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Through living hosts and changing scenes we rove,
The mart, the court, the sea, the battle-plain,
As passions sway, or accident may move;
it holds not true in a gaol. There you must meet yourself, and you find that you are not your God. Hence these new strings in my harp.
TO THE POINT.
I.
Gay is the early bloom of life's first dawn,
But darker colours tinge maturer years;
Our days as they advance grow more forlorn,
Hope's brightest dreams dissolve away in tears
Which were the best, to be or not to have been?
The question may be asked, no answer can be seen.
II.
On earth we live, within our thoughts——the slaves,
Of our conceptions in each varied mood,
Gay or melancholy;——it is the waves
Of our imaginings, become the food
The spirit preys upon; and laughs or raves
With madness or with pleasure, as it would
If drunk with liquids. We exist and dwell
As the mind may dispose, in heaven or in hell.
theme.
Death which we dread so much, is but a name.
SONNET.
He who never did eat his bread in tears;
Who never passed a dreary bitter night,
And in his bed of sorrow, the hard fight
Of pending troubles saw, with anxious fears:
Who never an exile forlorn for years,
And never wept with Israel "at the sight
Of the waters of Babylon" (Psalm 137), the might
Of Heaven's word is unknown to his ears.
Is there a mortal eye that never wept?
With tears the child begins his wants to show
In tears the man out of the earth is swept.
Whether we bless or grumble here below,
HIM who ever in His hand the world has kept
In dark affliction's school we learn to know.
(Of course my original is in Italian.)
