquer'd by proud Aurelian.
How much of joy, of woe and crime, Are conjur'd up beneath her face —
Wrote on the mildew page of time,
As backward, thought, those scenes retrace.
But Fazio, when again the moon
Upon thee sheds her mellow light. Look on her, and then think of one,
Who too may gaze with fond delight.
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MRS. MUNDAY's poems.
To AN Absent One.
^'From the bright stars, or from the viewless air, Or from some world unreach'd by human tho't, Spirit, sweet spirit, if thy home be there, And if thy visions with the past be fraught.
Answer me — answer me !" — Hemans
From friends, and home, and native land,
Thy roving feet have stray 'd ; From proud Miami's classic band
And academic shade,
Where art thou, where .'*
Oh ! tell us, on what sunny isle,
Thy far off home is made } Thou take'st from our hearth the smile.
That was too bright to fade.
Where art thou, where .'*
Dwell'st thou by the sounding shore, Where swift the blue waves curl ;
Amid the ocean's deaf'ning roar, Where ships their sails unfurl .'' Not there.
Or wand'rest where the ice-berge gleams.
Deep fus'd in sunset dyes ; Where the ocean eagle soaring screams.
Earth's tidings to the skies ? Not there.
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Where many a royal Saxon tower,
Upvaults with glit'ring dome ; O'er broad Sarmatia — land of power,
Of toiling serfs the home ? Not there.
Shall we find thee on the Alpine hills,
Or glaciers icy plains ? Where oft the huntsman's clarion shrill,
Breaks forth in gladsome strains .? Not there.
Do'st linger in those southern shades,
The land of fadeless flow'rs ? In sweet Arcadia's sunny glades.
Or Andalusian bowers ? Not there.
Tell us ye spirits of earth and sky,
Doth the lov'd one dwell in a world more fair.? Where the heart hath no grief, and the bosom no sight, Spirit, sweet spirit ! if thy home be there. Answer me ! answer me.
Low voices like the sound of streamsj
Far off — through the cold still air Respond, and through my dreams,
Mournfully answer — where .'* 0 ! where ?
64 MRS. munday's poems.
To Leon ORE.
What now to her is all the world esteems ? She is awake, and cares not for its dreams, But moves while yet on earth as one above, Its hopes and fears, its loathing and its loves.
Crahhe.
It is the hour of night's still solemn noon,
And the heaven-encircied earth is wrapt in slumber ;
While through the glittering isles of light the absent
moon, Sheds no pelucid beam amid the number Of golden spheres j nor clouds, nor vaporous stains en- cumber. Their silent walks along the dark blue plains ; And through the shades of night, cold, calm and sombre, Glides soft lip't silence o'er the world again. Stealing earth's children from their toil and pain.
Lone watcher of the night, art thou Leonore ; no beam Responsive, from sympathetic eyes now tells Its love, or shines into thy heart, save the gleam Of the clear cold eyes of night, and it would seem Upon thy spirit hung pale melancholy's spell, Coloring with misty doubts and fears each hope-born
dream ; While solitude with all her musing children dwell, A-round thy hearth, with brooding thoughts such as we
may not tell.
It is no sudden change that prays upon thy mind,
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Bat a deep sense of utter loneliness ;
A solitude of soul — a grief refmed,
O ! naught that's earthly now thy heart can bles9,
Nor song of hope — nor loves deep tenderness—
Thine is not a common woe — in tears
It finds no outlet ; they could not express,
Thine inward sorrow, which corrodes and sears.
For it hath lain upon thy heart and burnt for years.
Beat on great heart of time ! beat on, beat on, Thou hast no balsam for the spirit's wound. Nor can'st thou e'er recall the priceless things now gone, The golden chain is rent which all so sweetly bound^ With garlands fair the future may be crown'd, And yet they ne'er can wear the rosy bloom. Of those that gem the past — now strown around. Earth's changes pale have shrouded them in gloom, Stern destiny forever seal'd thy doom.
And thou amidst the reckless crowd dost wander. Seeking some lethean draught for thy heart's woe, And tho' thou seem'st familiar, still thou art a stranger, For none the fearful depth's of thy heart's griefs may
know. Lip and knee worshipers are there, in accents low, Breathing sweet words, and flatteries vain, Who, for the weak weave snares — but oh ! 'Tis discord to thine ears, and to thy heart 'tis paiii : They do but mock the things, that ne'er may be again.
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MRS. MUNDAY'S poems.
Remember'st thou thy youthful halcyon days, Wheo high-born hope did thy pure soul inspire When thou with careless fingers oft essay'd To wake the latent music of some spirit lyre ?
Seldom came sounds harmonious from those mysterious
wires, Harsh dissonance and jarring discord fell Only upon thy silvery ear — -there glows no fire, Of angel poesy in minds impure, or dwell Sweet heavenly thoughts which oft in music swell
^et midst thy lonely wandermgs thou hast swept, Dne sacred harp, to whose wild strings thou hast bent In list'ning fear, hoping some tone to have kept In memory's ear. Alas ! its strains are spent. The spirit sounds are dead — the chords are rent, The gush of melody— the full deep tone- Is hush'd ; yet faint and low thy sorrowing song is blent, With the evening winds, whose hollow moan, Seems like some spirit's voice in answer to thine own
A change is in thy song, sweet Leonore ; 'Tis like the bulbul's lonely wail when heard. Where pale young roses weep when day is o'er, Beneath the orient moon, sweet mournful bird ; Yet must forgetfulness — oh ! painful word, — Spread like a funeral pall her sable veil. Over the past, which ne'er may be disturbed By memories sad, alas ! 'twould naught avail, To waste thy music in a faneral wail.
miscelx,aneous pieces. 67