George W. Sands

“ A moment more, And the quick throbbings of her heart shall cease, Her pain-wrung spirit will obtain release, And all be o'er! Hush! Seal ye up Your gushing tears, for Mercy's hand hath shaken Her earth-bonds off, and from her lip hath taken Grief's bitter cup. Ye know the dead Are they who rest secure from care and strife,— That they who walk the thorny way of life, Have tears to shed. Ye know her pray'r, Was for the quiet of the tomb's deep rest,— Love's sepulchre lay cold within her breast, Could peace dwell there? A tale soon told, Is of her life the story ”

“ Warrior of the youthful brow, Eager heart and eagle eye! Pants thy soul for battle now? Burns thy glance with victory? Dost thou dream of conflicts done, Perils past and trophies won? And a nation's grateful praise Given to thine after days? Bloodless is thy cheek, and cold As the clay upon it prest; And in many a slimy fold, Winds the grave-worm round thy breast. Thou wilt join the fight no more,— Glory's dream with thee is o'er,— And alike are now to thee Greatness and obscurity. But an ever sunny sky, O'er thy place of rest is bending ”

“ The Father of Creation! the Bridegroom Of the Spirit! hath He not written that Death has dominion only over sin? And thou would'st know if other worlds have felt The curse that fell upon, and blighted thine. Poor simple child of clay! no doubt thou know'st The story of the Eden of thy sire, And think'st that there, in its fresh, stainless breast, The baleful seeds of evil first were sown, Which since have spread so fearfully abroad,— When the sad doom, that came on him and his, Was but the spray, cast from the wave of fate, Which just then reached thy newly finished orb. ”

“ And when I look upon thee, bearing now The promise of such loveliness, I ask If time will blight, that promise; if thy brow, So sunny now, will learn to wear the mask Of hollow smiles, or cold deceit, whilst thou Art learning in thy soul the bitter task Time teaches to all bosoms, when the glow Of hope is o'er—but this I may not know. My path will not be near to thine through life,— Kind ones will guard and fondly shelter thee; Me bitterness awaits, and care and strife, And all that sorrow has of agony; My future, as my past was, will be rife With heartaches, and the pangs that "pass not by;" ”

“ His form of manhood's noblest length Was strung with manhood's stoutest strength, And burned within his eagle eye The blaze of tameless energy— Not tameless but untamed—for life Soon breaks the spirit with its strife And they who in their souls have nursed The brightest visions, are the first To learn how Disappointment's blight Strips life of its illusive light; How dreams the heart has dearest held Are ever first to be dispelled; How hope, and power, and love, and fame, Are each an idly sounding name, A phantom, a deceit, a wile, That woos and dazzles to beguile. ”

“ Fame had whispered in thine ear, Words the high-souled love to hear,— But the ruthless hand of death From thee snatched the hero's wreath. Often will the grief-shade start O'er thy sister's mood of joy, Vainly will thy mother's heart Yearn to greet her absent boy; Never sister's lip shall press On thine own its fond caress,— Never more a mother's eye Flash in pride when thou art by! Where the orange, bending lowly With its golden fruit, is swaying; And the Indian maiden, slowly By her native stream is straying ”

“ I could not weep; a sadness more profound Than that from which those heart-drops, tears, are shed, Was in my soul,—for then the icy spell Of desolation freezing o'er me fell. And from that hour I have been alone, Alone when crowds were round me. May thy fate Be coloured with a brighter hue, and strown With flowers where mine is thorns;—where mine is hate, And strife, and bitter discord, may thine own Be love, and hope, and peace—for these create The sunshine of existence; may their light Beam ever round thee, warm, and glad, and bright. ”

“ There! balmier than the south wind, when it brings The scent of aromatic shrub and tree, And tropic flower on ifs glowing wings, Thine odorous breath is wafted over me; How to thy dewy lips mine own lip clings, And my whole being is absorbed in thee; And in my breast thine eyes have lit a fire That never, never, never shall expire! Eternal—is it not eternal—this Our passionate love? what pow'r shall part us twain? Not even Death! Life could bestow no bliss Like death with thee, and I would rend its chain If thou shouldst perish, for my heaven is To gaze upon thee! ”

“ Like her, thou art majestic, pale and sad, And of a tender beauty: those bright curls That press thy brow, and cling about thy neck, Seem made of sunbeams, caught upon their way To earth, by some creative hand, and woven Into a fairy web, of light and life, Conscious of its high source, and proud to be A part of aught so beautiful as thou. I have seen many full, bright mortal eyes, That were a labyrinth of witching charms, In which the heart of him who looked was lost; But none like thine; their light is not of earth; Their loveliness not like what man calls lovely. ”

“ And though our dream of love is o'er, Its sweetness lingers yet. Its transient day has long been past, Its flame has ceased to burn,— But Memory holds its spirit fast, Safe in her sacred urn. "I will not chide thy wanderings, Nor ask why thou couldst flee A heart whose deep affection's springs Poured forth such love for thee! We may not curb the restless mind, Nor teach the wayward heart To love against its will, nor bind It with the chains of art. "I would but tell thee how, in tears And bitterness, my soul Has yearned with dreams, through long, long, years, Which it could not control. ”

“ While the Destroyer stalketh by, And smiles, as if in mockery. How strong a band hath Time! Love weaves His wreath of flowers and myrtle leaves, (Methinks his fittest crown would be A chaplet from the cypress tree;) With hope his breast is swelling high, And brightly beams his laughing eye; But soon his hopes are mixed with fears, And soon his smiles are quenched in tears: Then Disappointment's blighting breath Breathes o'er him, and he droops to death; While the Destroyer glideth by, And smiles, as if in mockery. How strong a hand hath Time! Fame wins The eager youth to her embrace ”

“ Why gazest thou on me and not on him? Spirit. To mark if in thine aspect I might not Detect a consciousness that I thy own soul Claimed brotherhood with his! Thou too hast scoffed At human love, and hope, and faith, and truth, Nursing within thy bosom pride, and scorn, And rankling hate, I till these at length became Fiends which thou could'st not master! Thou art warned, Be wise and heed the warning. Let us now Return unto thy far off, native orb, O'er which the rosy smile of morn is breaking, Waking its teeming millions to renew Their daily rounds of toil and strife and crime. ”

“ Thou hast gained, and wield'st a power, to which The rulers of the elements do bow; The hurricane, at thy command goes forth, Walking where'er thou bid'st it, and the storm Ceases to howl when thou hast said,—"Be still!" Thine anger stirs the ocean, and thy wrath Finds out the deep foundations of the mountains, And shakes them with its strength; the subtle fire, That lights the tempest on its gloomy way, Starts from its cloud-rocked slumber, at thy call, To be thy messenger. Canst thou not be content when thou art feared By those who rule a world? ”

“ Far o'er yon swiftly flowing stream Fair fell the young moon's silver beam, And gazing on its restless sheen, Stood one whose garb, and port, and mien, Bespoke him of a foreign land, One born to win, and hold command; The master mind, the leading one, Where deeds of manly might were done. Yet, by the hallowed glow, that came O'er lip and cheek, o'er eye and brow, He who beheld, might guess that now His thoughts were not of wealth and fame: Whence could that veiling radiance shine, Save from Affection's holy shrine? ”

“ I have dreamed so strange a dream, So strange, and yet so palpable, that I Believed it a reality. Methought As closely followed by my bleating flock, I climbed the rugged mountain side where spring Our greenest pastures, singing as I went, I met a lonely wanderer in my way, Of brow so pale, and eye so darkly sad, That my own heart, to sadness little used, Grew heavy at the sight; and he seemed worn And very weary, not so much with toil As by some hidden, inward strife of soul, Which even then seemed raging in his breast. ”

“ If I must suffer, it shall be With a firm heart, a soul elate, A wordless scorn, which silently Shall mock the stern decrees of fate. The weak might bend, the timid shrink, Until misfortune's storm blew by, But I, a chieftain's son, should drink Its proffered cup without a sigh. And it will scarcely, to my lip, Seem harsher than yon fountain's flow, For I have held companionship With Misery, from my youth till now— Have felt, by turns, each pang, each care, Her hapless sons are doomed, to bear;— I caught my mother's parting breath, When passed she to the spirit land ”

“ Is love the offspring of the will? or is it, like a flower, So frail that it may fade and be forgotten in an hour? No, no! it springs unbidden where the heart's deep fountains play, And cherished by their hallowed dew, it cannot pass away!
THE VENETIAN GIRL'S EVENING SONG. Unmoor the skiff,—unmoor the skiff,— The night wind's sigh is on the air, And o'er the highest Alpine cliff, The pale moon rises, broad and clear. The murmuring waves are tranquil now, And on their breast each twinkling star With which Night gems her dusky brow, Flings its mild radiance from afar. ”

“ I have not written for fame, and if my life had been a happy one I should never have written at all. As it was, I early came to drink of the bitter cup; and sorrow, whilst it cuts us off from the outer, drives us back upon the inner world;—and then the unquiet demon of ceaseless thought is roused, and the brain becomes "a whirling gulf of phantasy and flame," and we rave and—write! Yes, write! And men read and talk about genius, and, God help them! Often envy its unhappy possessors the fatal gift which lies upon heart and brain like molten lead! ”

“ A total ignorance were better than The flash which from its slumber wakes the mind, And then, departing, leaves it to itself, In the wide maze of error, darkly groping. Wisdom is not the medicine to heal A discontented mind. I now know more Than when I left the earth, but feel that I Have bought my knowledge with increase of sorrow. Spirit. Did I not tell thee that its path were steep, And hard to climb, and thick beset with thorns,— And that its tempting, longed-for fruit, tho' bought With a great price, is full of bitterness? If though art satisfied, let us retrace Our way to earth again ”

“ Nay, maiden, let me tell thee of the past, Let me lay bare my heart beneath thy gaze, And thou wilt pity if thou canst not love. I loved in youth with love as fond and deep As ever made the heart of man its slave, But, ere my hopes could ripen to fruition, Death came and made my worshipped one his prize; And though my peace departed when she died, Yet I was proud, and would not bond to sorrow, But with calm brow and eye, and smiling lip, I mingled with the giddy thoughtless world, Seeking from out its varied realms to wring Some recompense for that which I had lost. ”

“ Spirit. I have no power to disobey thy word; If thou wilt on, I must proceed with thee, Even though in looking on I share the pangs Of those who suffer. Werner. Come, then, I too must see them, tho' it cost Me years of pain to gaze but for a moment. Spirit. 'Twere harder now to find Eve's' buried dust, Than to declare who has inherited The largest portion of her prying spirit. (Sings.) Where Pain keepeth vigil With Sorrow and Care, And Horror sits watching By dull-eyed Despair,— Where the Spirit accurst Maketh moan in its wo, Thy wishes direct us, And thither we go. ”

“ Old age unrepenting, Manhood unrelenting, Youth sighing and winning, Deceiving and sinning, Deserting, repining, All men are the same. Ho! ho! Earth quakes with the weight of the anguish she bears, Her plains and her valleys are deluged with tears, And her sighs, if united, were deeper by far, Than the thunderbolt's peal, when the clouds are at war. There is, not a bosom, that bears not within Its chambers, the blot and the burden of sin; Not a mind, but in many an hour bath felt The curse of its nature, the pangs of its guilt. ”

“ And man, whose visionary brain Begets that idle phantom train Of shadows—Power, Wealth, and Fame,— A scourge—a bubble—and a name— So often and so vainly sought— Has little time for peaceful thought; And so they turn not back to gaze, Where faithful memory displays Her record of departed days; But oh! how loves the eye of age, To move along its pictured page, To scan and number, o'er and o'er, The joys that may return no more; The hopes that, blighted in their bloom, By disappointment's chilly gloom, Were given sadly to the tomb ”

“ When the leaf is on the tree, And the bird is in the bower, And the butterfly and bee, Bear its treasures from the flower; When the fields put on the sheen, That to young-eyed Spring belongs; When the groves and forests green, Echo with a thousand songs; When wild Beauty wanders forth, Giving, with no stinted care, All her loveliness to earth, All her sweetness to the air: Then the heart, with gladness stirred, Mindful of its griefs no more, Mounts and carols, like a bird When the pearly shower is o'er! ”

“ First Fame, with the step and the glance of a queen, Came up, and before him bent down her proud knee, And held up a garland, whereon played the sheen Of the beams which insure immortality! Next Wealth, the stern mistress of men, for whose smile They toil like the galley slave,—brought in her hand The fair gems of many an ocean isle, And the diamonds of many a far off land. And Beauty came too, with her blue, laughing eye, Her fair flowing locks, and her soft rosy cheek, And red lips, whose sweet smile told silently The tale which they seemed ashamed to speak. ”

“ And then, with hot tears coursing down his cheeks, He lifts his faded wreath from his pale brow, And gazing on its withered leaves, exclaims,— "For earthly fame I sung the songs of earth, Forgetful of all higher, holier themes,— 'Tis meet the meed I won should perish thus." Is not the justice which confines him here Akin to cruelty? for his sad heart Seems, as his earthly strains were, full of softness. Spirit. Each thought, and word, and deed of mortal man, Is but a moral seed, which, in due season, Must bring forth fruit according to its kind. ”

“ I cannot count how many years Have since gone by, but toil and tears, And the lone heart's deep agony, I feel have sadly altered me;— Yet mourn I not the change, for those I loved or scorned, my friends or foes, Have fallen and faded, one by one, As time's swift current hurried by, Till I, of all my kith alone, Am left to wait, and wish to die. VII. How strong a hand hath Time! Man rears, And names his work immortal; years Go by. Behold! where dwelt his pride, Stern Desolation's brood abide; The owl within his bower sits, The lone bat through his chamber flits ”