IONE.
Sad are the glances from thy deep blue eyes,
Ione,
Soft as the mirror of the summer skies
When twilight shadows o'er its surface steal,
And twinkling stars their radiant orbs reveal!
Why are they sad
Which were so glad,
Ione?
Have their rays bathed in dew-drops 'mid the air,
And still the sparkling moisture trembles there?
Then, smile, for dewy tears
Melt when the sun appears,
Ione!
Yet thou art very beautiful in sadness,
Ione!
More beautiful e'en than in gladness,
And the sweet music of thy gentle sighs
Comes like the language of thy speaking eyes;
What do they say?
Tell me their lay,
Ione!
Fain would I learn from thee what passing thought
Can with such plaintive melody be fraught—
Ah! wherefore turn away,
Stay, yet a little stay,
Ione!
REALITY.
O the heart has dreams Elysian!
That steal o'er it calm and sweet,
Hushing pain like a magician
Who binds spirits at his feet.
But the forms that throng its mazes
Are too bright for mortal birth,
And the scenes that fancy raises
Far too beautiful for earth.
Let us turn with humbler spirits
To the things that God has made,
Pass the weakness flesh inherits,
Since the sunshine, too, has shade.