Section 7

" Where wretched spirits cease to rave,
" Exult ye in my sorrows dire,
** I shall not feel your vengeful ire."
Her voice grew weak — its piercing tone,
Now sank into a plaintive moan :
" Ye spirits of yon starry realm,
" My soul, which now sad griefs o'erwhelm,
" Receive, and let it cleansed be,
" From earth-born follies ever free,
" Possess'd of new develop'd powers,
" Roaming through Amaranthine bowers,
" Through azure fields, I'd soar afar,
*' Through the cold moon-beams from star to star,
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99
" On wings of silvery light I'd fly,
" Through the rainbow arches of the sky,
" Where flaming worlds in ether glow,
" And Truth's celestial fountains flow.
" Beyond those orbs of golden ray
" Through trackless space I'd wing my way,
" Till T reach 'd the viewless gates of heaven,
" Where I might rest and be forgiven.
*****
Sure now some direful purpose she intends.
As o'er the rocky cliff she bends ;
She flings her wasted arms on high,
While dark despair gleams in her eye :
" Welcome sweet sea ! in thy oblivious wave,
'•' My fevered brow and faded form I'll lave."
A sudden plunge — one shriek — the scene is o'er —
The wretched maiden is no more.
Amazed the startled water nymphs survey'd
The stranger who thus dar'd their halls invade,
And music from her pearly shell
Peal'd forth a deep and solemn knell.
The melody of chiming waters flow'd.
From rocky steeps to dismal depths below.
And the sullen roar of the dashing surge.
Sent forth in leaden sounds a dirge.
The Tritons mourned and the Naids wept.
While the maid in their crystal bowers they kept,
The Mermaid braided her glossy hair,
W^ith her cold damp fingers, long and fair,
100 MRS. munday's poems.
Her tears congcaPd to strings of pearl,
With which she entwin'd each clusterino; curl,
With a coral wreath she bound her head,
And laid her on an amber bed ;
With a diamond clasp she bound her hands.
And cover'd her o'er with golden sands —
And thus the Mermaid wept and sang,
While sweet through the ocean-halls it rang.
Hark ! hear her song, 'tis as sweet and low
As the Nymphs' who sing in the sunset's glow,
" Thou art laid in thy silent chamber low,
" Where the flower-like gems of ocean grow.
" Sleep on — within our crystal cell,
" May soft-winged peace around thee dwell."
And thus the Mermaid sang and wept.
While calmly and deeply the maiden slept.
The demi-gods breath'd from their tinted shell.
To the death-cold maid a Ions: farewell :
" Now soft and sweet is the maiden's sleep,
" In tears no more shall her eyelids steep ;
" Thou art luU'd forever to sweet repose
" By the rocking waves that over thee close ;
" May the wrecking of ships, and the mariner's screams,
" Disturb not thy long night with troublous dreams;
" May memory's echo never fall,
" Upon thy glassy watery pall,
" But in these pearly vaults so low,
" Sad earth-born cares thou ne'er shall know,
" In the minowy grottoes of the sea.
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" Shall angel-quiet reign with thee ; *' Thy marble form so cold and white, " Shall rest in the shades of obhvious nisrht. " Sleep on — fair maid, our hollow shell, *' In liquid sounds, bids thee farewell ! " Farewell !— farewell ! !"
My Native Land.
There is a radient land of balmy winds,
Of cloudless climes, blue vales, and starry skies,
Where from sweet lips, and lutos low music sighs.
And o'er the pine clad hills the echo dies
Of sparkling stream, that chime through orange bowers,
And tamiriad trellis'd vales, where blooming lies
The prairie's wealth of rainbow-tint'd flowers
Fair smiling chiPren these of genial skies and golden hours.
Land of beauty and country of my soul.
Brave hearts have striven, and true ones died for thee.
.Land where the stately pine groves wave
Where softly glows the sky ; Land of the beautiful and brave,
Of forests wild and high.
Oh ! blest and heav'n-gifted clime.
Well may thy sons be brave ; Where Freedom's eagle soars sublime —
Her starry banners wave.
The broad streams here go sweeping by, Swift rolling to the sea ;
102 SIRS, munday's poems.
They say as 'twere with a heaving sigh, " We leave the home of the free."
Thy sunny plains — thy vine-clad hills, Thy warm and tranquil vales ;
Thy sombre woods so dark and still, Tell spirit-thrilling tales —
Of many a one whose tameless soul,
Sought the deep solitude ; Whose spirit strong and uncontrol'd,
Lov'd independence rude.
Here glides " La Belle Riviere " along. With softly murmuring tide ;
Where many gallant steamers throng. In majesty and pride.
Along thy brinks sweet natal stream, How oft I've sought to cast ;
Like chaff upon the winds, each dream, Of all the wildering past.
But no — tho' faded is the flower,
Its fragrance is not done ; So upward come with thrilling power,
Those memories one by one.
And here of old in his bark canoe. The son of the forest brave ;
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'Skim'd lightly o'er the waters blue, Fleet as the foam-wreath'd wave.
Afar thy cloud-cap'd mountains soar,
Like a giant warrior band ; Along thy streams — from shore to shore,
Their brown rocks frowning stand.
How beautiful their blue knobs rise. Like ancient battlements they seem ;
Bear they no message from the skies — A glimpse — a hope — a dream ?
Oh ! land of heroes, song, and fame !♦
May Freedom's eagle fires ; Still warm and wake with kindling flame,
Our altars and our lyres.
Musings.
Sugs^ested by the untimely death of Thomas Mit7iday, to whose bereaved parents this poem is respectfully inscribed.
Thou art gone home ; oh ! early crown'd and bless'd Thou tak'st our summer hence ; the flow'r, the tone, The musia of our being all in one,
Depart with thee ! — Mrs. Hemans,
Thou art passing hence glad summer. With all thy wealth of bloom ;
104 MRS. munday's poems.
And many an earthly treasure, Thou bearest to the tomb.
Thou tell'st of home-Elysian,
Of boundless joys divine ; While on the soul's quick vision,
Its fadeless summers shine.
Unto our yearning spirit-dreams, A deathless thirst thou'st giv'n ;
While through thy sun-born glories float, Bright imageries of heaven.
Thus list'ning to thy melodies.
Thy rapt and breezy lay j Borne on thy rosy pinions,
Our darling pass'd away.
No more thy breath sweet summer, Shall wave his shming hair ;
From out those eyes have faded. The light that sparkled there.
No more those buoyant footsteps, The home-path now shall wend ;
Nor with songs of happy children, That missing voice shall blend.
Too wildly loved — too early lost, Wert thpu our household's pride ,
But, oh ! the gulph that yawns between — Dark, fathomless and wide.
MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 105
If in thy transient wanderings,
In this our twilight clime ; Among the joy-born blossoms,
That grace the brinks of Time.
Thou (lid'st grow weary — tell us ;
Oh ! tell, our angel one ; Say was thy soul's brief mission fill'd—
Thy earthly labor done ?
If so, 'twere well indeed with thee,
Bright heritor of heaven ; No scorpion blight, or grief was thine,
No sin to be forgiven.
'Tis ours to bear the heavy chain.
The blight, the sting to know ; While all the heart's deep fountains gush,
In lava streams of woe.
We call on thee, fair spirit-child,
Is there in heav'n relief; For this our bitter sorrow.
Our dark impotent grief?
Oh ! for one smile, sweet spirit,
One soft responsive tone ; One glance from those lit eyes of joy
Our beautiful — our own !
Now softly on night's pinions, Low seraph whisjDers conne ;
106 MRS. munday's poems.
Of hope and joy they're telling, In yon bright angel home.
They tell that thou art happy, And bid us v/eep no more ;
They tell that we shall meet again, Upon that summer shore.
While through the calm air ripples, In many a breezy swell ;
From light wings gently waving. An angel's soft farewell !
To
■' Thou hast aroused within me to a flame The embers that had lingered ready to expire ; Thou'st given wings unto my thirst, for fame, And waked the slumb'ring music of mv lyre j And I would win for thee a deathless name, That men should worship and in vain desire."
To thee, god of my lyre, and shrine of holiest thoughts I dedicate my verse with in-born music fraught ; To the rich glories of thy mind a tribute pay. And at thy feet Parnassian garlands lay. For hast thou not been to me more than ft-iend ? And through the midnight of my soul did'st thou no,, send
MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 107
To pierce the gloom a pitying ray ? Like starlight o'er a wanderer's way. Hast thou not made my soul a sacred shrine, And wakened to a flame its fires divine .'*
Hast thou not sought the hidden fountains of n^^
heart ? And in their depths dost thou not share the angel part ? By the deep sympathies of soul divine, That made me ever and forever thine ; By the high unities of deathless thought, By the blest harmonies of heart and mind, Profound and full — refined and heaven-wrousrht ; By the strong onenesses that bind, In sweet according tones the deep heart's lyres ; To thee, forever more, shall thrill my trembling wires. Within whose tones I'd have thee live when I am cold, Smit by the Stygean wave sin-born of old. That 'gainst the many-peopled shores of Time ; Upheaves, where oft we've heard^ with deep prophetic
ear. Full many a God-awakened spirit chime. Or billowy sound of life profound and clear.
* * jf; * *
Was it not ours to read — celestially given — Eternity's text-book, the star written heaven .'' And oft in sweet musings and spirit-wrought dreamc. Have we not strayed by those classical streams } Where the swains of Arcadia awake the soft flute, In gentle complainings to Love's tender suit j
108 MRS. mundat's poems.
We have basked in the wealth of fair Thessaly's bowers, A.nd a chaplet have twined of pale daphne flowers ; A. signet of soul — of thought — and of worth, Sweet boon of the gods to the gifted of earth ; We have dwelt 'neath the shades of Tempe's sweet
vales, And quaff'd the soft breath of Ionian gales ; In the Pyrean fount together we've sought, A soul-giving draught from its depths to have caught ; We have roamed through the ages of bronze and gold, And talked with the gods in*he temples of old.
Then oh ! may the spell, so spiritually given,
Ne'er fade from my heart, or by cold hands be riven.
Oh ! light of my life, and light of my soul,
Still point thou the way to some Eden-goal ;
Still shine on my heart as a star on the night,
And gild my dark path-way with soul-halos bright ;
Like aromas of roses soft floating around.
Thine image shall dwell in my soul's far profound ;
And bright be thy day-dreams — while o'er thy repose,
May kind angels gently their white wings close ;
Inspire thy wrapt slumbers with visions of light.
Till that last sleep shall fold thee in the bosom of night
MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 109
P A Cr A N I N I .
It was a beautiful sontiment of the great Ttnllan TJolinist, that when his mothor died, her passing^ spirit took po?ses?ion of his violin, inspiring those wizaid strains that have charmed the World.
" He touched his harp, and nations heard entranced." — Pollock.
Where rolls the Tiber's arrowy tide, Beneatii Italia's rosy skies; Where in majestic strength and pride, The purple Appenines arise ; And where the tall Laburnums wave, And cypress groves and myrtle bowers, In Tyrrhene deeps their shadoAvs lave ; And spicy winds to fadeless flow'rs. Expiring songs are whispering ; A potent master minstrel dwelt — ■ A genius of the silver string, Whose wildering notes could move and melt, . (As from enchanted chords they flew,) The stern and cold, the warm and true ; And with a joy intense and new. Could the enraptur'd soul imbue. Cradled amonjr the classic rills, How soft and low, then wild and high, It burst alons: the Roman hills. And warbled in bending sky.
Not in that gorgeous clime alone, Those stirring harmonies were heard ; For northern lands had caught the tone
l\^ MRS. MUNDAY's poems.
Of thy deep lyre, thou minstrel bird ;
In the dark pine groves, and Alpme homes,
And o'er the glacier's icy plains.
Where the bounding chamois hunter roams,
Linger'd those spirit-thrilling strains.
Amidst Ionian isles thy strings
Were heard, their magic sounds prolong d,
In wild, sweet miisic-murmurings,
So soft, it seem'd those notes belong'd
To some far sphere or spirit-lyre ;
So deep the billowy music came —
The breast of flame, the heart of fire.
Those syren songs could soothe and tame.
And where the surging Baltic foams, Where dread Black Forest's caverns frown, Where Albion rears her stately domes — And Occidental suns go down. Beyond Atlantic's swelling floods, On Freedom's eagle-banner'd shore — ' Her Indian isles, and grand old woods — Those melting tones awoke once more. Where e'er he smote the sounding chords, Rich, pealing harmonies of song, Gush'd out among the the wondering hords, That swept the lofty halls along. Ripples of sound, then wave on wave, Of liquid melody arose — Now ravishing and sweet — then grave, And full, as gathering water flows ;
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Again roll'd on those notes profound, As the hoarse roar of falling floods, Or battling sounds that shriek around, In sudden bursts thro' distant woods. Then dying — falling — soft and low, As angel voices heard in dreams, Or evening winds, that gently blow, O'er dewy vales and silver streams. Oh ! whence those soul-subduing strains ; Born of Apollo's kindhng fires ? Decending from celestial plains, Some seraph o'er the tuneful wires, Methinks, hath swept its golden wings j Whence thy power ? — enchanter tell ? — Like Passion's dream, that wildly flings Around the heart its circean spell ? There comes a voice through distant years, And to my list'ning soul responds. Like music from the far off" spheres. And through the night of spirit bonds Draws near — it is the minstrel's own :— " A mother's voice inspir'd the song, Her soul's deep voice — her spirit's tone- As those wild harpings gushed along. Her spirit free my harp possess'd, Breathing electric melodies ; Her soul's rich harmonies express'd, In wild unearthly symphonies. When weary of the sounds of life.
112 MRS. munday's poems.
Her dust sank down to rest at last,
From earthly discord, pain and strife,
And being's fitful dream was past.
Then sweetly from each quivering string,
Her song in many a music-swell.
Would at the touch enchantment bring —
The master's touch — she loved so well."
The voice is hush'd — the strings are rent- Cold is the magic master hand ;
The wizard's mystic power is spent. That only could those tones command.
E p I T II E L A M I u ar .
There is a Tningllng of sweet tones and voices, Bleat with the dewy fragrance of the ni.cht ; So wild those strains as when the soul rejoices, With iis o'erflowing fullness of delight. The old — the youa^ — a happy throng is there, Bright lamps and dmcinir feet and garland fair.
Extract from an unpublished poem.
Away ! to the festal halls to-night. For jf'outh and beauty will be there ;
Upon whose brows the radiance bright. Is yet undim'd with care.
Oh ! there amid the halcyon bow'rs,
Is one with eyes of light ; Go twine her hair with orange flow'rs,
For she will wed to-night.
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Emblems of spotless innocence,
Of purity and truth ; A richer dower than gems of earth,
She brings that gallant youth.
From her soft eyes no tear-drops fall,
His brow is free from care ; The doubt that held their hearts in thrall, . Shall dwell no longer there.
Oh, bliss intense ! oh, holy joy !
When wilHng hearts and hands Seal every dear and whispered vow.
In Hymen's rosy bands.
Then weave of joy, a rosy chain,
To stay the gorgeous hours ; And o'er each heart let gladness reign,
These are life's summer flowers.
Lyri c s.
Addressed to Theon. —
I bid mine image dwell,
(Oh ! break not thou the spell.)
In the deep wood and by the fountain side.
Hemans* Straying at noon,
Neath bluest skies of June j
114 MRS. MUNDAY's POEIVIS.
Amid the forest's wealth of summer bloom, Where every air is heavy vrith perfume ; While on the breezes rippling round, Accents of strange sweet wand'ring sound. Come whispering by, Or gently nigh, i]cho awakes the sound of distant floods. Through the green dimness of the voiceful woods ; Then oft with thoughts of thee my soul's true friend, To some still nook my lonely way I wend. Or when returning from his fiery chase, Along the purple fields of space j Titan driven. His golden car, Adown the distant heaven,
Flashing far ; Apollo seeks in haste, The rosy charms. Of Occident, whose bosom chaste, Oft glows with sweet alarms ; When at her shrine, In tones divine ; Her hunter-king, To Love's familiar pleasmg. Wakes the spheres' sweet lute, Soft as Arcadian shepherd's flute ; — And on the breezy syllables of sound. Sweet nature's vespers float around. Then with the soul.