The Poetical Works of William Motherwell/Dream of Life's Early Day, Farewell for Ever
Dream of Life's Early Day, Farewell for Ever.
"Others of the 'Broken-hearted and Hope-bereaved men,' as they went on their way, poured forth these melancholy measures."—Motherwell.
Bright mornings! of beauty and bloom, that, in boyhood,
Gleamed gay with the visionings glorious of glad hope;
Dear days! that discoursed of delights never-dying,
And painted each pastime with tints of pure pleasure;
Bright days, when the heart leapt like kid o'er the mountain,
And gazed on the fair fields—one full fount of feeling—
When wood and when water, flower, blossom, and small leaf,
Were robed in a sunshine that seemed everlasting;
Ye were but a dream, and like dream have departed!
O! Dream of Life's early day, farewell for ever.
As the pale cloud that circled in morning the hill top,
Flitteth, in fleecy wreathes, fast in the sun-blaze;
Or, as the slim shadows steal silently over
The gray walls at noon-tide, so ghost-like on-gliding,
And leave not a line for remembrance to linger on;
So soon and so sadly have terribly perished
The joys we did muse of in youth's mildest morn;
Time spreads o'er the brow soon his pale sheaf of sorrow,
And freezes each heart-fount that whilome gushed freely;
Oh! Dream of Life's early day, farewell for ever.
The woods and the waters, the great winds of heaven,
Sound on and for ever their grand solemn symphonies;
The moon gleams with gladness,—the wakeful stars wander,
With bright eyes of beauty, that ever beam pleasure;
The sun scatters golden fire—bright rays of glory—
Till proud glows the earth, graithed in harness from heaven;
The fields flourish fragrant with summer flower blossoms;
Time robs not the earth of its brightness and braveries,
But he strips the lorn heart of the loves that it lived by.
Oh! Dream of Life's early day, farewell for ever.
We have sought for the smiles that shed sunshine around us,
For the voices that mingled mind-music with ours;
For hearts whose roots grew where the roots of our own grew,
While pulse sang to pulse the same lay of love-longing.
In the fair forest firth, on the wide waste of waters,
By brooks that gleam brightest, and banks that blush bravest,
On hill and in hollow, green holm, and broad meadow,
We have sought for these loved things, but never could find them,
We have shouted their names, and sad echoes made answer.
Oh! Dream of Life's early day, farewell for ever.