Poems (Toke)/Lines (Strange, strange! what rushing memories come)

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For works with similar titles, see Lines.
4623811Poems — LinesEmma Toke
LINES.
STRANGE, strange! what rushing memories come
With that familiar strain;
And how within mine own old home,
I seem to live again!
Belovèd forms are floating near,
Yet still I feel alone
Glad voices ring upon mine ear,
Yet mournful is their tone.

Oh! ever thus, on Memory's dream,
A tinge of grief is cast,
And shadows deep though softened, seem
To linger o'er the past:
E'en when the thought of youthful joy
Almost to mirth beguiles,
We mingle light with shade, and sigh
Amid remembered smiles.

It is not that grief presses now,
Or joy has passed away,—
Perchance a better, calmer glow,
Illumes life's noontide day;
But o'er the past we linger still
With melancholy gaze,
And think we ne'er again can feel
As in those merry days.

We love to trace again the dreams,
The thoughts of other years,
While o'er that land of memory streams
A sunshine blent with tears!
And still beams forth, in golden dyes,
The light of early day,
While every cloud on those bright skies
Has almost fled away.

And yet—oh! wayward hearts and strange!
While o'er the past we grieve,
Our present lot we would not change
For all this world can give:
One blessing that entwines us now
We would not see decay,
For all the sunshine and the glow
Of youth's most brilliant day.

But still, that holy melody
Awakes within my breast
Remembrances that cannot die,
And thoughts that will not rest.
Old times return, old feelings rush
Upon my heart again,
Till all is lost in that deep gush
Of mingled joy and pain.

Oh! well it is, we feel 'tis vain
Upon the past to gaze,
And think how we should live again
The scenes of bygone days:
Enough, if thankfully we learn
The present hour to prize,
And as Time gone can ne'er return,
Improve it as it flies.

E.

March 3, 1839.