Abbildungen der Seite
PDF
EPUB

LINES

TO A LADY BEFORE HER DEPARTURE FOR INDIA. Found in the Comic Annual for 1830.

Go where the waves run rather Holborn-hilly,
And tempests make a soda-water sea,
Almost as rough as our rough Piccadilly,

And think of me!

Go where the mild Madeira ripens her juice,-
A wine more praised than it deserves to be!
Go pass the Cape, just capable of ver-juice,

And think of me!

Go where the tiger in the darkness prowleth,
Making a midnight meal of he and she;
Go where the lion in his hunger howleth,

And think of me!

Go where the serpent dangerously coileth,
Or lies along at full-length like a tree,
Go where the Suttee in her own soot broileth,
And think of me!

Go where with human notes the parrot dealeth
In mono-polly-logue with tongue as free,
And like a woman, all she can revealeth,

And think of me!

Go to the land of muslin and nankeening,
And, parasols of straw where hats should be,
Go to the land of slaves and palankeening,
And think of me!

Go to the land of jungles and of vast hills,
And tall bamboos-may none bamboozle thee !
Go gaze upon their elephants and castles,

And think of me!

Go where a cook must always be a currier,
And parch the pepper'd palate like a pea,
Go where the fierce mosquitoe is a worrier,
And think of me!

Go where the maiden on a marriage plan goes,
Consign'd for wedlock to Calcutta's quay,
Where woman goes for mart, the same as mangoes,

And think of me!

Go where the sun is very hot and fervent,

Go to the land of pagod and rupee,

Where every black will be your slave and servant,

And think of me!

SONG.

By CATHERINE Warfield.

I NEVER knew how dear thou wert
Till I was on the silent sea :
And then my lone and musing heart

Sent back its passionate thoughts to thee.
When the mind slept on ocean's breast,
And the moon smiled above the deep,
I longed, thus o'er thy spirit's rest,
A vigil like yon moon to keep.

When the gales rose, and, tempest-tossed,
Our struggling ship was sore beset,
Our topsails rent, our bearing lost,
And fear in every spirit met-
Oh, then, amid the midnight storm,
Peace on my soul thy memory shed:
The floating image of thy form

Made strong my heart amid its dread.

Yes, on the dark and troubled sea,

I strove my spirit's depths to know, And found its deep, deep love for thee, Fathomless as the gulfs below.

The waters bore me on my way

Yet, oh more swift than rushing streams,

To thee flew back, from day to day,

My clinging love-my burning dreams.

THE FIRST SMILE.

From Lyra Innocentium.

TEARS from the birth the doom must be
Of the sin-born-but wait awhile,
Young mother, and thine eye shall see
The dawning of the first soft smile.

It comes in slumber, gently steals
O'er the fair cheek, as light on dew:
Some inward joy that smile reveals :

Sit by and muse; such dreams are true.

Closed eyelids, limbs supine, and breath So still, you scarce can calm the doubt If life can be so like to death

"Tis life, but all of earth shut out.

'Tis perfect peace; yet all the while
O'er marble brow, and dimpled chin
Mantles and glows that radiant smile,
Noting the spirit stirr'd within.

Oh! dim to this the flashing ray,
Though dear as life to mother's heart,
From waking smiles, that later play :
In these earth claims the larger part.

'Tis childish sport, or frolic mirth,
Or the fond mother's blameless guile,
Or glittering toy-some gaud of earth,
That stirs him to that merry smile.

Or if in pensive wise it creep,

With gradual light and sober grace,
Yet shades of earthly sorrow sleep,
Still sleep upon his beauteous face.

But did the smile disclose a dream
Of bliss that had been his before?
Was it from heaven's deep sea a gleam
Not faded quite on earth's deep shore?

Or told some angel from above,
Of glories to be his at last,
The sunset, crowning hours of love-
His labours done-his perils past?

Or, thought of trial for her breast,
Did the mild spirits whisper then,
"From the baptismal font, O blest,

Thou shalt be ours, dear child, again?

"Thou shalt be ours, and heaven be thine,
Thy victory without peril given:
Sent a brief while on earth to shine,

And then to shine a light in heaven.

"And her that holds thee now so warm,
And haply thinks 'twere death to part,
Her shall a holier love inform,

A clearer faith enlarge her heart."

Blest smile!-so let me live my day
That when my latest sun shall set,
That smile, reviving once may play,
And gild my dying features yet.

That smile to cheer the mourners round
With hope of human sins forgiven;
Token of earthly ties unbound,

Of heart intent on opening heaven.

MY MOTHER DEAR.

By SAMUEL LOVER.

THERE was a place in childhood that I remember well,
And there a voice of sweetest tone bright fairy tales did

tell,

And gentle words and fond embrace were given with joy to

me,

When I was in that happy place-upon my Mother's knee.

When fairy tales were ended, "Good night," she softly said, And kiss'd and laid me down to sleep within my tiny bed:

And holy words she taught me there—methinks I yet can

see

Her angel eyes, as close I knelt beside my Mother's knee.

In the sickness of my childhood; the perils of my prime ; The sorrows of my riper years; the cares of every time: When doubt and danger weigh'd me down-then pleading all for me,

It was a fervent prayer to Heaven that bent my Mother's knee.

MY MOTHER.

By N. P. WILLIS.

I KNOW not if my mother's eyes

Would find me changed in slighter things:
I've wandered beneath many skies,

And tasted of some bitter springs :

And many leaves, once fair and gay,

From youth's full flower have dropp'd away-
But as those looser leaves depart,

The lessen'd flower gets near the core,

And, when deserted quite, the heart

Takes closer what was dear of yore,

And yearns to those who loved it first

The sunshine and the dew by which its bud was nursed.

Dear mother! dost thou love me yet?
Am I remember'd in my home?
When those I love for joy are met,
Does some one wish that I would come?
Thou dost-I am beloved of these!
But, as the schoolboy numbers o'er,
Night after night, the Pleiades,
And finds the stars he found before-
As turns the maiden oft her token-
As counts the miser aye his gold-
So, till life's silver cord is broken
Would I of thy fond love be told.
My heart is full, mine eyes are wet-

Dear mother! dost thou love thy long-lost wanderer yet?

« ZurückWeiter »