Page:A Treasury of South African Poetry.djvu/264

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238
JOHN FAIRBAIRN.

MEMORY.

The muse in solitude was nurst,
In solitude her songs began;
From some lone burning bosom burst
The tide of song, that as it ran
In glory o'er the golden sands
Of memory back to childhood's prime,
Revived the drooping shadowy bands
Of feelings, tender or sublime;
Thoughts, images, beloved or feared;
Tears, smiles, regrets, whate'er the wing
Of Time had scattered first, then seared,
Or left in darkness withering—
All were renewed in that blest hour
Of boundless passion, boundless power.

The Past—no more a dreary waste,
Which the sad spirit feared to roam—
Now charmed the wanderer from her haste
To seek with hope a distant home.
She now beheld in Fancy's light
Serene, eternal, ever new,
Bowers, skies, more beautiful and bright
Than her aspiring ardour drew
In dreams, for coming years of bliss;
And all her own. No mortal power,
Nor chance, nor change, can snatch from this
Clear mirror one enchanted flower;
No fears disturb, no sorrows wait
In this fair world redeemed from fate.

John Fairbairn.