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| COME to my soul, thou Spirit of the Lyre! | |
| ’T is the deep, cloudy midnight; and the wail | |
| Of the cold wind is on its strings of fire, | |
| And on the far hills, rising, dimly pale! | |
| Ah! wake thy murmurs on the troubled gale— | 5 |
| Pour the sad requiem o’er the dying year— | |
| Give to man’s thoughtful eye a passing tale | |
| Of days departed, bright as beauty’s tear, | |
| Or summer’s festal sky, ere autumn clouds drew near! | |
| |
| From the dark sepulchre of years gone by, | 10 |
| A deeply mournful voice is murmuring, | |
| “Where are the dreams of old!—the spirit high | |
| Mounting like eagles on the fearless wing? | |
| Where is the pride of that luxuriant spring, | |
| Which pour’d its light on Rome—on Babylon? | 15 |
| —The wreaths of Time around their temples cling— | |
| Their halls are dust!—the gold of Chaldee won— | |
| Where sails the bittern’s wing, when the bright day is done | |
| |
| Even thus with the past year;—its morn was gay— | |
| Sweet flowers were on the earth’s green bosom springing— | 20 |
| And streaming sunlight bless’d the sky of May, | |
| Where early birds their joyous way were winging, | |
| A dream of love to youth’s fresh spirit bringing; | |
| And all was gladness o’er the laughing earth:— | |
| To the tall oak the sunny vine was clinging— | 25 |
| And sending echoes, e’en to home and hearth, | |
| The sweet blue streams, set free, pour’d out a voice of mirth | |
| |
| Then came the summer’s prime—its long, bright day— | |
| With garniture of wood, and field, and stream— | |
| The golden sun outpour’d his gladdening ray, | 30 |
| And the blue sea danced in his boundless gleam;— | |
| When like a soft, and faint-heard song, would seem | |
| The cheerful murmur of the drowsy bee, | |
| About the full grown flowers—and like a dream | |
| Spread out for man’s blest eye the scene might be, | 35 |
| While a soft, breezy chant, was in the green-wood tree! | |
| |
| Then frown’d the autumnal cloud; the shrouded sky | |
| Its multitude of gleams and stars withdrew; | |
| The flowers grew pale; and summer-brooks were high, | |
| And imaged back no more a heaven of blue;— | 40 |
| No moon smiled out upon the evening dew— | |
| The squirrel’s footstep rustled in the glen— | |
| The red leaves fell, and fitful night-winds blew; | |
| And to the bright south-west, away from men, | |
| Far, on their glancing plumes, roam’d the wild birds again! | 45 |
| |
| But man is changing in the changing year— | |
| Shadows o’ersweep the day-spring of the heart; | |
| When gazing back upon Time’s dim career, | |
| He marks youth’s cheerful images depart! | |
| Then will lone Memory her tales impart | 50 |
| Of early buds, all ashes in the urn:— | |
| Mournful and sweet her reveries!—but we start— | |
| And from lost years unto the present turn— | |
| Closing from mind’s deep cell, the voiceless thoughts that burn! | |
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| How many dreams have to the dust gone down— | 55 |
| Witness thou fading and departed year! | |
| Since last thy spring enwreathed her flowery crown,— | |
| Lo! gentle forms have lain upon the bier, | |
| Where thoughtful sorrow pour’d the pensive tear! | |
| Genius and beauty gather’d to their rest— | 60 |
| Death, in all climes, is on his way of fear— | |
| His arrow trembles in Youth’s budding breast— | |
| Oh! were his power decay’d, how might Earth’s love be bless’d! | |
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