When, oh! when, shall darkness flee, From the rosy Isles of the sunny sea? The light of Truth with its living ray, Pour on their dwellers a clearer day, And _Mind_ from the chain of its darkness rise, Like a bird set free, to its native skies?
[Footnote 1: D. Y. Brown's Superstitions of the Canary Islands.]
Man's heart! what melancholy things Are garner'd up in thee!-- What solace unto life it brings That none the heart can see-- 'Tis shut from every human eye, Close curtain'd from the view; The scene alike of grief or joy-- Man's Hell and Heaven too.
Should all mankind combine to tear The curtain, thrown around, Their labor would be spent in air-- It is his hallow'd ground: Within thy magic circle, Heart! So potent is his spell, No human hand hath strength to part Or turn aside the veil.
In sadness, there's a pleasure soft, "Which mourners only know;" My heart affords this treasure oft, And there I love to go; It is the chosen spot where I Can live my life anew-- My Home!--my Castle!--my Serai! Which none must dare break through.
In thee, my Heart! I am alone Quite unrestrained and free, Thou'rt hung with pictures all my own, And drawn for none but me; All that in secret passes there, Forever I can hide; Ambition--love--or dark despair-- My jealousy--or pride.
Yes, when ambitious--ardent--young-- I thought the world my own, My glowing portraits there were hung; How have their colors flown!-- Some are by Time, defaced so far I look on them with pain; But Time nor nothing else can mar The portrait of my JANE.
I placed her there who won my soul; No creature saw the maid; I gazed in bliss, without control, On every charm displayed: It was a sweet, impassion'd hour, When not an eye was near To steal into my lonely bower, And kiss her image there.
Earth held not on its globe the man Who breathed that holy air; No mortal eye but mine did scan My folly with my fair; Sole monarch of that silent spot, All things gave place to me; I did but wish--no matter what-- Each obstacle would flee.
And did she love? She loved me not, But gave her hand away; I hied me to my lonely spot-- In anguish passed the day; And such a desolation wide, Spread o'er that holy place, The stream of life itself seemed dried, Or ebbing out apace.