Oh let thy beams, that softest shine, If still my love to her is dear, Bear to her gentle heart from mine A sigh, a blessing, and a tear.
Enchantress, come! and charm my cares to rest.
HOW shall I lure thee to my side again, Thou, who wert once the Angel of my Youth? Thou, who didst woo me with thy blandest strain— Tinting wild Fancy with the hues of Truth; Whose plumy shape, floating in rosy light, Showered purest pearl-drops from its fairy wing, Making earth’s pathway like the day-star bright, Thou charmer rare of life’s enchanted spring!
Fair were the scenes thy radiant pencil drew, When on my eyes the early beauty broke: And thy rich-ringing lyre, when life was new, A glowing rapture in my bosom woke. Then thy gay sister Fancy made my dreams Lovely, and lightsome as the summer-hours, And in her fairy loom wrought hues and gleams That clothed the Ideal in a robe of flowers.
_Now_, thou hast vanished from my yearning sight— Thou comest no more in melting softness drest— No more thou weavest sweet visions of delight, No charm thou bring’st to lull my heart to rest. The bloom has faded from thy face, dear Hope— The light is lost—the shadow comes not back! Thy green oasis-flowers no more re-ope, To scatter fragrance o’er life’s desert track.
Oh, angel-spirit of my perished years! Thy early memory stands before me now: Ah! by _that_ memory, which so fair appears, Unveil once more the beauty of thy brow; Come—if I have not _quite_ outlived thee—come! And bid thy rival dark Despair depart— _His_ touch has left me blind and deaf and dumb— Bring _thou_ one ray of sunshine to my heart!
BY CHARLES J. PETERSON, AUTHOR OF “CRUISING IN THE LAST WAR,” ETC.
IT was on a sunny day in the winter of 183-, that we dropped down the Mersey and took our leave of Liverpool. Our vessel was a new ship of seven hundred tons; and as she spread, one after another, her folds of white canvas to the breeze, I thought I had never seen a more beautiful sight. The scene around was lively and inspiriting. Innumerable craft of all sizes covered the waters far and near: here, a large merchantman moving like a stately swan, there, a light yacht skimming along with the swiftness of a swallow. The sunlight sparkled and danced on the billows; the receding coast grew more picturesque as we left it astern; and the blue expanse of the Irish channel stretched away in front, until lost in a thin haze on the opposite horizon.