Now thou art gone, (ah! dark above Thy gravestone floods the winter rain), Again will breathe those words divine; SONG. FROM LODER'S OPERA, "FRANCIS THE FIRST." Oh! the old house at home where my forefathers dwelt, Where a child at the feet of my mother I knelt, Where she taught me the prayer, where she read me the page, Which, if infancy lisps, is the solace of age; 'Twas not for its splendour that dwelling was dear, 'Twas not that the proud or the noble were near; O'er the porch the gay wild rose and woodbine entwined, And the sweet-scented jessamine waved in the wind; Yet dearer to me than proud turret or dome Were the halls of my fathers, the old house at home. But now the old house is no dwelling for me, O'er the evergreen fields which my father possess'd : Of the days that are pass'd, and the old house at home. ABOU BEN ADHEM AND THE ANGEL. LEIGH HUNT, BORN AT SOUTHGATE, IN MIDDLESEX, ABOU Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase!) "What writest thou?" The vision raised its head, And, with a look made of all sweet accord, Answer'd, "The names of those who love the Lord." Write me as one that loves his fellow-men." The angel wrote, and vanish'd. The next night It came again, with a great wakening light, And shew'd the names whom love of God had bless'd, And lo! Ben Ad hem's name led all the rest. CASTLES IN THE AIR. DAVID HOLT. FROM A LAY OF HERO WORSHIP, AND OTHER POEMS," 1850. DELUSIONS in the garb of truth, Idealisms passing fair, Dreams of the hopeful heart of youth, Ye fairy Castles in the Air. How bright and beautiful ye rise, Full beaming on our youthful view, In the glad light of sunny eyes, Ye are the freshness and the bloom Of life, ere life is tinged with sorrow, To cloud the prospect of to-morrow. How fair to youth's glad eyes ye seem, The sun of hope is o'er you playing, All blue and cloudless is your sky, Fairies and nymphs are round you straying, And all is redolent of joy. But the cold world its legions sends Of cares and toils and griefs and pains, Before their power your beauty bends, Your ruins strew the aèrial plains. Ye pass away, ye pass away, Ye leave the spirit cold and dull, And we look round with vain assay For visions of the beautiful. And Time, stern Time's relentless hand, Like records written in the sand Some that it took long years to rear And beautify from moat to tower, Are stripp'd of glory by a tear, Friendships, affections, early love, Pleasures and fancies bright and fair, Too oft in time's progression prove But hearts there are that still keep dreaming, Hearts that go dreaming on through life Such hearts are few, yea, passing few, As the sun scorches up the dew, Time dulls the freshness of the heart. And manhood comes, and all are gone, And then a dreary blank succeeds, At last there comes a calmer hour, Fantasy is replaced by Power, And wisdom fills the mental void. But "Life hath nothing half so sweet," In all the after joys we meet, As Youth's bright Castles in the Air. |