| |
| CANST thou forget, when, call’d from southern bowers, | |
| Love tuned the groves, and spring awaked the flowers, | |
| How, loosed from slumbers by the morning ray, | |
| O’er balmy plains we bent our frequent way? | |
| On thy fond arm, with pleasing gaze, I hung, | 5 |
| And heard sweet music murmur o’er thy tongue; | |
| Hand lock’d in hand, with gentle ardor press’d, | |
| Pour’d soft emotions through the heaving breast, | |
| In magic transport heart with heart entwined, | |
| And in sweet languors lost the melting mind. | 10 |
| ’T was then, thy voice, attuned to wisdom’s lay, | |
| Show’d fairer worlds, and traced the immortal way; | |
| In virtue’s pleasing paths my footsteps tried, | |
| My sweet companion, and my skilful guide; | |
| Through varied knowledge taught my mind to soar, | 15 |
| Search hidden truths, and new-found walks explore: | |
| While still the tale, by nature learn’d to rove, | |
| Slid, unperceived, to scenes of happy love. | |
| Till weak, and lost, the faltering converse fell, | |
| And eyes disclosed what eyes alone could tell; | 20 |
| In rapturous tumult bade the passions roll, | |
| And spoke the living language of the soul. | |
| With what fond hope, through many a blissful hour, | |
| We gave the soul to fancy’s pleasing power; | |
| Lost in the magic of that sweet employ | 25 |
| To build gay scenes, and fashion future joy! | |
| We saw mild peace o’er fair Canaan rise, | |
| And shower her pleasures from benignant skies. | |
| On airy hills our happy mansion rose, | |
| Built but for joy, nor room reserved for woes. | 30 |
| Round the calm solitude, with ceaseless song, | |
| Soft roll’d domestic ecstacy along: | |
| Sweet as the sleep of innocence, the day, | |
| By raptures number’d, lightly danced away: | |
| To love, to bliss, the union’d soul was given, | 35 |
| And each, too happy! ask’d no brighter heaven. | |
| Yet then, even then, my trembling thoughts would rove, | |
| And steal an hour from Irad, and from love, | |
| Through dread futurity all anxious roam, | |
| And cast a mournful glance on ills to come. | 40 |
| “Hope not, fond maid,” some voice prophetic cried— | |
| “A life, thus wafted down the unruffled tide: | |
| Trust no gay, golden doom, from anguish free, | |
| Nor wish the laws of heaven reversed for thee. | |
| Survey the peopled world; thy soul shall find | 45 |
| Woes, ceaseless woes, ordain’d for poor mankind. | |
| Life ’s a long solitude, an unknown gloom, | |
| Closed by the silence of the dreary tomb. | |
| “For soon, ah soon shall fleet thy pleasing dreams; | |
| Soon close the eye, that, bright as angel’s, beams | 50 |
| Grace irresistible. To mouldering clay | |
| Shall change the face, that smiles thy griefs away: | |
| Soon the sweet music of that voice be o’er, | |
| Hope cease to charm, and beauty bloom no more: | |
| Strange, darksome wilds, and devious ways be trod, | 55 |
| Nor love, nor Irad, steal thy heart from God.” | |
| And must the hours in ceaseless anguish roll? | |
| Must no soft sunshine cheer my clouded soul? | |
| Spring charm around me brightest scenes, in vain? | |
| And youth’s angelic visions wake to pain? | 60 |
| Oh come once more, with fond endearments come; | |
| Burst the cold prison of the sullen tomb; | |
| Through favorite walks, thy chosen maid attend; | |
| Where well known shades for thee their branches bend: | |
| Shed the sweet poison from thy speaking eye; | 65 |
| And look those raptures, lifeless words deny! | |
| Still be the tale rehearsed, that ne’er could tire; | |
| But, told each eve, fresh pleasure could inspire: | |
| Still hoped those scenes, which love and fancy drew; | |
| But, drawn a thousand times, were ever new! | 70 |
| Again all bright shall glow the morning beam; | |
| Again soft suns dissolve the frozen stream: | |
| Spring call young breezes from the southern skies, | |
| And, clothed in splendor, flowery millions rise. | |
| In vain to thee—no morn’s indulgent ray | 75 |
| Warms the cold mansion of the slumbering clay. | |
| No mild etherial gale, with tepid wing, | |
| Shall fan thy locks, or wast approaching spring: | |
| Unfelt, unknown, shall breathe the rich perfume, | |
| And unheard music wave around thy tomb. | 80 |
| A cold, dumb, dead repose invests thee round; | |
| Still as a void, ere nature form’d a sound. | |
| O’er thy dark region, pierced by no kind ray, | |
| Slow roll the long, oblivious hours away. | |
| In these wild walks, this solitary round, | 85 |
| Where the pale moon-beam lights the glimmering ground, | |
| At each sad turn, I view thy spirit come, | |
| And glide, half seen, behind a neighboring tomb; | |
| With visionary hand, forbid my stay, | |
| Look o’er the grave, and beckon me away. | 90 |
| |
