Poems (Taggart)/The Happiness of Early Years

by Cynthia Taggart

THE HAPPINESS OF EARLY YEARS.

Ah! where the days of dawning life,
Where those blest, happy, precious hours,
When ever-varying joys were rife,
And fancy wrought unfading flowers?

When tranquil pleasure's placid stream
Unsullied shone, for ever clear;
And Hope's pure cordial, sweet, serene,
Checked the approach of anxious fear:

Each golden morn returned with joy,
And each mild evening sweetly calm;
When youth and health, alert and gay,
Inhaled their fragrant breath of balm.

Then the blithe song of Rapture's bird,
Or plaintive warbler's gentle tone,
On the soft, breezy air was heard,
And pleasure thrilled the breast alone.

Meanwhile the melody of waves,
Soul-soothing murmur, greets the ear;
The raptured bosom swelling heaves,
And softly drops the joyous tear.

O'er the bright soul, fresh scenes of bliss,
Portrayed by fancy's glowing power,
In winning form of loveliness,
Delight and charm each fleeting hour.

And through the calm revolving day,
How sweet the kindred smile and tone,
When each bright brow and laughing eye
With fear and kind affection shone!

How lightly tript the bounding form,
When rosy health with rapture smiled,
O'er the serene and flowery lawn,
And every transient care beguiled!

A parent's smile, a parent's voice
Awoke the purest thrills of bliss:
The kindred band in love rejoice,
And share in mutual happiness.

The pleasing daily task performed,
How sweet at evening hour to view
The starry heaven's unnumbered host,
And deep in thought those worlds pursue!

And when the silent night resumed
Her wonted reign, with darkening power,
Soft in the arms of sweet repose,
Past the unconscious, peaceful hour.

All nature seemed replete with bliss,
Sublime or sportive,—void of care,
And the light heart of childhood deemed
These joys should ever blossom fair.

Dear days! in rapid pleasures past,
Whene'er I glance my longing eyes
Back o'er those joys too fair to last,
My aching heart within me dies.

The waves melodious flow the same,
The joyful birds still wake the song,
The morn and evening gales still breathe
Their balmy odors pure along.

The flowery landscape blooms as fair,
The foliage waves as graceful now,
As when each breezy breath of air
Fanned fragrance o'er this peaceful brow.—

Gone are the bright, the rosy smile,
The raptured bosom's thrilling glow,
The peace, the joy, that breathed the while,
Soft as the warbling music's flow.

Where calmly spreads the embowering shade,
That oft this form hath gliding traced,
When laughing joy and pleasure strayed,
And innocence and peace embraced,

Still nature wears her sweetest charms;
And wooingly each loved retreat
Seems opening, as affection's arms,
The long expected guest to meet.

Far from each bright, each flowery scene,
In solemn silence now reclined,
No hope, no joy, no smile serene,
Revives this blighted form and mind.

Though nature smile with aspect sweet,
And varying seasons circle round,
No more the struggling captive's feet
Can 'scape affliction's prison bound.

The refluent tide, the rolling wave
Alternate on the peaceful shore,
That oft to this glad spirit gave
A pensive rapture now no more.

Though every winged warbling choir
Awake the tenderest, sweetest strains,
No music, no seraphic lyre,
Can lighten these afflictive pains.

Now, fairest, wildest beauties reign
O'er every verdant vale and hill,
And, bright meandering o'er yon plain,
Glides softly on the murmuring rill.

Still all remains that once could please,
Could cheer and charm the tranquil mind,
But gone the peace, the joy, the ease,
That fondly round the heart-strings twined;

Are gone, alas! for ever gone:
Now pain and grief, and wan decay
Combine, and, in triumphant tone,
Proclaim my future life their prey.

Now sleep spreads wide his downy wings,
And flies from hence in sore affright;
While bitter pains and thrilling pangs
Keep the dark watch of dreary night.

The moon 's o'ercast with withering gloom,
And sorrows linger through the day;
Chill sadness rules the dismal scene,
And ceaseless anguish wastes away.

Return, sweet Hope! with magic power,
Thy smile benign can give relief,
Dispel the horrors of despair,
And gild this tenfold night of grief.