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The ladies' garland. [volume] (Harpers-Ferry, Va. [W. Va.]) 1824-1828, August 12, 1826, Image 4

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Persistent link: https://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/lccn/sn85059803/1826-08-12/ed-1/seq-4/

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POETRY.
nir. lover to ms dead mistress
[from phantasmagoria.]
Of all the roses grafted on her cheek,
Of all the graces dancing in her eves,
Of all the music set upon her tongue,
Of all th.it was past women's excellence
in her white bosom, look, a painted hoard
Circumscribes all ! Dkiikku.
Alml thou upon thy bier of deatii
Art shrouded for the tomb 1
Nor living pulse, nor human breath.
Save mine, disturbs the gloom,
And ghastly falls the taper's light
On thee, and on thy bier.
Vet I until the morning light
Shall watch and feel no fear.
t clasp thy ice cold hand in mine
Till mine is scarce less cold,
Vnd trace those features, line by line,
fill they seem of breathing mould ,—
Yet fonder, holier, in my gaze,
Then when in periods past,
l saw that beauty’s living blaze—
Tor now I gaze my last.
1 hose lips are musical no more,
Hut their still sweet smile is there ,
l'lie flashing of thine eye is o’er,
llut the calm closed lid, how lair ’
<ih 1 could how to sorrow’s storm.
Nor sigh for da\s more bright,
Jf ever thus that hallowed form
Might sleep within my sight '
I
More joy to watch thee stirless there,
To kiss that bloodless bitnv,
1 ban gaze on crowds of living fair
Though fair as once wert thou 1
I .ess sad to keep the fostered flow t r
All withered though it h>-t
I lian yield it to the tempest’s power.
Nor wreck, nor relic see.
tint vain the fancies of my breast,
And vainer love’s despair,
The grave must be thy place of rest,
And 1 must lay thee there I
Oh Death ! are all thine arrows spent
Amongst the blylhe and free '
Oh Grave ! is each dark lodging lent
Kemains not one for me '
My perished love ! my soul’s delight :
My being’s once bright spell,—
Oh 1 could 1 ldot yon morning light ’
( rush, crush that tolling bell ’
\ am wish,—the light becomes more clea.,
The death-notes louder swell,
One bursting »igb,—one burning tear,—
One last, w ild gaze,—farewell :
Description of female beauty is often very pleasing
in the Irish : part of the song on Mable Kelly by
Carolan, which has been sweetly versified by
Miss llrooks, may serve as an example.
“ As when the softly blushing rose
Close to some neighbouring lily grows,
Such is the glow thy cheeks diffuse
And such their bright and blended hues 1
' The timid lustre of thine eye
With nature’s purest tints can vie,
With the sweet blue-bell’s azure gem,
l hat droops upon its modest stem I
• • • *
■ Kven he whose hapless eyes no ray
Admit from beauty’s cheering day,
Yet, tho’ he cannot sec the light,’
He feels it warm, and knows it bright 1
TMK WARRIOR'S FAKEWKI.I.,
From Mrs. Cornwall Huron IVilson's “Hour? at
Home.”
‘Wake, Lady ! wake—my war-horse waits
To bear me to the battle-field ;
A thousand vassals line your gates,
In beauty’s cause their swords to wield '
Arise !—and give us one bright smile,
’ I'is all the guerdon valor needs,
To pay the soldier’s rugged toil.
And fit him for heroic deeds !
‘ This morjiing’s sun will light us on
To battle-field—and tented plain ,
The morrow’s dawn may rise upon
Our broken helms—and warriors slain !
Then, ere we go, bestow one smile,
"I'is all the guerdon valor needs,
To pay the soldier’s rugged toil.
And nerve him for heroic deeds !
* I.adv, farevvcil '—when in your bower
Of peace you breathe the secret prayer,
At matin-tide, or vesper hour,
lie our rude names remember'd there '
And if with conquest w e return,
Thy smiles sliall light the festive hall ;
If dead upon our shields we’re borne,
Thy tears shall gem the soldier’s pall 1
‘ Our banners woo the summer air,
Our steeds impatient spurn the ground,
With restless hoofs the turf up-tear
\nd dash the broken heath flowers round.
Lady ! we hail that gracious smile,
’Tis dear to us as morning’s ray ;
Its beams will cheer the soldier’s toil—
Comrades in arms I—away—away !”
lie plac’d her favors ’mid the plume
That danced above his polish’d crest ;
t.az.’d fondly t’ward the lattic’d room
That shrin’d the idol of his breast.
\nrl soon, upon the rising gab',
Came the loud trumpet's swelling tone ,
One heart was sad—one check was pale,
That stray'd through Kostin's bowers alone 1
I lie Warrior’s soul with glory burn’ll—
Tli’ impetuous war-horse scorn'd tlie rein -
lie bore him on,—but ne’er returned
That child to Edith's arms again !
The glorious sun that lit them i'uith
Sank dow n on many a blood-stain’d brow .
And all the pride—and all the mirth,
01 Kostin's hall is silent now '
Eor war, with all its horrors, came
To Itoslin’s calm and peaceful shades
Rapine and sword—and wasting flame,
To deserts turn’d its fertile glade !
No more the warder’s steps are heard,
Upon the watch-tower’s dizzy height ,
Hut there the lone, ill-omen’d bird
Shrieks w ildly to the breeze of night '
There is a form in Kostin's Isle,
(.'lad in tlie dark robe—and cypress weed ;
Hut gone tbrever is the smile
Eor which those gallant hearts did bleed.
Still—front that ruin’d moss-grown tower,
A lonely taper glimmers,—w here
The pilgrim oft, at midnight’s hour,
Beholds a mourner kneel in pray er I
FROM LA BELLE ASSEMBLES.
THE BRIDAL.—By Mrs. V. B. Wihou.
They stand within the sacred fane—around
The bridal group is gathered ; the young Hiunr.
Casts her meek dove-like eyes upon tlie ground
\\ ith Woman’s tenderness ; seeking to hide
The struggling sighs that heave her gentle breast,
Where Hope and Fear by turns become a trembling
guest '
j ----—
i Look to her Heart! What thoughts are passing
there,
1 hat casta pensive shadow o’er her brow ?
I houglits in which Love’s bright dream can clam
! no share,
| A et thoughts which Love himself must still allow
1 Kush o’er her soul ;—and leave that tiace of care
\t hieh throws its shade awhile o'er features heaver,
i ly fair !
I’erchance the thoughts of Home ?—that hoim
which now
She leaves to grace another;—happe years
■ *’1 peaceful, calm endearment as the r ow
Her scarce-heard voice lias uttered, wake thus
j tears
That, bursting through concealment, or control,
Uov, u her fast-fading cheeks their pearly current
roll!
l'erchance— a Father's dying look of love
Act hovers o’er her ;—or a Mother’s voice,
\\ hose gentle accents sanction and approve
1 he object of her young heart's early choice,
' Dwells in her ear ; but who shall dare reveal
All the fond, tender thoughts that through her in
som steal >
) outli ! it her gentle heart and eyes o’orfluw,
l mm thoughts like these, it argues fu'urc bliss
I And coming years ot peace ami love shall show
1 U’ unfathomed depth of Woman’s tenderness
: \ ears, which from thee their future hue must taki
■ As l/ri Love’s ebb or flow, shall bright or gloom
make !
, Chide not these signs of sorrow—for thev tell
j No tale of coldness, or distrust to the <•—
J Hut feelings of the heart, that only dw ell
j W here Truth and J.ove have made their sain
tu ary.
| Chide not these mournful smiles ; these gentle tear
Like April’s dewy showers, through which the sc.
appears.
I
j And now tlie rite is o’er ;—the white-robed train
’Mid joyous peals that float upon the air,
| Depart the sacred temple ,—ne’er again
i On such an errand shall that Twain repair
i I nto its holy walls—til) One shall bo
The Bridegroom or the Bride of cold Mortality
I lie fate of One is sealed for aye on earth,
' ma> he Hath ' Thrice happy they who prove
j T he depth of faith that in the soul has biith,
And the true heart, that knows no second Love
That on on e altar kindles all its fires,
And when that altar falls, the hallowed blaze ty
pires.
I
STANZAS ON A DEAD ROSE
AIUmESSLl) TO A IOUSS LAl'Y OF FASHION
i
I
|
I
Do, faded flower, and tell the youthful maid
However bright her hopes, or fair she he,
That in the dust, her beauty mu-.t be laid—
As thou doth wither—even so must she 1
Tell her—while gaily fluttering in the crowd,
i In all the vanity of fashion drest,
; How soon that form may wither in the shroud,
1 How soon the grass may flourish o’er that breast
Tell her—decay is but one common lot,
That the bright dream of youth will quickly fly
Ami (which it seem* she now remembers not,)
Tell her, sweet Moralist—“that she must die ii
Did her—oh ! bid her, every hour prepare—
If spotless to her death bed she be given,
lake thine, her ashes shall perfume the air.
Her breath, like incense, re-asceml to Heaven.
*,* Postage on all letters MUST be paid.

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