The Poetical Works of Mrs. Leprohon Part 20

MOONLIGHT REVERIES.

The moon from solemn azure sky Looked down on earth below, And coldly her wan light fell alike On scenes of joy and woe: A stately palace reared its dome, Within reigned warmth and light And festive mirth--the moon's faint rays Soft kissed its marble white.

A little farther was the home Of toil, alas! and want, That spectre grim that countless hearths Seems ceaselessly to haunt; And yet, as if in mocking mirth, She smiled on that drear spot, Silvering brightly the ruined eaves And roof of that poor cot.

And then, with curious gaze, she looked Within a curtained loom, Where sat a girl of gentle mien In young life's early bloom; Her glitt'ring light made still more bright The veil and bridal flower, Which were to wreathe the girl's fair brow In the morrow's solemn hour.

With changeless smile she gleamed within A cas.e.m.e.nt, gloomy, lone, Where lay a cold and rigid form, A death bed stretched upon.

The fixed gaze of the half closed eyes, The forehead chill and white, The shroud and pall, more ghastly looked, Wrapped thus in still, silv'ry light.

Long, sadly, gazed I, then a thought, Sharp, bitter, filled my heart 'Gainst that cold orb, which in our joys And sorrows took no part; Which shone as bright o'er couch of death, In prison's darkened gloom, As o'er the festal scenes of earth, Or stately palace room.

An inward voice reproved the thought, And whispered, soft and low, "Unto that glorious...o...b..'twas given Its Maker's power to show.

Throughout long ages has it shone With pure, undying flame, His will obeying Dreamer, go, And do thou, too, the same!"

THE CLOUDS THAT PROMISE A GLORIOUS MORROW.

The clouds that promise a glorious morrow Are fading slowly, one by one; The earth no more bright rays may borrow From her loved Lord, the golden sun; Gray evening shadows are softly creeping, With noiseless steps, o'er vale and hill; The birds and flowers are calmly sleeping; And all around is fair and still.

Once loved I dearly, at this sweet hour, With loitering steps to careless stray, To idly gather an opening flower, And often pause upon my way,-- Gazing around me with joyous feeling, From sunny earth to azure sky, Or bending over the streamlet, stealing 'Mid banks of flowers and verdure by.

You wond'ring ask me why sit I lonely Within my quiet, curtain'd room, So idly seeking and clinging only Unto its chastened, thoughtful gloom.

You tell me that never fragrance rarer Did breathe from cl.u.s.tering leaf and bough; That never the bright spring was fairer Or more enchanting than she is now.

Ah, useless chiding! The loved ones tender, Who shared my rambles long ago, Whose cherished accents could only render Words of affection soft and low, Are parted from me, perchance for ever, By miles of distance, of land or main,-- Death some has taken, and them, oh never Upon this earth shall I meet again.

'Tis thus this hour of gentle even Brings back in thought the friends long gone,-- Loved ones with whom this earth was Heaven But who have vanished, one by one.-- 'Tis thus I cherish with wilful sadness The quiet of my lonely room,-- Careless, unmindful of all earth's gladness, Or of her lovely evening bloom.

EARTH'S MOMENTS OF GLOOM.

"The heart knoweth its own bitterness"

The heart hath its moments of hopeless gloom, As rayless as is the dark night of the tomb; When the past has no spell, the future no ray, To chase the sad cloud from the spirit away; When earth, though in all her rich beauty arrayed, Hath a gloom o'er her flowers--o'er her skies a dark shade, And we turn from all pleasure with loathing away, Too downcast, too spirit sick, even to pray!

Oh! where may the heart seek, in moments like this, A whisper of hope, or a faint gleam of bliss?

When friends.h.i.+p seems naught but a cold, cheerless flame, And love a still falser and emptier name; When honors and wealth are a wearisome chain, Each link interwoven with grief and with pain, And each solace or joy that the spirit might crave Is barren of comfort and dark as the grave.

Lift--lift up thy sinking heart, pilgrim of life!

A sure spell there is for thy spirit's sad strife; 'Tis not to be found in the well-springs of earth,-- Oh! no, 'tis of higher and holier birth.

AUTUMN WINDS.

"Oh! Autumn winds, what means this plaintive wailing Around the quiet homestead where we dwell?

Whence come ye, say, and what the story mournful That your weird voices ever seek to tell-- Whispering or clamoring, beneath the cas.e.m.e.nts, Rising in shriek or dying off in moan, But ever breathing, menace, fear, or anguish In every thrilling and unearthly tone?"

"We come from far off and from storm-tossed oceans, Where vessels bravely battle with fierce gale,-- Mere playthings of our stormy, restless power, We rend them quickly, shuddering mast and sail; And with their, stalwart, gallant crews we hurl them Amid the hungry waves that for them wait, Nor leave one floating spar nor fragile taffrail To tell unto the world their dreary fate."

"But He who holds you, wrathful winds of Autumn, Within the hollow of His mighty hand, Can stay your onward course of reckless fury, Your demon wrath, or eerie sport command, Changing your rudest blast to zephyr gentle As rocks the rose in summer evenings still, Calming the ocean and yourselves enchaining By simple fiat of Almighty Will."

"We've been, too in the close and crowded city Where want is often forced to herd with sin; And our cold breath has pierced through without pity, Bare, ruined hovel and worn garments thin; Through narrow c.h.i.n.k and broken window pouring Draughts rife with fever and with deadly chill, Choosing our victims 'mid old age and childhood, Or tender, fragile infancy at will."

"Oh, Autumn blasts, He, whose kind care doth temper The searching wind unto the small shorn lamb, To those poor s.h.i.+v'ring victims, too, can render Thy keenest, sharpest blasts, both mild and calm Rave on--rave on, around our happy homestead Upon this dark and wild November night, Ye do but work out your G.o.d-given mission, Mere humble creatures of our Father's might."

"But, listen, we come, too, from graveyards lonely, From mocking revels held 'mid tombstones tall, Tearing the withered leaves from off the branches, The clinging ivy from the time-stained wall,-- Uprooting, blighting every tiny leaflet That hid the grave's bleak nakedness from sight, Driving the leaves in hideous, death like dances, Around the lowly mounds, the grave-stones white."

"And, what of that, ye cruel winds of Autumn?

Spring will return again with hope and mirth, Clothing with tender green the budding branches, Decking with snowdrops, violets, the earth; And, oh! sweet hope, sublime and most consoling, The sacred dust within those graves shall rise In G.o.d's good time, to reign on thrones of glory With Him, beyond the cloudless, golden skies."

FLOWERS AND STARS.

"Beloved! thou'rt gazing with thoughtful look On those flowers of brilliant hue, Blus.h.i.+ng in spring tide freshness and bloom, Glittering with diamond dew: What dost thou read in each chalice fair, And what does each blossom say?

Do they not tell thee, my peerless one, Thou'rt lovelier far than they?"

"Not so--not so, but they whisper low That quickly will fade their bloom; Soon will they withered lie on the sod, Ravished of all perfume; They tell that youth and beauty below Are doomed, alas! to decay, And I, like them, in life's flower and prime May pa.s.s from this earth away."

"Too sad thy thoughts! Look up at yon stars, That gleam in the sapphire skies; Not clearer their radiance, best beloved, Than the light of thine own dark eyes!

With no thoughts of death or sad decay, Can they thy young spirit fill; Through ages they've shone with changeless light, And yet they are s.h.i.+ning still!"

"Ah! they bring before my spirit's gaze Dreams of that home so blessed, Where those who have served the Master well At length from their labors rest; And do not chide if, despite all ties, Of close-clinging earthly love, There are times when I turn a wistful glance To that distant home above."

THE SUNSET THOUGHTS OF A DYING GIRL.

Friends! do you see in yon sunset sky, That cloud of crimson bright?

Soon will its gorgeous colors die In coming dim twilight; E'en now it fadeth ray by ray-- Like it I too shall pa.s.s away!

Look on yon fragile summer flower Yielding its sweet perfume; Soon shall it have lived out its hour, Its beauty and its bloom: Trampled, 'twill perish in the shade-- Alas! as quickly shall I fade.