Upon a living staff, with borrowed sight. O my own Dora, my beloved child!
Should that day come-but hark! the birds salute The cheerful dawn, brightening for me the east; For me, thy natural leader, once again Impatient to conduct thee, not as erst A tottering infant, with compliant stoop From flower to flower supported; but to curb Thy nymph-like step swift-bounding o'er the lawn, Along the loose rocks, or the slippery verge
- From thy orisons Come forth; and, while the morning air is yet Transparent as the soul of innocent youth, Let me, thy happy guide, now point thy way, And now precede thee, winding to and fro, Till we by perseverance gain the top
Of some smooth ridge, whose brink precipitous Kindles intense desire for powers withheld From this corporeal frame; whereon who stands Is seized with strong incitement to push forth His arms, as swimmers use, and plunge dread thought!
For pastime plunge into the "abrupt abyss," Where ravens spread their plumy vans, at ease!
And yet more gladly thee would I conduct Through woods and spacious forests,—to behold There, how the Original of human art, Heaven-prompted Nature, measures and erects Her temples, fearless for the stately work,
Though waves, to every breeze, its high-arched roof,
And storms the pillars rock. But we such schools Of reverential awe will chiefly seek
In the still summer noon, while beams of light, Reposing here, and in the aisles beyond Traceably gliding through the dusk, recall To mind the living presences of nuns ; A gentle, pensive, white-robed sisterhood, Whose saintly radiance mitigates the gloom Of those terrestrial fabrics, where they serve, To Christ, the Sun of Righteousness, espoused.
Now also shall the page of classic lore, To these glad eyes from bondage freed, again Lie open; and the book of Holy Writ, Again unfolded, passage clear shall yield To heights more glorious still, and into shades More awful, where, advancing hand in hand, We may be taught, O Darling of my care! To calm the affections, elevate the soul, And consecrate our lives to truth and love.
age hath been when Earth was proud
Of lustre too intense
To be sustained; and Mortals bowed The front in self-defence.
Who then, if Dian's crescent gleamed, Or Cupid's sparkling arrow streamed While on the wing the Urchin played, Could fearlessly approach the shade? Enough for one soft vernal day, If I, a bard of ebbing time, And nurtured in a fickle clime, May haunt this horned bay; Whose amorous water multiplies The flitting halcyon's vivid dyes; And smooths her liquid breast, to show These swan-like specks of mountain snow, White as the pair that slid along the plains Of heaven, when Venus held the reins!
In youth we love the darksome lawn Brushed by the owlet's wing;
Then, Twilight is preferred to Dawn,
And Autumn to the Spring. Sad fancies do we then affect, In luxury of disrespect To our own prodigal excess Of too familiar happiness. Lycoris (if such name befit
Thee, thee my life's celestial sign!) When Nature marks the year's decline, Be ours to welcome it;
Pleased with the harvest hope that runs Before the path of milder suns;
Pleased while the sylvan world displays
Its ripeness to the feeding gaze;
Pleased when the sullen winds resound the knell
Of the resplendent miracle.
But something whispers to my heart
That, as we downward tend,
Lycoris! life requires an art
To which our souls must bend A skill-to balance and supply; And, ere the flowing fount be dry, As soon it must, a sense to sip, Or drink, with no fastidious lip.
Then welcome, above all, the Guest
Whose smiles, diffused o'er land and sea,
Seem to recall the Deity
Of youth into the breast:
May pensive Autumn ne'er present
A claim to her disparagement! While blossoms and the budding spray Inspire us in our own decay;
Still, as we nearer draw to life's dark goal, Be hopeful Spring the favorite of the Soul!
ENOUGH of climbing toil!—Ambition treads Here, as 'mid busier scenes, ground steep and rough, Or slippery even to peril! and each step, As we for most uncertain recompense
Mount toward the empire of the fickle clouds, Each weary step, dwarfing the world below, Induces, for its old, familiar sights,
Unacceptable feelings of contempt,
With wonder mixed, — that Man could e'er be tied,
In anxious bondage, to such nice array
And formal fellowship of petty things! Oh! 't is the heart that magnifies this life, Making a truth and beauty of her own; And moss-grown alleys, circumscribing shades, And gurgling rills assist her in the work More efficaciously than realms outspread, As in a map, before the adventurer's gaze, Ocean and Earth contending for regard.
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