Classic Poem

Oh ! for a day of that departed time
When thou and I, lost Leonore, were young!
That dawn of feeling, that delicious prime
When Hope sang for us an unceasing song!
When life was love, and love was joy unworn,
And clouds turned all their silver to our gaze;
When each sweet night brought forth a sweeter morn —
Where art thou, dearest of my early days?

Oh! what a world of poesy was ours,
And poesy with passion undefiled!
Heaven with its stars, and earth with all her flowers,
Seemed made for us, for us alone they smiled;
Fused in each other's dreams, a constant spring,
One, yet apart, we trod all pleasant ways,
Sat down with Nature, heard her teach and sing, —
Where art thou, dearest of my early days?

With thee all beauty wore a lovelier face;
With thee all grandeur a sublimer mien;
With thee all music was a holier grace;
With thee all motion ecstasy unseen;
Without thee life was colourless and vain,
And common pleasure a bewildering maze,
All thought was languor, and all effort vain, —
Where art thou, dearest of my early days?

I loved, how well let this worn cheek attest,
And these sad eyes with fresh tears streaming o'er;
Deep in the hidden chambers of my breast
The fire burns on, but ne'er to bless me more: —
Oh! Nevermore! a dreary word that falls
Like a dread knell that sets the brain acraze,
A word of doom that withers and appals, —
Where art thou, dearest of my early days?

We loved, but one with unrelenting power,
With selfish soul intent on cruel schemes —
Stepped in between us one disastrous hour,
And swept to ruin all our hopes and dreams;
And we were parted, thou to share the life
Of the gay crowd that dazzles and betrays,
I to contend with penury and strife, —
Where art thou, dearest of my early days?

I see thee as I saw thee " long ago "
(A fond, yet fatal time for thee and me),
When with the eloquence of love and woe
We blessed each other 'neath the alder tree; —
The aged alder, whose umbrageous boughs
Sigh where our native river sings and plays;
Which heard our earliest and our latest vows, —
Where art thou, dearest of my early days?

I see thee as I saw, when, one sweet eve,
I dared to pour my passion in thine ear,
And thou didst lean to listen and believe,
With mixed emotions of delight and fear;
I see the quick blush flitting o'er thy cheek,
And the soft fire of thy confiding gaze,
I feel thy heart in throbbing language speak, —
Where art thou, dearest of my early days?

I see thee as I saw thee everywhere,
In the calm household graceful, quiet, kind,
In the broad sunshine and the breezy air
Bright as the beam, and buoyant as the wind;
I see thee flushed, and floating like a cloud
In the gay festival's enchanting maze,
And, lovelier still, in prayer serenely bowed, —
Where art thou, dearest of my early days?

Thou wast my earliest Muse: from thee I drew
My inspiration, which hath found a tongue,
The feeling quickened, germinated, grew,
Till I was shadowed with a bower of song;
And now men hail and syllable my name, —
Would thou couldst share the glory and the praise,
Thy love would lift me to a loftier fame, —
Where art thou, dearest of my early days?

Art thou of earth, sweet spirit of the past?
The lost and mourned, the adored and unforgot!
Hast thou been beaten by Misfortune's blast?
Or dost thou revel in a brighter lot?
Is there another whom thine eyes approve?
Is there another whom thy heart obeys? —
Or dost thou sorrow o'er thy blighted love?
Where art thou, dearest of my early days?

Art thou of Heaven? and dost thou now behold,
Stooping, in pity, from thy sainted sphere —
Thy poor, forsaken worshipper of old,
Despairing, desolate, and darkling here?
I look for thee, I long for thee, I languish
To press thee, bless thee, ere my life decays;
Still my lorn soul cries after thee with anguish,
Where art thou, dearest of my early days?