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I. PALE ruin! no,—they come no more, the days | |
| When thought was like a bee within a rose, | |
| Happier and busier than the beam that plays | |
| On this thy stream. The stream sings, as it flows, | |
| A song of valleys, where the hawthorn blows; | 5 |
| And wanderings through a world of flowery ways, | |
| Even as of old; but never will it bring | |
| Back to my heart my guileless love of praise,— | |
| The blossomy hours of life’s all-beauteous spring, | |
| When joy and hope were ever on the wing, | 10 |
| Chasing the redstart for its flamy glare, | |
| The corn-craik for its secret. Who can wring | |
| A healing balsam from the dregs of care, | |
| And turn to auburn curls the soul’s gray hair? | |
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II. YET, Abbey! pleased, I greet thee once again; | 15 |
| Shake hands, old friend, for I in soul am old. | |
| But storms assault thy golden front in vain; | |
| Unchanged thou seemest, though times are changed and cold; | |
| While to thy side I bring a man of pain, | |
| With youthful cheeks in furrows deep and wide, | 20 |
| Ploughed up by Fortune’s volleyed hail and rain; | |
| To truth a martyr, hated and belied; | |
| Of freedom’s cause a champion true and tried. | |
| O, take him to thy heart! for Pemberton | |
| Loves thee and thine, because your might hath died,— | 25 |
| Because thy friends are dead, thy glories gone,— | |
| Because, like him, thy battered walls abide | |
| A thousand wrongs, and smile at power and pride. | |
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III. O, BID him welcome then! and let his eyes | |
| Look on thy beauty, until blissful tears | 30 |
| Flood the deep channels, worn by agonies, | |
| Which leave a wreck more sad than that of years. | |
| Yes; let him see the evening-purpled skies | |
| Above thy glowing lake bend down to thee; | |
| And the love-listening vesper-star arise, | 35 |
| Slowly, o’er silent earth’s tranquillity; | |
| And all thy ruins weeping silently: | |
| Then, be his weakness pitied and forgiven, | |
| If, when the moon illumes her deep blue sea, | |
| His soul could wish to dream of thee in heaven, | 40 |
| And, with a friend his bosomed mate to be, | |
| Wander through endless years by silvered arch and tree. | |
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