But when I prayed for fire from Heaven, to touch the soul, I bowed,
I little thought the lightning-flash would come in such a cloud.
Ye give me joy! Is it because another year has fied? That I am farther from my youth, and nearer to the dead?
Is it that manhood's cares are come,-my happy boyhood o'er,
Because the visions I have loved will visit me no more?
Oh, wherefore give me joy, when I can smile no welcome back!
I've found no flower, and seen no light, on manhood's weary track:
My love is deep-ambition deep-and heart and mind will on,
But love is fainting by the way, and fame consumes
Philadelphia, May 2, 1829.
FOR THE FOURTEENTH OF FEBRUARY.
APOLLO has peeped through the shutter,
And wakened the witty and fair;
The boarding school belle's in a flutter,
The twopenny post's in despair!
The breath of the morning is flinging
A magic on blossom, on spray;
And cockneys and sparrows are singing
In chorus on Valentine's day.
Away with ye, dreams of disaster,
Away with ye, visions of law,
Of cases I never shall master,
Of pleadings I never shall draw:
Away with ye, parchments and papers,
Red tapes, unread volumes, away;
It gives a fond lover the vapours
To see you on Valentine's day.
I'll sit in my nightcap, like Hayley,
I'll sit with my arms crossed, like Spain,
Till joys, which are vanishing daily,
Come back in their lustre again:
Oh, shall I look over the waters,
Ór shall I look over the way,
For the brightest and best of earth's daughters,
To rhyme to on Valentine's day?
Shall I crown, with my worship, for fame's sake,
Some goddess whom fashion has starred;
Make puns on Miss Love and her namesake,
Or pray for a pas with Brocard?
Shall I flirt in romantic idea,
With Chester's adorable clay,
Or whisper in transport-" Si mea
Cum Vestris-" on Valentine's day?
Shall I kneel to a Sylvia or Celia,
Whom no one e'er saw or may see,
A fancy-drawn Laura Amelia,
An ad libit. Anna Marie?
Shall I court an initial with stars to it,
Go mad for a G. or a J.,
Get Bishop to put a few bars to it,
And print it on Valentine's day?
SONG FOR VALENTINE'S DAY.
Alas! ere I'm properly frantic
With some such pure figment as this,
Some visions, not quite so romantic,
Start up to demolish the bliss ;
Some Will-o'-the-Wisp in a bonnet,
Still leads my lost senses astray,
Till, up to my ears in a sonnet,
I sink upon Valentine's day.
The Dian I half bought a ring for,
On seeing her thrown in the ring;—
The Naiad I took such a spring for,
From Waterloo Bridge in the spring ;-
The trembler I saved from a robber, on
My walk to the Champs Elysée !
The warbler that fainted at Oberon,
Three months before Valentine's day.
The gipsy I once had a spill with,
Bad luck to the Paddington team!
The countess I chanced to be ill with,
From Dover to Calais by steam ;-
The lass that makes tea for Sir Stephen,
The lassie that brings in the tray ;—
It's odd, but the betting is even
Between them on Valentine's day.
The white hands I helped in their nutting;
The fair neck I cloaked in the rain;
The bright eyes that thanked me for cutting
My friend, in Emanuel Lane;
The Blue that admires Mr. Barrow;
The Saint that adores Lewis Way;
The Nameless, that dated from Harrow
Three couplets last Valentine's day.
I think not of Laura, the witty,
For, oh! she is married at York !-
I sigh not for Rose of the city,
For, ah! she is buried at Cork!--
Adele has a braver and better,
To say what I never could say;
Louise cannot construe a letter
Of English on Valentine's day.
So perish the leaves in the arbour,
The tree is all bare in the blast!
Like a wreck that is drifting to harbour,
I come to the lady at last :
Where art thou so lovely and lonely,
Though idle the lute and the lay,
The lute and the lay are thine only,
My fairest on Valentine's day.
For thee I have opened my Blackstone, For thee I have shut up myself, Exchanged my long curls for a Caxton, And laid my short whist on the shelf; For thee I have sold my old Sherry, For thee I have burned my new play, And I grow philosophical-very!Except upon Valentine's day.
HER mighty sails the breezes swell,
And fast she leaves the lessening land,
And from the shore the last farewell
Is waved by many a snowy hand;
And weeping eyes are on the main,
Until its verge she wanders o'er;
But, from that hour of parting pain,
Oh! she was never heard of more;
In her was many a mother's joy,
And love of many a weeping fair;
For her was wafted, in its sigh,
The lonely heart's unceasing prayer!
And, oh! the thousand hopes untold
Of ardent youth, that vessel bore;
Say, were they quenched in ocean cold,
For she was never heard of more?
When on her wide and trackless path
Of desolation, doomed to flee,
Say, sank she 'mid the blending wrath
Of racking cloud and rolling sea?
Or, where the land but mocks the eye,
Went drifting on a fatal shore?
Vain guesses all !-Her destiny
Is dark-she ne'er was heard of more.
The moon hath twelve times changed her form,
From glowing orb to crescent wan;
'Mid skies of calm, and scowl of storm,
Since from her port that ship hath gone;
But ocean keeps its secret well;
And though we know that all is o'er,
No eye hath seen-no tongue can tell
Her fate-she ne'er was heard of more
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