110
miscellaneous poems.
And I have bowed me to the ground, before ambition's shrine;
Oh! holy love—warm, pure, and true—would I could bow at thine!
Oh! holy love—warm, pure, and true—would I could bow at thine!
"My first look on thy spotless spirit fell.
And fate put forth its hand—inexorable—cold."
Schiller
And fate put forth its hand—inexorable—cold."
Schiller
I'll dream no more; let me go forth
Where the wild rose seeks its dwelling,
'Neath the green-wood shade in quiet laid
By the fountain gently swelling.
Where the wild rose seeks its dwelling,
'Neath the green-wood shade in quiet laid
By the fountain gently swelling.
The fire of youth from my brow hath pas'd,
Tho' the minstrel spell is o'er me,
Yet the chords are jarred and the music marred,
Of the broken lute before me.
Tho' the minstrel spell is o'er me,
Yet the chords are jarred and the music marred,
Of the broken lute before me.
No hand again may touch its chords,
Or its loosened strings awaken:
Life's happy dreams, like its music, seems
A melody forsaken.
Or its loosened strings awaken:
Life's happy dreams, like its music, seems
A melody forsaken.
