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

by Emma Toke

For works with similar titles, see Lines.

LINES.

TRANGE, 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.