Lays from the West by M. A. Nicholl
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M. A. Nicholl >> Lays from the West
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If this flower as pledge were given
By true hearts in love,
Though on earth by sad doubts driven,
Yet their life above
Would be one in joy unending,
Undivided there,
Soul with soul in glory blending
In that kingdom fair.
This the legend I have told thee
Of the flower I send.
Oh, may its sweet leaves unfold thee
Hope, with such an end!
"THE EXILE'S REVERIE."
It is sweet to dream of the vanished times, in this changing
land of ours,
When we touch the hidden spring of thought, with the wand of
mystic powers,
That Remembrance yields to our yearning hearts, that are
lonely left, and pine
For the loves once ours, till shadowy forms come round us,
and flit and shine.
Through the gloom that wraps the earth-tired soul, that
drifts on life's sea apart,
Missing the clasp of a kindred hand, or thrill of heart to
heart.
Alone! alone! on the wide, wide world, where hope can console
no more;
Alone! alone! on the friendless waste, strange, on a stranger
shore.
Oft times when the gloaming gathers round, and the night wind
moans on the hill
Like a ghostly voice from the buried dead, when all around is
still,
In the midnight darkness and silence, I call through the mist
and maze,
To the sunny joys of the glad, bright dream, of the golden,
bygone days.
Then the poem of the wakened long-ago, to the music of memory
flows,
Now filled as with bridal gladness, now wailing out dirge-
like woes;
Through sunshine and summer glories, through brightness and
fragrant blooms,
Through howling storms, 'neath winter skies, through weeping
and murky glooms.
And then, when the weird strain ceases, and the fitful music
is done,
The pictures I love to gaze on, rise slowly, one by one
Through the mist of the past slow coming, they give to our
eyes once more,
What Death has stolen from me, and Death can alone restore.
Again, as in early childhood, I feel the fond caress
Of my mother's lips, or I hear the tones of my father's voice
that bless
His child in its gleeful gambols; Oh! happy and peaceful
hours!
Ye come in visions of golden noons, and sunshine, and shady
bowers!
And the low-breathed prayer when the sunset glow'd crimson in
the West,
And the sweet "Good-night," and the tender kiss, ere I sank
to tranquil rest;
Mother! that prayer still haunts me, adown the dreary years,
And the earnest tones of thy gentle voice, can steep my soul
in tears.
My brothers! faithful hearted! strong in your love, and true;
Oh! breaking heart, do you mock me? Can _they_ have
perished too?
In their morning time, when they shared my dreams of a Crown
and a Life-fight won,
Thank God, it was their's so early, when my fight had but
begun!
Oh, darling, best-beloved! keen now is the aching smart,
As when Death's chill touch on our clasped hands fell, when
he breathed the hard word "part,"
Only for earth's short span, my sweet, for love can never
die,
And the spirit bond but strengthens, as Time's wild waves
sweep bye.
Mine! by the vows soft-whispered, where hand in hand we
strayed
In twilight hours, through summer lanes, or roamed in the
lonely glade;
But the dream in its glory perished, and earth's brightest
hope was fled,
And light from my life was faded, when they laid thee with
the dead!
Elsie! my bright-haired sister! tender blossom and pure!
You drooped in that last storm's fury, too fragile its might
to endure;
And then I left the home-nest when my last sweet dove had
flown,
And sought to forget, amid stranger scenes, the sorrows my
soul had known.
It's thus the shadowy phantoms come back from the spirit-
shore,
When I cry in my lonely anguish for the joys now mine no
more.
I thrill with a passion'd yearning for the fuller life to be,
When my tired soul faints in wonder, lost in earth's
mystery!
CHURCH ISLAND, COUNTY DERRY.
"Oh, search with mother-love the gifts
Our land can boast;
Fair Erna's isles--Neagh's wooded slopes--
Green Antrim's coast."--MACCARTHY.
In peerless beauty, flushing, glowing,
O'er broad Lutigh Neagh's breast,
The sunset banner hovers, throwing
Its glory over the West.
And varied banks of glen and wood,
That smile round Neagh's smiling flood,
In this sweet hour seem fitting theme
For Poet's song or artist's dream.
Round the horizon, sternly frowning,
The mountains like a barrier rise,
The purple range, Slieve Gallion crowning,
Towers grimly to the western skies.
Northward Losgh Beg's bright waters play
Round the Church Isle, where, lone and grey.
The ruined pile with ivied walls
To present days the past recalls.
On many a grave the sunset gleams,
Where calmly rest the sleeping dead--
Tired mortals, done with mortal dreams
In other life, whetted they have fled.
E'en now they live! Oh! if tonight
One soul might earthward take its flight,
In awful tones methinks t'would say--
"Prepare for death, oh child of clay!"
Oh, time-worn walls! full many a word
Ye echoed in the Sabbath calm;
Love, warning, blessing, oft ye heard,
And solemn prayer, and chanted psalm;
And funeral dirge, as wild and high'
Rose on the gale the _caione_-cry,
Borne far and wide, o'er fern and brake,
As passed the cortege o'er the lake.
And legends of the days gone by
Tell that if, when a funeral train
Passed there, dark clouds swept over the sky,
And howled the wind and sobbed the rain,
Such storm was still an omen blest,
And told the spirit's happy rest.
If all were calm--then woe the dead!
Sad rose their wailing, weird and dread!
And that before a chieftain's death,
On moonless nights, by lightning shown,
How oft they saw the water-wraith,
And heard the weeping banshee's groan.
How many a barque, at midnight toss'd
And in the angry waters lost,
In the gray dawn-light seemed to glide
In phantom-beauty o'er the tide.
But ah! the past and all its lore
Is fading from our hearts away,
And memories of the times of yore
Are all forgotten in to day!
And now, 'tis but by peasants old
These cherished legends can be told;
For Erin's harp is mute and still,
Its mystic notes no heart can thrill!
Once minstrel hearts awoke its strain,
And swept its chords with master-hand;
But who can wake these lays again
In songs of love and fatherland?
Oh! when again shall such as they
Wake passion'd song and warrior's lay?
Till Erin's vales once more resound
With harp-notes long in silence bound!
LIVINGSTONE.
At last thou art resting; thy life-work is ended--
Thy life-work so nobly and faithfully done;
And thy name, with the names of the mightiest blended,
Shall be honored and loved as the ages roll on!
Far away in the wilds, as thy life-scene closed slowly,
How thy soul must have pined for one home-voice to cheer;
But the God, ever kind, of the high and the lowly,
With blessings and strength to thy spirit was near!
How sweet to thy tired soul that glorious light breaking
In beauty untold o'er the land of the blest,
As thou heard'st, in the hour of that wond'rous awaking--
"Well done, faithful servant, now enter thy rest!"
Great Britain's Columbus--her son and our glory!
Her true hearts with love shall beat high at thy name;
Thou shalt stand 'mong the first in our country's proud
story,
And be graven with fire on the Temple of Fame!
Oh! that some minstrel soul, from the days long departed
Would awake, a meet requiem o'er thee to sing--
And tell of thy brave deeds--the high, lion-hearted--
Till the listening nations their homage would bring!
A DREAM AT SUNRISE.
Sapphire and rosy brightness in the East;
Fresh, light-winged zephyrs o'er the hilltops stray
And through the valleys roam, through glens and woods
Waking the leaves and flowers to morning life,
Seeming to tell to all--"The sun is near!"
Slow--brightening now, the rose-light deeper grown
The sapphire flames in wondrous golden maze,
And, all unrivalled, the great King of Day,
In dazzling glory, mounts his regal throne!
To me a vision down the sunbeams came,
When wrapt in wonder by the beauty-spell,
My soul, entranced, afar from earth did soar,
Unshackled, free, and drank the grandeur of the hour
Brightest and fairest hour of all the day,
When new life thrills the veins as when of old
The morning stars their high thanksgivings raised,
And all the sons of God did shout for joy!
Wondering, I cried, "Oh, Earth is very fair!
I cannot see the shadow of man's fall
On aught around me--sin has left no trace:
Oh! for a bower in such a scene as this,
Where Love and Beauty, blessed by Peace, might dwell!"
Then round me, on the light wind softly borne,
I heard the numbers of an unseen harp,
And turning, saw an angel near me stand.
He sang of earthly love, and the soft tones
Of his sweet harp were like Aeolian strains
Far breathing o'er some blissful Eden world!
And as I listened, all my holiest dreams
Of harmony, ideal, grand, and high,
Seem'd discord. Then methought I saw,
Upon the morning hills, a bower arise.
Bright flowers of wondrous hues around it bloomed,
All, all of beauty that the heart could dream
Was there; and, lov'lier far than all,
A sweet-eyed maiden, twining rose-wreaths fair!
Dark clouds arose and dimmed the glowing sky;
The lightnings flashed, and fearful thunder pealed;
And, as they shook the bower, I hid mine eyes,
Fearing to see the beauteous visions fade.
The fierce storm ceased. I raised mine eyes again,
And saw the wreck of what was once so fair;
The flowers had perished, and the maiden wept--
Then all the picture melted into air!
"This shows," the angel said, "what sin has done;
Death and decay must fall on earthly things.
See that you read God's mighty Teacher right--
The Book of Nature wide before you spread.
'Twas given for man to look on, love, and learn;
But men have eyes, and will not read its lore--
Ears, and the God-sent teachings will not hear!
Earth's glories and her brightness all must fade;
Yet, while they linger, still they say, 'Prepare.'"
"LINES ON VISITING EARLY SCENES."
Oh! well-known scenes of childhood's days,
Again ye meet my longing eyes;
And still, as memory backward strays,
A thousand tender visions rise;
Of days when youth's all potent powers
Could trace in light the coming hours,
Of dreams that withered with the flowers
That round my pathway sprung!
When fond Belief, unchill'd by Time,
Built airy castles, high and grand;
When fickle Fancy's dreams sublime
Made Earth appear a fairyland!
Yon school-house seems the same to day--
Each well-remembered turn and way
Are there--yet, ah! how far away
Are childhood's hours from me!
Still, still the same--the cherished scene,
That ever thro' the varying years,
Deep-graven on my heart has been,
In morns of joy--in nights of tears.
And oft in darksome times of pain,
When hope seem'd dead, and comfort vain,
Ye shone upon life's desert plain
A friendly light, and true.
And often when the tide of care
Beat strong against my fragile bark--
When stormy doubt loom'd everywhere,
With nought to light the gloomy dark--
The faith I knew in early days,
Ere yet I trod the world's hard ways,
Led gently through the 'wildering maze,
And whispered words of peace!
Sweet peace, amid the din and strife
And holy thoughts and calm repose;
The promise of a better life--
The joy that from _believing_ flows!
As when amid these scenes I'd stray,
And dream through all the golden day
Of coming years, in bright array,
Till earth would seem a heaven!
The Hand that led Youth's steps aright,
The Love that blessed its careless hours--
Shall they not strengthen for the fight,
Then wreathe the Victor's brow with flowers?
Yes! and ere from these scenes I go,
I've learned what all must come to know--
Earth's wisdom is but empty show--
"The child shall teach the man!"
IDOL WORSHIP.
Idol worship in these later ages,
When the light of learning shines so clear,
Golden sayings graved on million pages--
Wisdom's voices sounding far and near.
Idol worship, subtle and deceiving,
Lives mis-spent and talents thrown away;
Grim remorse, and after years of grieving--
Skeletons that haunt us night and day.
Idols have we manifold in number--
Idols worshipped both in age and youth;
Visions that beguile life's fitful slumber,
Soul-destroying, blinding us to truth.
All unreal dreams that fade and perish,
Painted idols, rich in gilded shrines--
Airy phantoms that we blindly cherish,
Clad in borrowed tints from Fancy's mines.
All the shining, glittering, worthless splendour--
All the brilliance of the earthly toy
That we deck with careful hands and tender,
Is not gold, but dross and foul alloy.
Earth-born idols, lovely but in seeming,
Flitting round us in the moonlight hours
On Love's holy shrine we place them dreaming,
"Though all else may leave us, _this_ is ours!"
Oh! like meteor-flashings gleaming only
Through the far-off vapours, dense and dark,
Disappearing, leaves, misled and lonely
'Mid the angry waves, the storm-beat bark.
So our earthly idols, vain, deceiving,
Come with promise fair for future years;
Fill us with false hopes, forsake us, leaving
Nought but memory's torture, gloom and tears.
Oh! may we, their many tempting scorning
From earth's sceptres lift our yearning sigh
To fadeless flowers the heavenly hills adorning
That shall be ours when we have gained the high.
Not the joy whose end is gloom and sadness--
Withering flowers that deck the earthly sod
Patience hath her crown--eternal gladness--
By the living "hid with Christ in God."
IN WINTER DAYS.
Spring, and Summer-time, and Autumn
Now are flown-
Dreamy noontides--mellow sunsets--
Balmy twilights--all are gone!
Hope's bright visions, carmine-tinted,
Where are they?
Dreams that mocked us in the sunlight
Now in Winter pass'd away.
Joy shall reign when Spring returning
Wakes the flowers
That the tender Earth has guarded
Safely thro' the Winter hours;
But the sad winds round me sighing
Seem to sing
She hath treasures in her bosom
That she cannot yield in Spring!
And I weep in yearning sadness,
Worse than vain,
For the vanished joys that Summer
Ne'er can bring to me again!
PARTED.
Slow lingering months with swifter pace move on--
Let this dark winter of my life be past;
This cloud athwart the sky of summer thrown--
Whose gloom and darkness on my heart is cast.
Parted--Death's deep, dark river rolls between;
Those talks and rambled when the day was done
And now among the things that once have been,
And I am left in sadness here alone!
Parted! Oh, me, he is for ever gone!
How hopeless _now_ the sunset's golden ray;
How far off seem those joys we both have known,
How cheerless look the paths we used to stray!
Just when the autumn days grew short and chill,
When all its sunny hours seemed past and o'er,
And moaning winds swept wildly o'er the hill,
Like some sere leaf he fell, to rise no more.
The spring shall come, and leaves grow green again,
And vernal beauty to the earth return;
Sunshine and flowers shall deck the hill and plane,
And birds awake with song to greet the morn.
But he has flown far from our wintry sphere,
Where fadeless summer glads the spring-bright clime;
Not where the tempest clouds spread grief and fear,
But safely moored beyond the waves of time!
Mine is the weeping--his the blissful change;
Mine is the waiting--his the sighed-for peace;
Mine through these dreary, lingering years to range,
until I find a land where partings cease.
RETROSPECTIVE.
I'm free from the city's noises now,
And the city cares that bound me;
I chase their shadows off my brow,
'Mid the rural scenes around me.
And alone in the shadowy evening light,
In the deepening gloom and sadness,
I roam the paths of past delight
Of youth's wild dream of gladness.
I see the panorama vast
That to these eyes is giving
The joyous scenes of that dead past
Still in my bosom living.
I call those thoughts and memories back
That stern-faced Toil has banished,
And wander o'er the beaten track
Of happy days long vanished.
The friends of youth for whom I sigh--
The true and tender-hearted;
The happiness of days gone by,
The pleasures long departed:
I see them all again to-night,
They seem to come and linger
Like pictures traced in truest light
By Memory's artist finger.
Those happy times, to me how dear!
Well loved, yet lost for ever;
Those forms that I can fancy near,
Can they return? Ah, never!
Grim Time's dark shadow of decay
Falls on our hopes when brightest;
A cloud may dim our sky of May
When happy hearts beat lightest.
When golden sunbeams softly fall
In light on shrub and flower,
E'en then a storm to blight them all
May in the distance lour!
But still when evening's shadowy light
Steals round in gloom and sadness,
I'll feel a thrill of old delight,
Of youth's wild dream of gladness!
DUNLUCE.
In concert grand the tuneful waves
Break wildly on the foam-girt shore,
And through a thousand secret caves
The shrill wind-voices loudly roar.
Now are the harps of the Ocean waking,
'Mid the howling winds and the billows breaking!
The mermaid leaves her ocean home
To sing her love-songs, soft and tender;
The moonlight gilds the breaker's foam,
And bathes the sea in silvery splendour;
And the splashing spray on the White Rocks falling
Sounds like lonely voices of Ocean calling.
Oh, lone Dunluce! looking o'er the sea,
With tower and keep so grim and hoary,
Do the waves' wild revels recall to thee
The days of your long-departed glory--
When the wan, weird moonlight is round thee streaming,
With the stars' pale light on your gray walls beaming?
Oh, stern old relic of bygone ages!
Oh, stout old scorner of Time's rude hand!
Your name shall live in our history's pages
While a poet sings in our native land;
And your fame shall be heard in old Erin's story
When we tell of the days of her vanished glory.
Ah! many a tale not in history's keeping,
Of lordly chieftain and lady fair,
in the gloom of Oblivion now are sleeping,
And can never be told in the twilight there;
Who repose unremembered in graves unknown,
Where the storms of past ages have o'er them blown.
I can almost fancy the winds are singing
Those stories forgotten by all but thee,
And the rolling waves in their turn are bringing
Back mem'ries of olden chivalry;
Wild minstrels around thee in darkness stealing
The scenes of the long ago revealing
I hear in the distance their harp-notes swelling
In a dirge-like wail o'er the moaning sea,
And I think that their mournful strains are telling
A thousand tales of the past to me.
The echoing caves to their songs replying,
As each fitful sound on the gale is dying.
Wild minstrels of Nature, whose poet-fire
Rings out through her solitudes, wild and grand.
Let your spirit rest on my feeble lyre,
And I'll chain it there with a willing hand.
And when Night hangs her myriad star-lamps shine
Let me blend her notes with your wondrous chord.
THOUGHTS AT EVENTIDE.
"I hold it true, with one who sings
To one clear lute of divers tunes.
That men may rise on stepping-stones
Of their dead selves to higher things."--TENNYSON
Lo! the sunset fire is burning in the roseate sky of evening
Where grand in dying glory sinks the god of day to rest
And wide o'er the dewy meadows lie the golden lights and
shadows,
Like gleams that come to cheer us from the regions the
blest!
Slow the fiery orb is sinking down below the purple
mountains;
Still the splendour of his radiance lingers round us for a
while;
And the peaceful country bowers, and the stately run towers,
Are rejoicing in the beauty of the glad, refulgent smiles.
From the trees and from the meadows the bird-song wild and
tender,
In sweet and mingled chorus, like vesper songs, arise
With the evening zephyrs blending, on their airy wings
ascending,
Like anthems of thanksgiving they are ringing thro' the
skies.
The children's happy voices from the village playground
stealing,
With the cadence of their laughter, come floating through
the air;
And the face of Nature smiling, every thought of care
beguiling,
Soothes my restless soul to musing in the twilight calm and
fair,--
Keeps my soul in peaceful musing, 'mid the tranquil summer
gloaming,
When the cares of day are ended, and its labours all are
done;
When the Dove of Peace is stealing o'er the valleys, bringing
healing
On her white wings to the weary, with the rest that they
have won.
Here let me sit and ponder on life's long and varied story,
On the things that are, and have been, and the times that
are to be;
Of the past and of the present, of the darksome days and
pleasant,
And the future years, still hidden, that are kept in store
for me.
But, the past--should I deplore it? All my longing can't
restore it;
Still it lies beyond my reaching, to come back to me no
more;
It is right to keep and cherish, or to let its memory perish,
Like a dream to be forgotten, when the hours of sleep are
o'er?
Like a dream to be forgotten, like a phantom, a delusion
That but lured away our moments with its subtle, witching
powers,
Till it sinks our souls in sadness with the dreams of
gladness,
And the thoughts of vanished pleasures that can ne'er again
be ours.
Let me cease this idle longing for the days that have
departed,
It is worse than useless wishing for a light grown dim and
dead:
For joy so lovely seeming, when we clasp them in our
dreaming,
And know we must awaken and remember all is fled.
Let past failures be our beacon through the breakers spread
around us,
To show where danger meets us on life's rough and troubled
main--
Where earth's joys like billows meeting, on the rock's care
are beating,
And we see them dashed and shattered where they can not
rise again.
Let me wake, and cease repining; let me learn life's sternest
lesson--
Joys when born of earth are earthy, and must therefore fade
and die;
Let me feel new knowledge glowing, on my opening eye
bestowing
The experience that will lead me to a fairer, by-and-by.
'Tis our past has made our present, so our present makes our
future,
Let us work, and cease of wishing--let us _do_, not
_dream_ through life;
Ever mindful, never straying, with our earnest hearts still
praying
For the guerdon of the worker, and the winner in the
strife.
LIFE.
Life is a day. In its morning bright
We frolic and scamper, free and light.
'Tis a happy path that we have to run,
The way is pleasant when new-begun.
The sky of our youth is clear and blue,
With no clouds to impede our raptured view;
There's a prize to win in its golden hours--
Let us work with zeal, and that prize is ours.
There's a laurel crown for the victor's brow,
And a time to win it--that time is now!
Now, when our hearts are young and gay,
Ere the light of our morning fades away.
It is hard to work 'neath the noon-day sun,
But the rest shall be sweet when the work is done;
It is hard to struggle and fight alone,
But the prize we win shall be all our own.
The noontide fades, and the evening grey
Overtakes us soon on our weary way;
But our day of working will soon be o'er,
And the rest is nearer us than before.
Life is a night, to watch and pray
For the coming dawn of a brighter day;
But our lamps are trimmed--we have nought to fear,
The darkness is fleeting--the dawn is near.
And now we see through a darkened glass
The shadowy scenes of the future pass;
But then, in a morn of unclouded light,
It shall break in glory upon our sight.
The Master shall come when the night is o'er,
And bid us to work and watch no more;
He shall tell His servants their work is done,
And bestow the crown they have nobly won!
A SUMMER SONG.
The summer flowers in regal bloom
Make field and garden fair,
Their fragrance in the dreamy noon
Perfumes the balmy air;
The river murmurs through the vale
Upon its sea-bound way,
And o'er the pleasant hill and dale
The birds sing blythe and gay,--
And river, flowers, and birds to me
Are ever bringing thoughts of Thee!
The woods at eve are cool and lone;
And when I linger there,
There's something in the wind's soft moan
That whispers Thou art near.
My thoughts by Fancy's chains are bound
As by a magic spell,
And strange, sweet visions wrap me round
While in the lonely dell,--
And rustling leaves and murmuring streams
To me are bringing sweetest dreams.
The sunset saddens in the West,
The stars peep through the skies;
The weary day is hush'd to rest
By gentlest zephyr sighs;
The wavelets break upon the shore.
The moon shines o'er the sea,
The sandy beech I wander o'er
Alone to dream of Thee,--
And stars, and sky, and moonlit sea,
All, all are bringing thoughts of Thee!
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