Section 9

The summer day long, his drowsy song, The bumble-bee dreamily hums ;
But haste, haste, away, we may not stay, When the frosty spirit comes.
Spring.
All Nature joyful, shouts along the plains, And echo swells the chorus o'er the hills ;
Catch the glad sound, ye music-murmuring rills, For Spring in rosy garlands comes again.
How gaily now the Floral Queen, In emerald robes assumes her rei^n ;
Blue pansies strewing o'er the plain, With daisy wreaths and cowslips green.
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135
On evening's brow her blushes glow, Her voice is in the wild bird's song ;
And softly floats the streams along,
Blent with the zephyrs' flute-notes low
Now sporting o'er the dewy lawn,
Through woody vales and vine-clad bow'rs,
Or thron'd among the May-born flow'rs, Her smiles illume the rosy dawn.
Pan's breezy lute among the whisp'ring reeds. Awakes the Nymphs with many a sj^lvan call ; From grottoes dark, where silvery fountains fall, While fairies dance along the moon-lit meads.
To A Friend.
When the dusky shades of night.
With noiseless steps are creeping ; And Luna's silver light,
On vale and hill is g'ecpin/ I'll hie me then away,
To my lonely wood-land bow'r^ Beneath the shadows gray.
Of twilight's sombre hour.
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136 MRS. mundat's poems.
O ! wilt thou come with me ^
When chiming streams are bringing ; A dream-hke minstrelsy,
In sylvan echoes ringing ; When soft decending dews,
Be-gem each queenly flower, And swift the night-bird 'sues
The glow-worm to his bower .'*
Say does thy sensate heart.
Overflow with ardent feeling ? Dost feel the tear-drop start.
When holy thoughts come stealing .'' Thou'lt love the mystic hour,
And drink its softness in. Thy soul will feel its pow'r.
And know its calm within.
W^hen down the woody dell.
The summer winds are straying ; When day hath bid farewell.
And light the stars are raying — Come then with steps so light,
With that true heart of thine, And eyes so like the night
As darkly bright they shine.
Then will some fairy sprite
With evening shades descc Glide round in haloes bright,
SONNETS AND SONGS. • 137
Each thought and feehng blending ; Come seraph of my dreams —
Star of my lonely soul ; Come with thine eyes bright beams,
And lend thy lov'd control.
JS T A NZ A s.
To a Class-mate.
We met when the first gush of youth, Was beating free, and hopes were high ;
Our hps breath 'd nought but tales of truth, And our young bosoms heaved no sigh.
In rainbow glories, pure and bright, To us did all things seem to gleam ;
Thy smiles were bland, thy steps were light, No grief disturbed thy halcyon dream.
At dewy twilight's elfin hour,
How oft I've wander 'd forth with thee ; And felt the spirit-soothing pow'r.
Of gentle friendship's sympathy.
There oft enchantins: music's swell. We've heard amid the odorous gale ;
138 MRS. munday's poems.
With " wood notes wild " from flow'ring dell, And streams that chime along the vale.
Ah ! still that joy-dream of the past, Around my riven heart shall twine ;
Like a green spot on mem'ry's waste, Or ivy round the broken shrine.
Or like the breath of faded flowers, That lingers round the snowy urn ;
Back to my heart those sinless hours, On memory's wings return.
I S A B E L L .
The following " Petite " effusion was suggested to the authoress on becoming acquainted with a very interesting little girl, who was exceedingly precocious for her years.
Oh ' who hath seen my Isabell ? — Her witching ways 'twere hard to tell. Her sylph-like form and angel grace. Her lightsome step, and smiling face, These are the charms that ever dwell. Around my little Isabell.
The neck of snow and eyes of blue, Her cheek a rose-bud bursting through, The sunny brow and auburn curls.
SONNETS AND SONGS. 139
The ruby lips and teeth of pearls, Charms which my heart remembers well,. Of beauteous little Isabell.
Her smile like morning's rosy light, Illumes my sadden'd heart to-night. Her merry song now sweetly trills. Like bird-notes ringing o'er the hills, Or flute-note echoes in the dell — The syren voice of Isabell.
Pure is her heart as mountain snows
Where deep the fount of kindness flows,
And gentle in her mirthfulness.
As is an angel's soft caress,
Ah ! these are charms my bosom swell,
For charming little Isabell.
Oh, should you meet this little fair. Your heart she surely would ensnar An houri strayed from Eden's grove Or wand'ring star-beam from above, Mission'd awhile with us to dwell, Is joyous little Isabell.
140 MRS. munday's poems.
Written in a Lady's Album.
They tell me thou art young, Then I will guess thee fair, And like the wings of nriidnight, Thy softly flowing hair ; Bright as a summer sea, Reflecting bluest skies, ' The smiling witchery, That floats within thine eyes.
I ween there's many a charm. And many a nameless grace. Adorns thy gentle form. And lights thy rosy face ; And better far thy heart. All glad and fancy free. Around thee doth impart, A joy-born melody.
Thus ever glad and free, May Virtue's eagis bright. Lay like a robe about thee. And shield thy heart from blight, And soft as evening winds. That sigh o'er summer streams, Be every link that binds. Thy heart to rosy dreams.
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To A Portrait.
Say, Portrait ! whence the pleasing spell, That binds me to this place ; —
Why does my heart with rapture swej While gazing on thy face ?
Enchanter ! sovereign of my soul,
I'd here forever stray ; Here silent weep w^ithout control,
And sigh myself away.
Oh ! might I round those breathing charms,
In sinless purity ; Enraptured wreathe my clasping arms.
Unknown to even thee.
The Pagan priest adores the sun, —
The Heathen gods of clay ; But dearest semblance thou hast grown.
More idolized than they.
To
Sweet Friend ! it was a rosy hour, The festive time when first we met ;
Midst mirth and song whose circean powei) Forbids that I should e'er forget.
142 MRS. munday's poems.
How oft I've sought some sylvan bower, To wake the harp of memory ;
Recalling oft the palmy hour,
When first I learned to think of thee.
And when the gentle evening star, Looks down in love on thee and me ;
Then in my western home afar, I watch that star and think of thee.
When sorrow darkened o'er my way,
And wrapt my soul in misery : Thy name hath lent a pitying ray,
To pierce the gloom with thoughts of thee
What though upon my throbbing, heart, Death's icy chains should fastened be ;
What though the light of life depart, My latest thought shall be of thee.
And yet those palmy bowers of light. While thou wert slumb'ring quietly,
Vd leave ; — and through the jewel'd night, A guardian spirit prove to thee.
SONNETS AND SONGS, 143
Stanzas.
Oh ! wake once more that mournful strain, Around me fling its haunting spell ;
Oh ! let me hear those sounds again, Of joy-dreams past their accents tell
Yes ; touch again the trembling string, What scenes those mournful sounds recall ;
While memories dark, their shadows fling, Upon the past a sombre pall.
When first I heard that music's swell, I stood within the spacious hall ;
The light in streamy glories fell, Along the lofty parien wall.
And there were dazzling forms and bright, The proud, the beautiful were there ;
My young heart trembled with delight, And fluttered with a secret snare.
For there was one who watched my step,
And by me ever lingered nigh ; On me his ardent gaze still kept.
And softly breathed a languid sigh.
The scene is past and faded quite, The image fled and my heart's rest ;
144 MRS. munday's poems.
Yet many a vision of that night, On memory's tablets are impressed.
Oh ! that this heart which now is breaking, In Lethe's stream might ever sleep ;
For fell despair my soul is shaking, And hopeless I am doomed to weep.
Hush ! hush ! my soul, the music's ended, Yet let me hear one gush again ;
There's grief and joy so sweetly blended, I could expire upon that strain.
Song .
In sadness I languish for thee love.
For thee I impatiently call ; 0 ! come to our old willow tree love, Where murmuring waters fall. O come ! 0 come ! O come ! dearest beloved come
The whippowil sings of her mate love, From yonder lone beachen tree ;
Thus lonely thy presence I wait love^ Thus lonely I sing of thee. O come ! O come ! O come I dearest beloved come
SONNETS AND SONGS. 145
Soft zephyrs are sighing low love,
Adown our own sweet vale ; Where oft we have wandered slow love, And breathed the ambrosial gale. O come ! O come ! 0 come ! dearest beloved come !
I go, but by 3'onder star love.
That beams on thee and me ; Although I may wander afar love. Yet fondly I'll still think of thee. Farewell ! farewell ! farewell ! dearest beloved farewell!
Stanza.
Oh I ye dreary days of sadness,
Clothed in funeral array ; Days of youthful joy and gladness,
Now forever pass'd away.
Mine was once the heart of gladness,
Pleasure's cup I gaily sip'd ; 'Tis broken now — and grief and madness,
With bitter dregs now bathe my lips.
What to me is beauteous nature, Fa"fled are the charms of spring ;
Lost to me her loveliest feature, No joy to me the seasons bring.
l^
46 MRS. MUNDAY*3 POEMS.
Even music's notes of sweetness, Has sorrow in its floating song ;
Of by-gone days and of their fleetness, It "whispers as it floats along.
Cease, warbling lyre, my heart is breaking, Nay, tell to me that tale no more ;
Despair is from her trance awaking. And every dream of hope is o'ei'.
Fantasies.
The breezes all met in a bower one day,
To frolic the noon-tide hours away.
*' Hush ! soft ! be still !" — young Zephyrs said,
" On this bed of flowers reposes a maid,
I'll softly fan the brow of the girl, ,
Then nestle me in some clustering curl."
And thus around her a watch they kept.
Inspiring her dreams as soft she slept.
Escaped from her eyelids' silken fringe
Stood a tear, bedewing her cheeks soft tinge.
One kiss'd the pearly gem away,
When a butterfly came of pinions gay ;
" Begone !" they cried — " you will break her repose,
Her cheek you have rudely mistook for a rose,"
And that thieving bee now reveling sips,
SONNETS AND SONGS. 147
The nectar from off her halmy lips.
" Fly away noisy bee — we are sorely afraid,
With your humming and buzzing you'll wake the maid."
Then in glee their pinions sw'eet they spread,
And from them a thousand odors shed ;
One swept her lute's soft trembling strings.
Another kept time with his sportive wings,
And gaily liut'ring one gentle wind.
Breathed a much loved name to her dreaming mind.
She murmur'd low and sighed the name.
And whispered of a secret flame.
The laughing breezes heard the maid,
And flew round in a whirl as thus they said,
" Make haste and scour the sunny plain,
And bear it to the favored swain."
Alarmed the maid awaken'd sigh'd,
*' Yield back that name." " Nay," Zephyrs cried.
And he wrapt it in his frolic wing,
" I'm off," said he, '^ in a twinkling."
So saying, away the babbler flew.
" Ye reckless swains, to w4iich of you
Was told the tale ? If I only knew
'Twas the right one. What then ? Confess it true ?
Well, really— I— ril be-blam'd if I do."
148 MRS. munday's poems,
Response to
'' Alas ! what grief should thy heart know ?"
'Tis not by outward sign or show,
The deep heart's anguish we can know ;
We cannot fathom Passion's storm,
By writhing brow or faded form ;
Or in the tearful torrent's start.
That lava fountain of the heart.
What tho' the brow seem free from care,
The lips be wreathed in smiles all fair ;
Within the brain a pool of fire.
May rage and burn and not expire ;
And on the heart a curse may lie,
That still consumes yet will not die.
What tho' the step be light as air.
The heart may burn with rankling care,
And writhe and break in mute despair.
To Miss Amanda Harte.
I have never known thee, never met thee, Yet is my roving fancy prone to set thee Like a fair picture in my mental vision, ^ Born half of earth an^ .alf of realms Elysian.
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149
All heart I ween thou art by name and nature : A warm, confiding, young and joyous creature ; And hke the hart that nimbly thro' the wild-wood. Seeks the green dell where falls the fountain flood, Be thy heart free and clothed with innocence. Serene and pure as the bright stars from whence Youth's happiest hopes and vision-dreams are caught, And may thy future lot with heaven-hues be fraught.
Song.
Around another's brow,
The myrtle wreath I'll twine ;
Thou dost not love me now, I am no longer thine.
Before another's shrine,
Thou'st bent the supj^liant knee ; Thou call'st her divine —
Thou said'st the same of me.
Thine ever changing heart
Upon the altar lay ; Its fires will soon depart,
Its incense pass away.
Thine image on my heart, I now no longer wear ;
150 MRS. munday's poems
I do not grieve to part, My brow is free from care.
The illusion now is o'er, I do not think of thee ;
I dream of thee no more, Of what thou wast to me.
Low hov'ring round my head.
Ethereal visions play ; And softly from my bed,
Charm all sad dreams away.
4l» H
The shadows of the past Like night have fled away ;
While Love around me casts, Its bland and ardent ray.
Thou'lt meet me in the throng.
Again will see me smile ; Wilt press my careless hand.
Nor cause one thrill the while.
Around another's brow.
The myrtle wreath I'll twine ;
Thou may'st not love me now, Since I'm no longer thine.
SONNETS AND SONGS. 151
To Mary Bell
Sweet Mary Bell — that gentle name,
Is linked with many a spell ; My aching breast has felt no rest,
Since thee I met, sweet " Mary Bell !"
Her gentle voice sank in my heart,
As low its accents fell ; I strove to speak — my voice grew weak,
I only sigh'd — sweet " Mary Bell."
Her sylph-like form and witching face. Where all the Loves doth dwell ;
The silken lash whence glances flash, Hath won my heart, sweet " Mary Bell.'
As oft on me her glances fall.
Soft as a young gazelle's ; A thrilling flame darts through my frame,
I feel I love thee—" Mary Bell."
But hush ! my weak and faltering tongue
Can ne'er my feelings tall ; Oh ! is it vain, the tender pam,
I endure for " Mary Bell?"
152 MRS. MUNt)AY'S POEMS.
Song.
The circean spell is over, The Paphean dream is done ;
The mystic cord is broken, That bound our hearts in one.
And gentle Love lies weeping, Above the urn of Hope ;
The flowers of mem'ry keeping To guild Life's downward slope.
The last fond word is spoken, The murmur'd prayer is o'er ;
The spirit-lute is broken,
'Twill sound in song no more.
A Dream of the Past.
" Thy voice is in mine ear, sweet friend j Thy look is in my heart."
I'm thinking now of one. Beloved in distant years ; And fondly cherish'd still,
Through pain and bitter tears.
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That one to me how dear,
No tongue can ever tell ; How deep within my heart,
The haunting dream must dwell.
I see thee even now.
And as when last we met ; My breaking heart is fall.
Mine eyes with tears are wet.
They're floating in my mind.
The look — the smile — the tone —
The tender kiss of love.
Which once were all mine own.
The light of all my life.
And life of every dream ; As soft Hesperus shines.
On some benighted stream.
Oh ! for one gentle glance,
From those Ithureal eyes ; One tone of that sweet voice,
As soft as summer sighs.
Or might I clasp once more. The hand that once was mine ;
And greet that pleasant smile, As angels look divine.
What were a world of joy, To exstacies like these ;
154 MRS. MUNDAY^ POEMS.
Or richest argosies,
That float upon the seas ?
Within my soul's profound, There is a sacred spot ;
Serenely calm, and where The world's breath enters not
Oh ! there for aye,, enshrined, A gentle form is set ;
And ne'er till life is o'er. Shall I that dream forget.
The Serenade.
I leaned me on the midnight air, The wind was sighing low ;
The youthful moon adown the West, Hung like a silver bow.
Methought if I were but a ray,
How softly 1 would shine Into thine eyes, and silently
Read every thought of thine.
When soft a manly voice arose, How deep and rich its tone ;
SONNETS AND SONGS. 155
My pulses paused — my heart grew still I heard but that alone.
Entranced I heard the witching song,