Poems (Toke)/Lines (And now my task is done! The last pale flower)
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For works with similar titles, see Lines.
ND now my task is done! The last pale flower,
Which bloomed to mourn the year's departing hour,
Has closed the wreath that fancy twined for thee
From many a hue of hope and memory;
Bright gems upon the dreamy future cast,
And fading leaves, that linger round the past.
Yes, here pale blossoms shine, and lowly flowers,
That sprang to life in gay or sombre hours;
And scentless though to some their hues may seem,
Yet thou, I trust, will not all worthless deem
These wild flowers culled beneath the morning sky,
These springtime buds of gentle poesy,
For sweet the task to twine them here for thee.
And now 'tis done,—then what remains for me7
What but an oft-told tale again to tell,
And breathe with swelling heart a long farewell;
To say once more whilever life is mine,
My heart's best love and fondest thoughts are thine.
LINES.
ND now my task is done! The last pale flower,Which bloomed to mourn the year's departing hour,
Has closed the wreath that fancy twined for thee
From many a hue of hope and memory;
Bright gems upon the dreamy future cast,
And fading leaves, that linger round the past.
Yes, here pale blossoms shine, and lowly flowers,
That sprang to life in gay or sombre hours;
And scentless though to some their hues may seem,
Yet thou, I trust, will not all worthless deem
These wild flowers culled beneath the morning sky,
These springtime buds of gentle poesy,
For sweet the task to twine them here for thee.
And now 'tis done,—then what remains for me7
What but an oft-told tale again to tell,
And breathe with swelling heart a long farewell;
To say once more whilever life is mine,
My heart's best love and fondest thoughts are thine.
As now upon these fairy leaves I gaze,
How bright again the torch of memory plays
O'er every passing scene and parted hour
Which called those thoughts to life with magic power,
And bade the slumbering fancy, roused once more,
In numbers wild those inward feelings pour!
Yes, as I lingering trace each simple strain,
Time, place, e'en vanished sounds, return again;
'Till I can live in thought those bygone years,
With all their joys and sorrows, hopes and fears,
And feel as then the lights or shadows play
That chequered o'er full many a long-past day:
And when perchance thy gentle eye may fall
On these light leaves, wilt thou not then recall
Some hour of converse spent together here,
To memory, or at least to me, most dear?
How bright again the torch of memory plays
O'er every passing scene and parted hour
Which called those thoughts to life with magic power,
And bade the slumbering fancy, roused once more,
In numbers wild those inward feelings pour!
Yes, as I lingering trace each simple strain,
Time, place, e'en vanished sounds, return again;
'Till I can live in thought those bygone years,
With all their joys and sorrows, hopes and fears,
And feel as then the lights or shadows play
That chequered o'er full many a long-past day:
And when perchance thy gentle eye may fall
On these light leaves, wilt thou not then recall
Some hour of converse spent together here,
To memory, or at least to me, most dear?
Since last we met, how doubly swift and light
The wings of time have seemed to press their flight!
Till now I scarce can think it all is past,
And that sad hour is come when we at last
Must feel that every pleasure brings its pain,
And part once more,—oh! when to meet again?
Yes, when shall we together gladly stray
'Mid scenes where happiest hours have passed away:
Trace every well-known spot on hill and plain,
And breathe the air that thrills our hearts again?
'Tis vain to ask; no mortal tongue can tell.
Then must I breathe at last a sad farewell,
In treasured hope, before another year
Has passed away, with joy to meet thee here.
And oh! may every blessing earth can know,
On thy dear head in streams of bounty flow,
And nought e'er dim the chain that binds us now,
In friendship's purest bond and warmest glow.
E.
The wings of time have seemed to press their flight!
Till now I scarce can think it all is past,
And that sad hour is come when we at last
Must feel that every pleasure brings its pain,
And part once more,—oh! when to meet again?
Yes, when shall we together gladly stray
'Mid scenes where happiest hours have passed away:
Trace every well-known spot on hill and plain,
And breathe the air that thrills our hearts again?
'Tis vain to ask; no mortal tongue can tell.
Then must I breathe at last a sad farewell,
In treasured hope, before another year
Has passed away, with joy to meet thee here.
And oh! may every blessing earth can know,
On thy dear head in streams of bounty flow,
And nought e'er dim the chain that binds us now,
In friendship's purest bond and warmest glow.
E.
Glasslough, March 3, 1837.