Original Poetry.

Evening Star, Volume VII, Issue 2010, 14 October 1869, Page 3

Original Poetry.

STRANGE VOICES. Ton ask me why I’m sad to-night, love, And why my brow is overcast With thoughtful gloom, whilst thine is bright, love — Listen to that howling blast, Preaching sermons full of sadness, Pensive music fraught with madness, Mocking me, and shrouding gladness In the shadows of the past. Does it bring no wail to you, love ? No sad dirge of other days ? No wild story ?—say, my true love, Docs it sing for thee no lays ? Listen to its notes awaking Tender chords, for breasts are aching, Tears are falling, hearts are breaking— Does it light not Memory’s blaze ? Ah ! thou’rt thoughtless, though thou’rt kind, love — Sorrow never visits thee ; Speechless to thee is the wind, love, Voiceless is the surging sea. To me, it seem* some pilgrim hoary, Chanting his eventful story, Laughing at Man’s hollow glory, Singing of Eternity. On its margin I can trace, love, Many long-forgotten graves ; Tears are falling on the place, love, Mingling with the mournful waves. Eyes are glistening with affection, Souls arc heralding dejection— Weeping fondly, Retrospection Gazes, whilst the tempest raves. And thus it comes in moments brief, love, Clouds will rest upon my brow—’Tis not sorrow, ’tis not grief, love, That brings sadness to me now, ’Tis a sweet soft pensive feeling, O’er the spirit gently stealing All my early joys revealing— From Youth’s green tree a lovely bough. Thomas Bracken. Dunedin, Oct. 12th, 1869.