FROM THE LIGHT OF THE HARAM.
Alas!-how light a cause may move Dissension between hearts that love! Hearts that the world in vain had tried,
And sorrow but more closely tied ;
That stood the storm, when waves were rough,
Yet in a sunny hour fall off,
Like ships that have gone down at sea,
When heaven was all tranquillity!
A something, light as air,-a look,
A word unkind, or wrongly taken-
Oh! love, that tempests never shook,
A breath, a touch like this hath shaken.
And ruder words will soon rush in
To spread the breach that words begin;
And eyes forget the gentle ray
They wore in courtship's smiling day ;
And voices lose the tone that shed
A tenderness round all they said;
Till fast declining, one by one,
The sweetnesses of love are gone,
And hearts so lately mingled, seem
Like broken clouds,-or like the stream,
That smiling left the mountain's brow,
As though its waters ne'er could sever,
Yet, ere it reach the plain below,
Breaks into floods, that part for ever.
Oh, you, that have the charge of Love,
Keep him in rosy bondage bound,
As in the fields of bliss above,
He sits, with flowerets fettered round ;— Loose not a tie that round him clings, Nor ever let him use his wings; For even an hour, a minute's flight Will rob the plumes of half their light. Like that celestial bird, whose nest Is found beneath far eastern skies,
Whose wings, though radiant when at rest, Lose all their glory when he flies!
Fly to the desert, fly with me,
Our Arab tents are rude for thee;
But, oh! the choice what heart can doubt
Of tents with love, or thrones without!
Our rocks are rough, but smiling there
The acacia waves her yellow hair,
Lonely and sweet, nor loved the less
For flowering in a wilderness.
Our sands are bare, but down their slope
The silvery-footed antelope
As gracefully and gaily springs
As o'er the marble courts of kings.
Then come,--thy Arab maid will be
The loved and lone acacia-tree,
The antelope, whose feet shall bless
With their light sound thy loneliness.
Oh! there are looks and tones that dart
An instant sunshine through the heart,—
As if the soul that minute caught
Some treasure it through life had sought;
As if the very lips and eyes
Predestined to have all our sighs,
And never be forgot again,
Sparkled and spoke before us then!
So came thy every glance and tone,
When first on me they breathed and shone;
New, as if brought from other spheres,
Yet welcome as if loved for years!
Then fly with me,—if thou hast known
No other flame, nor falsely thrown
A gem away, that thou hast sworn
Should ever in thy heart be worn.
Come, if the love thou hast for me
Is
pure and fresh as mine for thee,-
Fresh as the fountain under ground,
When first 'tis by the lapwing found.
But if for me thou dost forsake
Some other maid, and rudely break
Her worshipped image from its base,
To give to me the ruined place;—
Then, fare thee well,-I'd rather make
My bower upon some icy lake,
When thawing suns begin to shine,
Than trust to love so false as thine.
"My birth-day"-what a different sound
That word had in my youthful ears!
And how, each time the day comes round,
Less and less white its mark appears!
When first our scanty years are told,
It seems like pastime to grow old ;
And, as Youth counts the shining links,
That Time around him binds so fast, Pleased with the task, he little thinks How hard that chain will press at last.
Vain was the man, and false as vain,
Who said "Were he ordained to run
"His long career of life again,
"He would do all that he had done."-
Ah, 'tis not thus the voice, that dwells
In sober birth-days, speaks to me,
Far otherwise-of time it tells,
Lavished unwisely, carelessly-
Of counsel mocked-of talents, made
Haply for high and pure designs,
But oft, like Israel's incense, laid
Upon unholy, earthly shrines,--
Of nursing many a wrong desire,—
Of wondering after Love too far,
And taking every meteor fire,
That crossed my pathway, for his star!
All this it tells, and, could I trace
Th' imperfect picture o'er again,
With power to add, retouch, efface,
The light and shades,-the joy and pain, How little of the past would stay!
How quickly all should melt away
All, but that freedom of the mind,
Which hath been more than wealth to me; Those friendships in my boyhood twined, And kept till now unchangingly; And that dear home, that saving ark,
Where love's true light at last I've found Cheering within when all grows dark,
And comfortless, and stormy round!
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