LOAN TO THE MESSENGER.
NO. V.
The following stanzas have never as yet been published. They are from the pen of a young friend of the transcriber, and written at his request. He now takes the same liberty with them as with others from divers sources hitherto, and inscribes them respectfully to the readers of the Messenger.
J. F. O.
TO A NAMELESS ONE.
Lady! we never met before
Within the world's wide space,—
And yet, the more I gaze, the more
I recollect thy face.
Each feature to my mind recalls
An image of the past,
Which, where the shade of Memory falls,
Is sacred to the last.
But she, whose charms in thine I trace,
Was not, alas! of earth:
And yet of more than mortal grace,
For Fancy gave her birth.
She haunted me by sunlit streams,
And burst upon my sight,
When through the pleasant land of dreams,
My spirit roved by night.
Lost idol! why didst thou depart?
Oh let thine earnest eyes,—
Abstraction—vision though thou art,—
Once more my soul surprise.
She comes,—a gay and laughing girl!
(Whom, happy, does she seek?)
And raven curls their links unfurl
Adown her blushing cheek.
Her Grecian lineaments are bright
With beauty half divine:
She is “a phantom of delight,”
Her dark eyes are—like thine!
As music to a soul oppressed,
As spring-flowers to the bee,
As sunbeams to the Ocean's breast,
Her presence is to me!
I clasp her to my heart once more,—
I am again a boy,—
The past shows nothing to deplore,
The future is all joy!
We wander through deserted halls,
We climb the wooded height,
We hear the roar of water-falls,
And watch the eagle's flight.
We stand where sunset colors lie
Upon a lake at rest,—
And oh! what clouds of Tyrian dye
Are sloping down the west!
And see! above the purple pile
The evening star appears,
While she, who cheered me with her smiles,
Now tries to hide her tears!
Enough! the spell is at an end,—
The pageant floats away,—
And I no more may idly bend
At Mem'ry's shrine to day.
I turn to thee, whose beauty first
That shape of love renewed,
And waked emotions, that were nursed
Long since, in solitude.
I turn to thee, and start to see,
Again that face and mien,—
Those glassy ringlets, floating free,
Those eyes of sparkling sheen!
Two visions have waylaid my heart,—
An old one and a new;
And, Lady! by my faith, thou art
The fairer of the two!
S.