The Legendary and Poetical Remains of John Roby Part 7

WRITTEN ON THE DEPARTURE OF FRIENDS FROM ENGLAND.

Swiftly go, thou bounding bark, As with an arrow's flight; The untamed winds thy coursers wild, The waves thy chariot bright.-- But there are hearts within that shrine Where wilder billows swell, Where the last pang is quivering now The last fond word--"Farewell."

Blow, ye breezes! Gently roll, Thou vast and troubled deep!

On thy still waters let the sigh Of dim-eyed sorrow sleep.

Bright hearts, bright hearths, and merry homes Their voice is on the wind.-- Be hush'd, ye blasts; too loud ye bring Their echoes on the mind.

Soon these hallow'd sh.o.r.es shall fade, Fast as the summer cloud, And stranger climes and stranger forms Pa.s.s, like a pageant proud.

But blessings still your path pursue, Where'er that path may lie; Since every devious maze ye trace Beneath a guiding eye.

Yon evening star that trembling dips Beneath the western sea, Awhile, like him, your lonesome flight, Like his, your destiny.-- Though setting now in clouds and gloom, The day-spring shall arise, And yon pale star, like you, appear In pomp from eastern skies!

May HE whose word the billows calm'd, And sooth'd those seas to rest, Yet whisper in the gentlest winds, That breathe on ocean's breast.

But there are waves of mightier power His voice alone can still, The soul's keen throb,--its louder surge Grows peaceful at his will!

Swiftly go, thou bounding bark, As with an arrow's flight, The untamed winds thy coursers wild, The waves thy chariot bright!

But there are hearts within that shrine Where wilder billows swell, Where the last pang is quivering now The last fond word--"Farewell!"

PREFACE TO A LADY'S ALb.u.m.

An Alb.u.m?--'Tis a pretty book I wis, Bound up in cow-skin--or sometimes in calf, All tool'd and gilt--where every pert-eyed miss, Her pretty pouting lips (too ripe by half), Hangs o'er the snow-white page--then steals a laugh, Something between a simper and a smile;-- "Law, I can't write!--Ridiculous, to spoil I have no notion----Will an extract do From Moore or Byron?" "No, write something new."

An Alb.u.m?--'Tis a wide waste blank--a page All bright and glorious, like the morn of life, Not darken'd with rude blots;--no dim presage Scrawl'd o'er the bliss-like future,--where no knife, Like eating care, obliterates.--The strife, The agony, those hours shall know, nor trace, Nor track, steals o'er their smooth, unruffled face.

If joy or woe those opening leaves shall bring, Who shall unfold their dim foretokening?

And would'st thou have me in that mirror look, Shadowing the first page in thy destiny, Or weave a frontlet to Fate's Alb.u.m-book?

It should be joyous were mine Fate's decree.

Like opera-overtures, the melody I know the story should foretoken, telling Of love, hope, joy, and all that sort of thing; Or, like the pictures on a raree-show, Blazon the matchless wonders hid below.

But I'm no prophet!--what these pages may Or may not gather, hard to say methinks.

'Tis somewhat strange, e'en for this marvellous day, Writing a preface to blank leaves,--a sphynx 'Twould puzzle to undo, like Hymen's links!

The paper's pretty, and a pretty book: So far seems certain. What may next be shook From Fate's grim bag, _n'importe_--umquhile, I trow, Time flits, hopes bud, and wither ere they blow.

When closed the last page of this history, If joy or sorrow on that morn shall rise, What I may then, or thou shalt surely be I dare not mutter with articulate voice!

And yet I'll try a word or so (no lies, I hate them); 'tis irrevocable fate I now unfold. Listen, as though there sate The wizard seer thy destiny revealing; Bright hopes, grim horror, o'er thy vision stealing!

"Oft shall wearied hope expire, Bliss none other bosom knows, Love shall scorch thee with its fire, Maiden, ere these pages close.

"Oft shall visions warm and bright, Glimmer on thine aching brain, Swifter fading from thy sight, Ne'er shall dawn those dreams again.

"Oft shall throb that wearied breast, Pulse on pulse in anguish beating, Oft shall sink that storm to rest, Hope and love those wild waves meeting.

"Love and hate, and joy and fear, Shall thy bosom oft o'erflow, All that woman's heart may bear, All that woman's breast may know.

"Oft shall friends thy bosom cherish'd, Change to deeper, deadlier foes.

Love shall die and hope have perish'd, Maiden, ere these pages close!"

TO ----

We have met and we have parted, Meet it were that love should die; Teach the winds, thou fond false-hearted, Teach the light wave constancy!

We have loved as we shall never Dare on earth to love again!

Hearts thus twined, when they shall sever, Wear no more love's bootless chain.

Tell the waves to calm their motion, Tell the wind thy power to flee, Bid the chafed and restless ocean Sleep, aye, sleep unchangeably.

Will the lash'd wave cease its wailing?

Will the moaning billow rest?

Then may Hope with joys unfailing, Fled like mine, appease thy breast.

STANZAS.

"Lightly o'er the moon-lit sea Bounds my lover's bark to me; The breeze hath woo'd the fluttering sail, Fast flies the prow from the wanton gale."

The lady sung.--'Twas the lone sea-mew O'er the waters wail'd, as he wistfully flew.

"Swiftly through the curling foam, Waft, ye winds, my true love home: I hear not yet the dripping oar, The surge uncleft yet greets the sh.o.r.e."

The lady gazed.--'Twas the rus.h.i.+ng blast, Like some spirit of might, on the waters pa.s.s'd!

Darkly o'er the troubled deep, Ruder winds the billows sweep; The lady hath left her lattice bower,-- "Why tarries my love till the midnight hour?"

Swift answer came.--'Twas a shuddering moan, As her lover's cold corse at her feet was thrown!

STANZAS FOR MUSIC.[J]

Forgotten so soon Are thy vows when we parted, Have other links bound thee, Thou fickle false-hearted?

Go fling to the winds thy last tenderest vow, They are not so changing, so reckless as thou.

Can the tear on thy cheek, The warm gush from thy heart, So soon dry their torrent?

So quickly depart?

Like dew on the flower, like the web when 'tis broken,-- Oh frailer than these, woman's vows when they're spoken.

And was it for this, In my heart's holiest shrine, No memory was hidden, No image but thine?