The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction. Volume 13, No. 369, May 9, 1829. Various

Чтение книги онлайн.

      Death! and why should it be

      That hideous mystery

      Is with those atoms integral combin'd?

      Alas! too well—too well,

      I've prob'd unto the spell

      In each dark imag'd sound, that lurks entwin'd!

      Eternity, implied

      In Death, and long denied

      Now sacrifices my tortur'd menial gaze!

      Whilst, with its lurid light

      Heart-burnings fierce unite

      And what may quench, the guilty spirit's blaze?

      Annihilation!—this,

      Was once, the startling bliss

      I forc'd my soul to fancy Death should give!

      But, whilst I shudd'ring bless

      The hopes—of—nothingness,

      A something sighs: "Beyond the grave I live!"

      Tophet! I thrill! for scorn'd

      Was the sere thought, though warn'd

      Ofttimes that Death, enclos'd that dread abyss!

      Now, by each burning vein

      And venom'd conscience—pain

      I know the terrors of that world, in this!

      Heaven! ay, 'tis in Death

      For him, whose fragile breath

      Wends from a breast of piety and peace,

      But darkness, chains, and dree

      Eternal, are for me

      Since Death's tremendous myst'ries never cease!

      I have thought of you much since we parted,

      And wished for you every day,

      And often the sad tear has started,

      And often I've brush'd it away;

      When the thought of thy sweet smile come o'er me

      Like a sunbeam the tempest between,

      And the hope of thy love shone before me

      So brilliantly bright and serene,

      I remember thy last vow that made me

      Forget all my sorrow and care,

      And I think of the dear voice that bade me

      Awake from the dream of despair.

      I regard not the gay scene around me,

      The smiles of the young and the free,

      Have not now the soft charm that once bound me.

      For that hath been broken by thee;

      And tho' voices, dear voices are teeming,

      With friendship and gladness, and wit,

      And a welcome from bright eyes is beaming,

      I cannot, I cannot, forget—

      I may join in the dance and the song,

      And laugh with the witty and gay,

      Yet the heart and best feelings that throng

      Around it, are far, far away.

      Dost remember the scene we last traced, love,

      When the smile from night's radiant queen

      Beamed bright o'er the valley, and chased love

      The spirit of gloom from the scene?

      And the riv'let how heedless it rushed, love,

      From its home in the mountain away,

      And the wild rose how faintly it blush'd, love,

      In the light of the moon's silver ray:

      Oh, that streamlet was like unto me,

      Parting from whence its brightness first sprung,

      And that sweet rose was the emblem of thee,

      As so pale on my bosom you hung.

      Dearest, why did I leave thee behind me,

      Oh! why did I leave thee at all,

      Ev'ry day that dawns, only can find me

      In sorrow, and tho' the sweet thrall

      Of my heart serves to cheer and to check me

      When sorrow or passion have sway,

      Yet I'd rather have thee to hen-peck1 me,

      Than be from thy bower away;

      And, dear Judy, I'm still what you found me,

      When we met in the grove by the rill,

      I forget not the spell that first bound me,

      And I shall not, till feeling be still.