From its case of massive oak,
Like a monk, who, under his cloak,
Crosses himself, and sighs, alas !
With sorrowful voice to all who pass,--
"Forever-never!
By day its voice is low and light:
But in the silent dead of night,
Distinct as a passing footstep's fall,
It echoes along the vacant hall,
Along the ceiling, along the floor,
And seems to say, at each chamber-door,
"Forever-never!
Through days of sorrow and of mirth,
Through days of death, and days of birth,
Through every swift vicissitude
Of changeful time, unchanged it has stood,
And as if, like God, it all things saw,
It calmly repeats those words of awe,-
"Forever,-never!
In that mansion used to be
Free-hearted Hospitality;
His great fires
The stranger feasted at his board;
But like the skeleton at the feast,
That warning time-piece never ceased,-
"Forever-never!
Never,-forever!"
There groups of merry children play'd,
There youths and maidens dreaming stray'd;
O precious hours! O golden prime,
And affluence of love and time!
Even as a miser counts his gold,
Those hours the ancient time-piece told,-
"Forever-never!
From that chamber, clothed in white,
The bride came forth on her wedding night.
There in that silent room below,
The dead lay in his shroud of snow!
And in the hush that follow'd the prayer,
Was heard the old clock on the stair,-
"Forever-never!
All are scatter'd now and fled,
Some are married, some are dead
And when I ask, with throbs of pain,
"Ah! when shall they all meet again?"
As in the days long since gone by,
The ancient time-piece makes reply,--
"Forever-never!
Never-forever! "
Never here, forever there,
Where all parting, pain, and care,
And death, and time shall disappear,-
Forever there, but never here!
The horologue of Eternity
Sayeth this incessantly,
"Forever-never!
Never-forever!"
Contributed by Dr. WILLIAM MAGINN, to the Dublin University Magazine. The author was an Irishman, of extraordinary genius, who lived a wild, dissipated life, and died a miserable death.
I GIVE my soldier-boy a blade
In fair Damascus fashion'd well:
Who first the glittering falchion sway'd,
Who first beneath its fury fell,
I know not; but I hope to know
That for no mean or hireling trade,
To guard no feeling base or low,
I give my soldier-boy a blade.
Cool, calm, and clear, the lucid flood,
In which the tempering work was done;
As calm, as clear, as cool of mood,
Be thou, whene'er it sees the sun,
From its case of massive oak,
Like a monk, who, under his cloak,
Crosses himself, and sighs, alas!
With sorrowful voice to all who pass,--
"Forever-never!
By day its voice is low and light:
But in the silent dead of night,
Distinct as a passing footstep's fall,
It echoes along the vacant hall,
Along the ceiling, along the floor,
And seems to say, at each chamber-door,
"Forever-never!
Through days of sorrow and of mirth,
Through days of death, and days of birth,
Through every swift vicissitude
Of changeful time, unchanged it has stood,
And as if, like God, it all things saw,
It calmly repeats those words of awe,-
"Forever,-never!
Never-forever!"
In that mansion used to be
Free-hearted Hospitality;
His great fires up the chimney roar'd;
The stranger feasted at his board;
But like the skeleton at the feast,
That warning time-piece never ceased,—
"Forever-never!
Never,-forever! "
There groups of merry children play'd,
There youths and maidens dreaming stray'd ;
O precious hours! O golden prime,
And affluence of love and time!
Even as a miser counts his gold,
Those hours the ancient time-piece told,—
"Forever-never!
Never-forever!"
From that chamber, clothed in white,
The bride came forth on her wedding night.
There in that silent room below,
The dead lay in his shroud of snow!
And in the hush that follow'd the prayer,
Was heard the old clock on the stair,-
"Forever-never!
All are scatter'd now and fled,
Some are married, some are dead;
And when I ask, with throbs of pain,
"Ah! when shall they all meet again?"
As in the days long since gone by,
The ancient time-piece makes reply,--
"Forever-never!
Never here, forever there,
Where all parting, pain, and care,
And death, and time shall disappear,-
Forever there, but never here !
The horologue of Eternity
Sayeth this incessantly,-
"Forever-never!
Never-forever! "
Contributed by Dr. WILLIAM MAGINN, to the Dublin University Magazine. The author was an Irishman, of extraordinary genius, who lived a wild, dissipated life, and died a miserable death.
I GIVE my soldier-boy a blade
In fair Damascus fashion'd well:
Who first the glittering falchion sway'd,
Who first beneath its fury fell,
I know not; but I hope to know
That for no mean or hireling trade,
To guard no feeling base or low,
I give my soldier-boy a blade.
Cool, calm, and clear, the lucid flood,
In which the tempering work was done;
As calm, as clear, as cool of mood,
Be thou, whene'er it sees the sun,
For country's claim, at honour's call,
For outraged friend, insulted maid;
At mercy's voice to bid it fall,
I give my soldier-boy a blade.
The eye which mark'd its peerless edge,
The hand that weigh'd its balanced poise,
Anvil and pincers, forge and wedge,
Are gone with all their flame and noise,
And still the gleaming sword remains;
So when in dust I low am laid,
Remember, by those heart-felt strains,
I gave my soldier-boy a blade.
THE DREAM OF THE TOMBSTONE.
This poem appeared in the American Magazine in the year 1851. It is extracted thence on account of a certain wild originality that indicates genius, and impresses itself upon the reader's mind, although he would find it difficult to lay his finger upon any one passage as specially remarkable. It is the conception and treatment of the whole that constitute its merit.
LISTEN! love of mine, O listen,
While thy dewy eyelids glisten,
Let me press thy snowy forehead'
With a lover's holy kiss.
'Twas a charm, O! gentle maiden,
When my heart with grief was laden,
Yet I pray that God may never,
Send a vision like to this,
Never plunge my dreaming spirit
In so darksome an abyss.
O, methought in this my dreaming,
That the icy moonlight gleaming
On my bosom, white and naked,
Did its ghastliness illume.
That my heart no more was beating,
And the tide of life retreating,
Left me like a sculptured tablet,
Like a cold and marble tomb,
Like a column white and solemn
In the ghostly graveyard's gloom.
|