THE PRIZE POEM.

Evening Star, Volume VIII, Issue 2090, 17 January 1870, Page 2

THE PRIZE POEM.

THE HEART’S FIRST LESSONS. ( Continued .) Part 11. VII. But now ! The eye that cannot brook Heaven’s sunlight but with downcast look,, The burthenod sigh that will not rest Unutterod in my gloomy breast, Than empty words, alas ! too well To all the bitter tale may tell Of my ambition’s doom : This sad unrest, that will not learn A moment’s calm, nor let me turn Back to a lore, a solitude Too pure for its dissatiato mood. This dark contentless gloom Are all the poor memorials left To me of fleeting joys ; And I, by eager haste bereft Of all that seemed to me most sweet, Now beat the earth with chafing feet, And plague the air with empty noise. I. Ah ! visions false and cruel! "Wherefore did ye bring back to mo These painful scenes, These dark unhappy hours ? Not such the strain I fain would sing, Not such the inspiration I invoked, Oh visions false and cruel J n, Say, Night! hath thy dark mautle No power to hide the past From the sharp eyesight of my memory? Bring’st thou no Lethe-cup, O Sleep ? For I would faiu forget Even sorrows and joys together. For all the sorrows "Were but true offspring of such treacherous joys. nr. No ! Visions, and memories, and fleeting dreams, Begone! For I will live, even in the present; ' Yea ! I will live, and work, and wait. Till from this painful Present shall evolve Some brighter, happier Future, Past 111, THE INGOT RUN OUT. I. The aching heart seeks rest, Flies to umbrageous comers where it once was blest. There erst Melpomene did deign to stray, Smiled on her vot’ry and inspired his lay. There too Euterpe with.her music sweet, The youthful poet at the dawn would meet; There teach him how to string the tuneful lyre, Praise his attempts, and bid him still aspire. 1 —Their shrines deserted—now the silent grove Instead of shade gives darkness ; whilst above, A voice is sighing in the heavy air, “No Muse for thee save pale and wan Dev pair J" With mournful heart he still aspires to sing And with his ’plainings makes the wood* land ring. 11. SONG. The Sun sinks down to rest, The dark clouds topple in the looming west, Their golden fringe and purple blue All faded to yon gloomy hue. Alone the young moon hangs above, As still, as quiet, and as calm, As if she dreamed some dream of love That shed through all her rays its balm. And I am here to watch alone, The red sun sinking to his rest, The blue clouds heaping in the west, The moon asleep on heaven’s breast. Alone ! alone ! alouo ! Ah there were days ! when other eyes Did watch with mine the evening skies ; When other eyes did turn with mine To see yon dreamy Dian shine, Ah ! whither has that bright form flown That once was always by my side ? That heart that did in mine abide, How did it leave me thus alone ? 111. Lured by tlio unwonted strain The angered nymphs relent. Euterpe tunes his lyre again, Melpomene’s eyes upon him bent Inspire him as of yore. He wakes the strings once more. SONG. Oh ! heart of mine—for ever fainting ! On the mists that veil the Past Spectral pictures ever painting Of short joys that would not last! That Past, with all it* joy and sorrow, Sinks like yonder sun to-night; The Future riseth as to-morrow He shall rise in rosy light, IV. Then Echo lovingly takes up the strain, With gentle chiding answering him again. SONG. Thou art alone with thine own heart, And mouniest in thy loneliness, And sighest for that false caress, And that the false one did depart. Oh foolish one ! For when to thee Did thine own heart the traitor play ? Save only when thou could’st not bo Content with thine own heart to stay, v. Forget the past! forget that fair false face! This is my task, my heavy painful task ! To wipe out from my thoughts the haleyon days Of my first love :—the bitter aching pain Of wild love scorned, apd hope for over crushed. VI. 0 ye dim caverns of the brain I VV here dust and mould of age and slow decay Accumulate To hide foul memories which ought to die; Where from the rapid wheel of passing ciroum* stance, The flapping wing of Time going by in haste, The rushing of the wind, borne upon which Swift Life rides onward unto Death, A cloud is raised, A mist and a dim haze, Which hides the follies and the sips. The hopes and sorrows Of all the past With most beneficent curtain; How shall we know the worth, or count the price Of all the mists and dust and ancient mould Of that Forgetfulness, thrice blest, that hides Within ye? ( To he continued.)