Even such was Byron-poet of my soul!
He who can wield my gathering passions' play-
Can o'er my spirit, at its wildest, roll
The magic of his genius-and say,
Be glad-be sorrowful-be grave-be gay!
And I—who am from bigot fancies free,
Or deem it so-can o'er his earthly day
Look back with pride, and beyond death can see
His glorious spirit bless'd throughout futurity!
ON HEARING MY FATHER SAY HE HAD REACHED
It seems a brief Eternity! threescore
Long years of human hopes, and joys, and griefs,
Which, like cloud-shadows chas'd by sunbeams o'er
The ocean, shoot across the sea of life,
Chequering with light and shade the rolling tide.
In the obituary of the heart,
What a dark record of untimely deaths
Must meet the clouded vision of threescore !
The thoughtless glee of boyhood,-youth's first love And fine enthusiasm, hopes of fame,
Fortune, and happiness; manhood's firm resolve,—
All vanish'd, like the dreams of yesternight:
Friendships and loves dissolved,-some by the grave,
Some by a death more dreadful-treachery.
All these, and other memories numberless
And nameless, yet close cherished in the heart,
Fill up the history of threescore years!
Even he who in life's lowliest, humblest vale,
With philosophic mind and tranquil heart,
Walks calmly on his quiet path, retired
From all the jarring strife of factious men—
From all that shakes the soul's serene repose,-
Even he (for to the lonely musing mind
Feelings are facts, and thoughts most real events)
Finds that a shadowy world has grown around him,
Where Memory holds converse with strange forms,
Which, as he scans the vista of the past,
Flit by him like the ghosts of things that were.
How full of mystery is human life!
The vital principle in age and youth
Holds on the same; the senses, though less strong,
Bear strict resemblance in the young and old.
But yet how different in the heart and soul-
Beings of different spheres not more unlike!
The one, with eager glance and rapid step,
Presses to some imaginary goal,
Where Joy alone (so Fancy whispers) dwells;
The other, slowly, with averted eye,
Plods the last miles of life unmoved and calm.
The Future is the young man's glowing world-
Hope his companion, who, in gorgeous hues,
Paints the bright forms of each event to come.
The Past is the loved dwelling-place of Age;
And Memory ministers to the old man's wants,
Drawing from out the hoards of vanished years
Pictures of scenes and beings now no more,
Softened and shaded by the Rembrandt tints
Which Memory throws o'er all she gives to view.
And thus, my Father! when I look on thee,
I feel as if in presence of a being
Whose nature is not mine; but o'er-informed
With the strange lore the human heart requires
From time and change alone;-whose sympathies,
Views, dreams, and thoughts are as remote from mine
As though our natures were not human both.
God of the Heart which glows with filial love!
Hear thou the prayer which, ardent, from my soul
Bursts with peculiar fervour :-The brief span
Thou hast allotted to the human race
In him is nearly finished: yet, oh! grant
That health and strength, and an unclouded soul
May yet be his through many coming years.
Though all unworthy of so rich a boon,
Grant this first wish that swells from my full heart— For I have much to do-much to repay,
Which, paid, still leaves me bankrupt-much t' efface Of former follies from his memory,
By future kindness and by better deeds.
may the downward path he now must tread
Be of a mild declivity, and while
He paces on, Content and quiet Thought,
The old man's friends, around him ever move :
Till on some grateful autumn evening mild,
With unperceived descent, he reach the foot,
And lay him tranquil down to final rest.
But if, dread Arbiter of Life and Death!
These pleasing hopes are vain; if the decree
Which takes the dear-lov'd Patriarch to thyself
Hath now gone forth and soon shall be fulfilled,
Let not disease with fell unnerving grasp
Break the serene composure of his soul,
Nor cloud his reason with ambiguous ray ;-
But in the full possession of himself,
With soul erect, and reason clear and calm,
Let him pass briefly through the final scene,
Looking on Death with firm unquailing eye,
And die with dignity, as good men should.
The virtuous man alone is truly brave;
He smiles a placid welcome even on Death,
From which the rest of mortals shrink aghast.
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