Classic Poem

How like a bright and living thing,
Shadow'd by Twilight's pensive wing,
Yon lone star gleams! Each crimson fold
Of the rich sunset melts away,
And skies of blue and seas of gold
Are flooded with the glorious ray.
But see! now softly falls the shade
O'er bower and stream and pleasant glade,
And the sweet lake that sleeps so still—
Mirrors the brow of yonder hill,
O'er which, that star with beaming smile,
Seems fairer, as the requiem sound
Comes through the greenwood's leafy aisle;
While every fairy spot around
And every vale and forest dim
Are sending forth their evening hymn.

Star of the Evening! I have seen
Thy beauty with a burning thrill
Of wondrous love; and I have been
All calm, and motionless, and still,
While thou wast there in Heaven—so mild,
So beautiful—Ah! man should weep
To think that e'en a sinless child,—
Whose pulses move in breathing sleep,
Ere flies the hour that gives it birth,—
The purest thing that lives on Earth,
Is not as pure—as bright as thou,
Celestial gem, that on the brow
Of that uplifted mount will gleam,—
Till the lost Plerad smiles once more,
And pictured on the stainless stream
Glows holier, brighter than before.
Oh! there are roses in the heart
That bloom awhile, then droop and die;
But the left seeds will ofttimes start
Up into form again, and try
If gentler breezes waft their balm
When tempest sorrows sink to rest,
And rainbow hues with soothing calm
Are bending o'er the unruffled breast;—
For youth hath grief—and tears must hide
Our diamond's light; though fancies glide
On joyous pinions through the air
That floats around day's orient—yet
The o'erhanging clouds will curtain there,
All darkly as at life's sunset.

Thou blessed scene! thy look of love
From the sealed fountains of the soul
Calls sweetest springs. Like the pure Dove,
Joyless I've wandered, where the roll
Of waves was heard; but from yon sky
Glancing beneath the lake's blue eye
So blissfully—thou seem'st to be,
Bright thing, an olive-branch for me.
And musing thus—upon the spot
Where many rainbow hours had cast
Their brightness, ne'er to be forgot,
Till age's mist shall veil the past,
I stood in solitude—alone
With Nature—listening to the tone
Of former music, like the strain
That bursts from some neglected lyre
When woke by the same voice again,
Which erst had roused its hidden fire.
And thus—when future years shall fling
Their dark and gloomy shadows o'er
Thoughts that flew off on halcyon wing,
Such scenes, that gladdened Life before,
Will rise from Memory's voiceless tomb
To gild anew my twilight hours;
And cause the desert heart to bloom
With buried Love's undying flowers.