Poems (Toke)/Lines (Thou moon, that now with melancholy grace)
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For works with similar titles, see Lines.
HOU Moon, that now with melancholy grace
Glidest athwart the clear and wintry sky,
As calmly shining on the frost-bound earth,
As when it basked in Summer's deep repose,
I love to gaze upon thy queenly brow,
Shining, like other monarchs of this earth,
Surrounded by thy stars, and yet alone,
And feel thou art the same, the very same,
That first delighted childhood's upturned eye
And glowing heart, with visions bright as fair,
And seemed a world of wonders to enfold
Within thy glittering ring. No marvel then
Appeared too wild, too wondrous, to believe;
And fancy peopled soon thine airy realms,
With beings, varied as the countless dreams
Of joyous infancy. For who can paint
The unsought pleasures of that early time,
When every outward form that meets the eye,
Or sound that strikes the ear, but seems to wake
New springs of happiness, fresh founts of joy,
That gush unceasing from the exhaustless wells
Of childhood's glowing heart? But never more
Can ye return again, bright cloudless days;
For care and pain were then alike to ye
Unfelt, unknown. Alas! with all, too soon
The golden hours of infancy are past;
The spotless heart receives the world's first stair,
And learns—perchance unconsciously—to feel
That sin and sorrow ever here below
Come hand in hand. And though each passing year
Brings shadows, light at first, but deeper felt
As life rolls onward, with its gathering tide
Of joys and sorrows, still 'tis well to feel,
The perfect bliss of childhood's morning hour
Could only shine upon a stainless mind,
A purity, which, once the world's cold breath
Has dimmed its snow, can never come again.
LINES.
HOU Moon, that now with melancholy graceGlidest athwart the clear and wintry sky,
As calmly shining on the frost-bound earth,
As when it basked in Summer's deep repose,
I love to gaze upon thy queenly brow,
Shining, like other monarchs of this earth,
Surrounded by thy stars, and yet alone,
And feel thou art the same, the very same,
That first delighted childhood's upturned eye
And glowing heart, with visions bright as fair,
And seemed a world of wonders to enfold
Within thy glittering ring. No marvel then
Appeared too wild, too wondrous, to believe;
And fancy peopled soon thine airy realms,
With beings, varied as the countless dreams
Of joyous infancy. For who can paint
The unsought pleasures of that early time,
When every outward form that meets the eye,
Or sound that strikes the ear, but seems to wake
New springs of happiness, fresh founts of joy,
That gush unceasing from the exhaustless wells
Of childhood's glowing heart? But never more
Can ye return again, bright cloudless days;
For care and pain were then alike to ye
Unfelt, unknown. Alas! with all, too soon
The golden hours of infancy are past;
The spotless heart receives the world's first stair,
And learns—perchance unconsciously—to feel
That sin and sorrow ever here below
Come hand in hand. And though each passing year
Brings shadows, light at first, but deeper felt
As life rolls onward, with its gathering tide
Of joys and sorrows, still 'tis well to feel,
The perfect bliss of childhood's morning hour
Could only shine upon a stainless mind,
A purity, which, once the world's cold breath
Has dimmed its snow, can never come again.
No; though the mighty river may sweep on,
With all the lustre of the summer skies
Reflected on the glorious mirror of its breast,
Yet never more can those deep waters seem
To dance with murmuring gladness on their way,
Like the bright mountain streamlet whence they sprang.
And life's meridian tide, with placid flow,
May glide unruffled on its peaceful course;
But once the joyous dayspring has gone by,
And merry childhood's shallow sparkling rill
Has blended with the deeper waves of time,
The midday sun can touch that shaded stream
With living light no more.
With all the lustre of the summer skies
Reflected on the glorious mirror of its breast,
Yet never more can those deep waters seem
To dance with murmuring gladness on their way,
Like the bright mountain streamlet whence they sprang.
And life's meridian tide, with placid flow,
May glide unruffled on its peaceful course;
But once the joyous dayspring has gone by,
And merry childhood's shallow sparkling rill
Has blended with the deeper waves of time,
The midday sun can touch that shaded stream
With living light no more.
Yet would not I,
With cold ingratitude, thus seem to mourn,
As if the hours of infancy alone
Were fraught with purest joy; for my fair lot
Has been, and is, with countless blessings stored,
That every year seems showering freshly down,
As rich as undeserved. The holiest ties
That earth can know, are twining round my heart,—
The wife's, the mother's untold bliss are mine;
And I look back upon life's glowing morn
With fond remembrance, but without a sigh,
Unless for wasted talents, misspent hours,
For many a blessing, duly valued now,
Unprized, unheeded then. And I can gaze
On thee, bright watcher of the silent night!
With feelings warm as in that early time,
Although their brightest hues perchance may seem
Subdued and softened now. The visioned dreams
That floated round thee may have passed away,
But still 'tis sweet to watch thy silver orb
Glide on in silence through the midnight sky,
And feel, that liquid lustre falls as clear
Upon the mountains of my native land,
Those scenes familiar from life's earliest dawn,
Alas! how distant now! and sweeter still
To think that other eyes, beloved and dear,
Though scattered wide upon the world's rough waves,
Perchance at this same moment gaze on thee;
Perchance with swelling heart may breathe for me,
The blessing that I fondly breathe for them.
E.
With cold ingratitude, thus seem to mourn,
As if the hours of infancy alone
Were fraught with purest joy; for my fair lot
Has been, and is, with countless blessings stored,
That every year seems showering freshly down,
As rich as undeserved. The holiest ties
That earth can know, are twining round my heart,—
The wife's, the mother's untold bliss are mine;
And I look back upon life's glowing morn
With fond remembrance, but without a sigh,
Unless for wasted talents, misspent hours,
For many a blessing, duly valued now,
Unprized, unheeded then. And I can gaze
On thee, bright watcher of the silent night!
With feelings warm as in that early time,
Although their brightest hues perchance may seem
Subdued and softened now. The visioned dreams
That floated round thee may have passed away,
But still 'tis sweet to watch thy silver orb
Glide on in silence through the midnight sky,
And feel, that liquid lustre falls as clear
Upon the mountains of my native land,
Those scenes familiar from life's earliest dawn,
Alas! how distant now! and sweeter still
To think that other eyes, beloved and dear,
Though scattered wide upon the world's rough waves,
Perchance at this same moment gaze on thee;
Perchance with swelling heart may breathe for me,
The blessing that I fondly breathe for them.
E.
December, 1839,