| Summer was in its glory. Night came down, With a light step upon the virent earth; Sepulchral silence reigned on every side; And the winds—those heralders of storm Which curl the billows on Old Ocean's brow, In their low breathings were inaudible,— When a gifted son of Genius sought his home, And threw himself upon a lowly couch, And as his being's star went slowly down, He thus communed in low and faltering tone:— Oh! it is hard to die! To leave this world of amaranthine green, Whose glittering pageantry and flowery sheen, Vie with the glorious sky! But alas! the hand of Death, Has laid its icy grasp upon me now; The cold sweat rests upon my feverish brow, And shorter grows my breath! Well be it so! And I will pass away like light at even, Unto the Houri's amethystine heaven, Where all immortal go! Yet I have drank Unto its very dregs, the cup of Fame, And won myself a green, undying name, In Glory's rank! And yet!—oh, yet, "Break but one seal for me unbroken! Speak but one word for me unspoken! Before my sun is set!" Oh, for one drop Of the black waters of that stream sublime, Which follows in the stormy track of Time, This breath to stop! It may not be! Yet I would pray that Memory might rest, Like the wan beauty of the sunlit west, In dark oblivion's sea! Thus did he commune—and when the god of day Rose like a monarch from his sapphire throne, His spirit had passed away like morning mist— And winged its way unto that far off land, Where burns fore'er eternity's bright star! |
For the Southern Literary Messenger.
TO A YOUNG LADY.
| How beautiful, fair girl, art thou, All robed in innocence and truth! Upon thy calm and snowy brow, Beam, like a crown, the smiles of youth; Heaven's sunshine falls and lights thy way, As one too pure and bright for sorrow— And virtue's soft and seraph ray Flings lustre on thy dawning morrow,— Giving a promise, that thy life Will ever be, with pleasure, rife! Upon those dark, bright eyes of thine, That soft, like moonlit waters, beam, I love to gaze, and, as they shine, Of those ethereal beings dream, That oft, on us, have smiled, in sleep, Then quickly flown, and made us weep, That e'er to man, so much of heaven Should just be shown,—ah! never given! How soft the rose upon thy cheek, Blent with the lily's milder hue, Whose mingling tints of beauty speak A sinless spirit—calm and true!— The smile, that wreathes thy rosy lip, Is young affection's radiant token— Beauty and Truth in fellowship!— The symbol of a heart unbroken; Within thy bosom, holy thought, As in a temple, hath its shrine, Refulgent with a glory caught From the pure presence of thy mind, Whose lustre flings a hallowing ray, Around thee, calm as orient day! Oh! may thy life be ever bright, As aught thine early dreams have framed, And not a shadow dim its light, Till heaven, in mercy, shall have claim'd Thee, as a being fit for naught That earth can boast, all sorrow-fraught As are its brightest visions. May Thy life be one long dream of love, Unbroken 'til the final day, When heaven shall waft thy soul above, And crown thee, as an angel there, Who wast indeed an angel here! |
A. B. M.
Tuscaloosa, Alabama.
For the Southern Literary Messenger.