The Home Book of Verse Volume I Part 77

STANZAS FOR MUSIC

There's not a joy the world can give like that it takes away, When the glow of early thought declines in feeling's dull decay; 'Tis not on youth's smooth cheek the blush alone, which fades so fast, But the tender bloom of heart is gone, ere youth itself be past.

Then the few whose spirits float above the wreck of happiness Are driven o'er the shoals of guilt or ocean of excess: The magnet of their course is gone, or only points in vain The sh.o.r.e to which their s.h.i.+vered sail shall never stretch again.

Then the mortal coldness of the soul like death itself comes down; It cannot feel for others' woes, it dare not dream its own; That heavy chill has frozen o'er the fountain of our tears, And though the eye may sparkle still, 'tis where the ice appears.

Though wit may flash from fluent lips, and mirth distract the breast, Through midnight hours that yield no more their former hope of rest; 'Tis but as ivy-leaves around the ruined turret wreathe, All green and wildly fresh without, but worn and gray beneath.

Oh could I feel as I have felt,--or be what I have been, Or weep as I could once have wept o'er many a vanished scene; As springs in deserts found seem sweet, all brackish though they be, So, midst the withered waste of life, those tears would flow to me.

George Gordon Byron [1788-1824]

"WHEN AS A LAD"

When, as a lad, at break of day I watched the fishers sail away, My thoughts, like flocking birds, would follow Across the curving sky's blue hollow, And on and on- Into the very heart of dawn!

For long I searched the world! Ah me!

I searched the sky, I searched the sea, With much of useless grief and rueing, Those winged thoughts of mine pursuing-- So dear were they, So lovely and so far away!

I seek them still and always will Until my laggard heart is still, And I am free to follow, follow, Across the curving sky's blue hollow, Those thoughts too fleet For any save the soul's swift feet!

Isabel Ecclestone Mackay [1875-

"AROUND THE CHILD"

Around the child bend all the three Sweet Graces--Faith, Hope, Charity.

Around the man bend other faces Pride, Envy, Malice, are his Graces.

Walter Savage Landor [1775-1864]

ALADDIN

When I was a beggarly boy, And lived in a cellar damp, I had not a friend nor a toy, But I had Aladdin's lamp; When I could not sleep for the cold, I had fire enough in my brain, And builded, with roofs of gold, My beautiful castles in Spain!

Since then I have toiled day and night, I have money and power good store, But I'd give all my lamps of silver bright For the one that is mine no more.

Take, Fortune, whatever you choose; You gave, and may s.n.a.t.c.h again; I have nothing 'twould pain me to lose, For I own no more castles in Spain!

James Russell Lowell [1819-1891]

THE QUEST

It was a heavenly time of life When first I went to Spain, The lovely land of silver mists, The land of golden grain.

My little s.h.i.+p through unknown seas Sailed many a changing day; Sometimes the chilling winds came up And blew across her way;

Sometimes the rain came down and hid The s.h.i.+ning sh.o.r.es of Spain, The beauty of the silver mists And of the golden grain.

But through the rains and through the winds, Upon the untried sea, My fairy s.h.i.+p sailed on and on, With all my dreams and me.

And now, no more a child, I long For that sweet time again, When on the far horizon bar Rose up the sh.o.r.es of Spain.

O lovely land of silver mists, O land of golden grain, I look for you with smiles, with tears, But look for you in vain!

Ellen Mackay Hutchinson Cortissoz [?-1933]

MY BIRTH-DAY

"My birth-day"--what a different sound That word had in my youthful ears!

And how, each time the day comes round, Less and less white its mark appears!

When first our scanty years are told, It seems like pastime to grow old; And, as Youth counts the s.h.i.+ning links That Time around him binds so fast, Pleased with the task, he little thinks How hard that chain will press at last.

Vain was the man, and false as vain, Who said--"were he ordained to run His long career of life again, He would do all that he had done."

Ah, 'tis not thus the voice, that dwells In sober birth-days, speaks to me; Far otherwise--of time it tells Lavished unwisely, carelessly; Of counsel mocked: of talents, made Haply for high and pure designs, But oft, like Israel's incense, laid Upon unholy, earthly shrines; Of nursing many a wrong desire; Of wandering after Love too far, And taking every meteor-fire That crossed my pathway, for a star.

All this it tells, and, could I trace The imperfect picture o'er again, With power to add, retouch, efface The lights and shades, the joy and pain, How little of the past would stay!

How quickly all should melt away-- All--but that Freedom of the Mind, Which hath been more than wealth to me; Those friends.h.i.+ps, in my boyhood twined, And kept till now unchangingly; And that dear home, that saving-ark, Where Love's true light at last I've found, Cheering within, when all grows dark, And comfortless, and stormy round!

Thomas Moore [1779-1852]

SONNET On His Having Arrived To The Age of Twenty-Three

How soon hath Time, the subtle thief of youth, Stolen on his wing my three-and-twentieth year!

My hasting days fly on with full career, But my late spring no bud or blossom shew'th.

Perhaps my semblance might deceive the truth That I to manhood am arrived so near; And inward ripeness doth much less appear, That some more timely-happy spirits endu'th.

Yet, be it less or more, or soon or slow, It shall be still in strictest measure even To that same lot, however mean or high, Toward which Time leads me, and the will of Heaven: All is, if I have grace to use it so, As ever in my great Task-master's eye.

John Milton [1608-1674]