Monday, May 07, 2007
To - .
Farewell - the midnight sail is set,
That wafts me to another shore,
And we, who have so often met-
Shall meet perhaps on earth no more.
Oh why should rapture's restless light
So briefly blaze upon the heart?
And those whose warm affections might
Forever mingle - always part?
Why is the course of joy so fleet,
And why does pleasure fade so fast?
The birth of human hope is sweet -
But ends in agony at last.
Our quiet eves of bliss are o'er -
Our silver hours of feeling fled -
And memory's mournful voice will pour
A useless anthem round the dead.
Enjoyment's feverish cheek is pale
In the cold evening of delight:
I never felt her ties so frail,
So shadowy, as they seem to-night.
And must I leave thee, weeping girl,
To droop in pining silence here:
Oh - will tom-morrow's breezed hurl
My life from all that makes it dear?
No more at sunset's crimson calm
Thy timid footsteps softly guide -
And with thee wander arm in arm,
Where love and loneliness abide?
No more thy casement's signal light
Shall tell me thou art left alone,
For our pure spirits to unite
In raptures to the world unknown.
When shall my hot lips steal to thine,
And snatch the still bewildered kiss,
And feel them fondly answer mine,
In bashful and almighty bliss?
When shall my arms enfold thy waist,
As on my bosom sinks thy head?
When shall our blushing passions taste
The transports that this evening fled?
Heaven's holiest anthems warn his soul away,
Heaven's whitest angels hover o'er his clod,
Heaven's moonlight laughs with more than wonted ray,
And heaven is drest in rainbows by his God.
Oh sinner pause - before thy name is curst,
By him who weeps to curse the meanest thing'
Think - there is mercy even for the worst -
Oh pause - ere fetters chain the spirit's wing.
Then shall this mystic grave I've gazed on, be
A blessed vision to thy dying breath,
Thy generous God shall make a rest for thee,
Nor wilt thou dread the dressing room of death.
M'Donald Clarke
1821
Farewell - the midnight sail is set,
That wafts me to another shore,
And we, who have so often met-
Shall meet perhaps on earth no more.
Oh why should rapture's restless light
So briefly blaze upon the heart?
And those whose warm affections might
Forever mingle - always part?
Why is the course of joy so fleet,
And why does pleasure fade so fast?
The birth of human hope is sweet -
But ends in agony at last.
Our quiet eves of bliss are o'er -
Our silver hours of feeling fled -
And memory's mournful voice will pour
A useless anthem round the dead.
Enjoyment's feverish cheek is pale
In the cold evening of delight:
I never felt her ties so frail,
So shadowy, as they seem to-night.
And must I leave thee, weeping girl,
To droop in pining silence here:
Oh - will tom-morrow's breezed hurl
My life from all that makes it dear?
No more at sunset's crimson calm
Thy timid footsteps softly guide -
And with thee wander arm in arm,
Where love and loneliness abide?
No more thy casement's signal light
Shall tell me thou art left alone,
For our pure spirits to unite
In raptures to the world unknown.
When shall my hot lips steal to thine,
And snatch the still bewildered kiss,
And feel them fondly answer mine,
In bashful and almighty bliss?
When shall my arms enfold thy waist,
As on my bosom sinks thy head?
When shall our blushing passions taste
The transports that this evening fled?
Heaven's holiest anthems warn his soul away,
Heaven's whitest angels hover o'er his clod,
Heaven's moonlight laughs with more than wonted ray,
And heaven is drest in rainbows by his God.
Oh sinner pause - before thy name is curst,
By him who weeps to curse the meanest thing'
Think - there is mercy even for the worst -
Oh pause - ere fetters chain the spirit's wing.
Then shall this mystic grave I've gazed on, be
A blessed vision to thy dying breath,
Thy generous God shall make a rest for thee,
Nor wilt thou dread the dressing room of death.
M'Donald Clarke
1821
0 Comments:
