Poems by Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell Part 21

I said, "Go, gentle singer, Thy wooing voice is kind: But do not think its music Has power to reach my mind.

"Play with the scented flower, The young tree's supple bough, And leave my human feelings In their own course to flow."

The wanderer would not heed me; Its kiss grew warmer still.

"O come!" it sighed so sweetly; "I'll win thee 'gainst thy will.

"Were we not friends from childhood?

Have I not loved thee long?

As long as thou, the solemn night, Whose silence wakes my song.

"And when thy heart is resting Beneath the church-aisle stone, I shall have time for mourning, And THOU for being alone."

In these stanzas a louder gale has roused the sleeper on her pillow: the wakened soul struggles to blend with the storm by which it is swayed:--

Ay--there it is! it wakes to-night Deep feelings I thought dead; Strong in the blast--quick gathering light-- The heart's flame kindles red.

"Now I can tell by thine altered cheek, And by thine eyes' full gaze, And by the words thou scarce dost speak, How wildly fancy plays.

"Yes--I could swear that glorious wind Has swept the world aside, Has dashed its memory from thy mind Like foam-bells from the tide:

"And thou art now a spirit pouring Thy presence into all: The thunder of the tempest's roaring, The whisper of its fall:

"An universal influence, From thine own influence free; A principle of life--intense-- Lost to mortality.

"Thus truly, when that breast is cold, Thy prisoned soul shall rise; The dungeon mingle with the mould-- The captive with the skies.

Nature's deep being, thine shall hold, Her spirit all thy spirit fold, Her breath absorb thy sighs.

Mortal! though soon life's tale is told; Who once lives, never dies!"

LOVE AND FRIENDs.h.i.+P.

Love is like the wild rose-briar; Friends.h.i.+p like the holly-tree.

The holly is dark when the rose-briar blooms, But which will bloom most constantly?

The wild rose-briar is sweet in spring, Its summer blossoms scent the air; Yet wait till winter comes again, And who will call the wild-briar fair?

Then, scorn the silly rose-wreath now, And deck thee with the holly's sheen, That, when December blights thy brow, He still may leave thy garland green.

THE ELDER'S REBUKE.

"Listen! When your hair, like mine, Takes a tint of silver gray; When your eyes, with dimmer s.h.i.+ne, Watch life's bubbles float away:

When you, young man, have borne like me The weary weight of sixty-three, Then shall penance sore be paid For those hours so wildly squandered; And the words that now fall dead On your ear, be deeply pondered-- Pondered and approved at last: But their virtue will be past!

"Glorious is the prize of Duty, Though she be 'a serious power'; Treacherous all the lures of Beauty, Th.o.r.n.y bud and poisonous flower!

"Mirth is but a mad beguiling Of the golden-gifted time; Love--a demon-meteor, wiling Heedless feet to gulfs of crime.

"Those who follow earthly pleasure, Heavenly knowledge will not lead; Wisdom hides from them her treasure, Virtue bids them evil-speed!

"Vainly may their hearts repenting.

Seek for aid in future years; Wisdom, scorned, knows no relenting; Virtue is not won by fears."

Thus spake the ice-blooded elder gray; The young man scoffed as he turned away, Turned to the call of a sweet lute's measure, Waked by the lightsome touch of pleasure: Had he ne'er met a gentler teacher, Woe had been wrought by that pitiless preacher.

THE WANDERER FROM THE FOLD.

How few, of all the hearts that loved, Are grieving for thee now; And why should mine to-night be moved With such a sense of woe?

Too often thus, when left alone, Where none my thoughts can see, Comes back a word, a pa.s.sing tone From thy strange history.

Sometimes I seem to see thee rise, A glorious child again; All virtues beaming from thine eyes That ever honoured men:

Courage and truth, a generous breast Where sinless suns.h.i.+ne lay: A being whose very presence blest Like gladsome summer-day.

O, fairly spread thy early sail, And fresh, and pure, and free, Was the first impulse of the gale Which urged life's wave for thee!

Why did the pilot, too confiding, Dream o'er that ocean's foam, And trust in Pleasure's careless guiding To bring his vessel home?

For well he knew what dangers frowned, What mists would gather, dim; What rocks and shelves, and sands lay round Between his port and him.

The very brightness of the sun The splendour of the main, The wind which bore him wildly on Should not have warned in vain.

An anxious gazer from the sh.o.r.e-- I marked the whitening wave, And wept above thy fate the more Because--I could not save.

It recks not now, when all is over: But yet my heart will be A mourner still, though friend and lover Have both forgotten thee!

WARNING AND REPLY.

In the earth--the earth--thou shalt be laid, A grey stone standing over thee; Black mould beneath thee spread, And black mould to cover thee.

"Well--there is rest there, So fast come thy prophecy; The time when my sunny hair Shall with gra.s.s roots entwined be."

But cold--cold is that resting-place, Shut out from joy and liberty, And all who loved thy living face Will shrink from it shudderingly,

"Not so. HERE the world is chill, And sworn friends fall from me: But THERE--they will own me still, And prize my memory."