Poems (Griffith)/Recollections
For works with similar titles, see Recollections.
Recollections.
THE twilight now is blushing o'er the earth—The west is glowing like a garden, rich With Summer's many-tinted blooms; the flowers Of earth hold up their fairy cups to catch The softly falling dew-drops; the bright stars Are set like glorious diamonds on the dark Blue drapery of the halls of heaven; the pale Sweet moon, like some young angel of the air, Floats from the east upon her silver wing; Eve's golden clouds hang low—and thin, white mists Rise silently and beautifully up Through the calm atmosphere. Serenity And loveliness and beauty are abroad O'er the whole world of nature.
At this hour. When all the dark, wild passions of the breast Are hushed and quelled by Nature's spell of power, When every wayward feeling is rebuked And chastened by the blended influence Of earth and heaven, I've stolen forth alone Beneath the blue and glorious sky, to hold Communion with the golden hours now gone Into the past eternity.
My heart Is very soft to-night, and joys long past Shine through the silver mists of memory, Like sweet stars of the soul. My brow is flushed, My bosom throbs, and blesséd tears well up From my heart's unsealed fountain, as I see Through the pale shadows of the years, the home Where first I felt the sweet, bewildering bliss Of new existence. Softly, through the deep Green foliage of the grove, the beautiful White cottage peeps with its thick-blooming vines, And in the distance the still church-yard, where Repose the cold, unthrobbing hearts of those I loved in childhood, lifts its marble shafts Beneath the drooping willows. I behold The shaded paths where my young footsteps strayed To gather wild flowers at the morning tide, And for a few brief moments once again I seem to wander through the dear old wood. The birds sing round me, the dark forest pines, Stirred by the breeze, make music like the low Faint murmurs of the sea, my playmates shout Beside me, and my mother's music call Of gentle love is in my ear.
Oh, there, In that sweet home, I cherished fairy dreams Of happiness, and all my being wore A glow of deep, ideal loveliness. My vanished childhood rises to my view In pale and melancholy beauty. Life Since then hath been but desolate. Alas! What heart-chords have been broken, what bright dreams Been shadowed by the hue of grief. No more The Egeria of my spirit-worship haunts The grove and wood. No charm can woo her back, She will not hear my call, she answers not The witching spell of fancy. It is not That nature has grown old. Her skies are still As blue, her trees as green, her dews as soft, Her flowers as sweet, her clouds as beautiful, Her birds, her waves, her minds as musical As when I was a child—Alas! the change Is in my heart.
Oh, blessed memories Of home! ye are the worshipped household gods Upon my spirit's altar. Vanished years!Ye are the dew-drops that my spirit's flowers Enfold within their petals. Years have passed Since that all-mournful day, when, with a sad And breaking heart, and streaming eyes, I left The scenes of childhood, and went forth to find A home amid the stranger crowds, where I Have learned to wear the mask that others wear, To smile while agony is in my soul. Yet at an hour like this, when Nature glows With deepest loveliness, when earth and heaven Unite to woo my heart from its retreat Of gloom and sorrow, I can wander back To quench my faint and sinking spirit's thirst At young life's gushing fountains, and forget That I am not once more a happy child.