Posts tagged ‘lines’

Thursday, 20 October 2016

Lines by Louisa Stuart Costello

If we should ever meet again
When many tedious years are past;
When time shall have unbound the chain,
And this sad heart is free at last;—
Then shall we meet and look unmov’d,
As though we ne’er had met—had lov’d!

And I shall mark without a tear
How cold and calm thy alter’d brow;
I shall forget thou once wert dear,
Rememb’ring but thy broken vow!
Rememb’ring that in trusting youth
I lov’d thee with the purest truth;
That now the fleeting dream is o’er,
And thou canst raise the spell no more!

From: Costello, Louisa Stuart, Songs of A Stranger, 1825, Taylor and Hessey: London, p. 7.

Date: 1825

By: Louisa Stuart Costello (1799-1870)

Tuesday, 20 October 2015

Lines by Samuel E. Loveman

I know no light beyond the night,
I see no star to pierce the star,
But still ‘d and windless in my sight,
There pass the dreams that once were fair.

Oh! to have known and lost all this,
The brimming youth, the joy to reap,
And in its stead a transient bliss,
To drift in unforgetting sleep.

April 20, 1911.

From: Loveman, Samuel, Poems, 1911, Self-Published: Cleveland, Ohio, p.13.

Date: 1911

By: Samuel E. Loveman (1887-1976)

Saturday, 21 March 2015

Lines by John Lofland

I saw a ship, in beauty to the breeze,
Bend her white sails upon the dark blue seas;
Swift o’er the billows, on the wings of wind,
She disappeared, nor left a track behind;
At morn I saw her, but at set of sun.
Gone was that ship, her trackless race was run:
And thus it is with man, his soul sublime,
In life’s gay morn, upon the tide of time,
Moves on in grandeur; but when night comes on,
He, on eternity’s dark sea, is gone;
He disappears, nor do life’s billows bear
One trace, ’tis as he never had been there.

From: Lofland, John and M’Jilton, J.N. (ed.), The Poetical and Prose Writings of Dr. John Lofland, the Milford Bard, Consisting of Sketches in Poetry and Prose, Moral, Satirical, Sentimental, Sympathetic and Humorous. With a Portrait of the Author and a Sketch of his Life, 1853, John Murphy & Co: Baltimore, p. 200.

Date: 1853 (published)

By: John Lofland (1798-1849)

Friday, 23 January 2015

Lines by Margaret Miller Davidson

Written after she herself began to fear that her disease was past remedy.

I once thought life was beautiful,
I once thought life was fair,
Nor deem’d that all its light could fade
And leave but darkness there.

But now I know it could not last —
The fairy dream has fled!
Though thirteen summers scarce have past
Above this youthful head.

Yes, life — ’twas all a dream — but now
I see thee as thou art;
I see how slight a thing can shade
The sunshine of the heart.

I see that all thy brightest hours,
Unmark’d, have pass’d away;
And now I feel how sweet they were,
I cannot bid them stay.

In childish love or childish play
My happiest hours were spent,
While scarce my infant tongue could say
What joy or pleasure meant.

And now, when my young heart looks up,
Life’s gayest smiles to meet;
Now, when in youth her brightest charms
Would seem so doubly sweet;

Now fade the dreams which bound my soul
As with the chains of truth!
Oh that those dreams had stay’d awhile,
To vanish with my youth!

Oh! once did hope look sweetly down,
To check each rising sigh;
But disappointment’s iron frown
Has dimm’d her sparkling eye.

And once I loved a brother too,
Our youngest and our best,
But death’s unerring arrow sped,
And laid him down to rest.

But now I know those hours of peace
Were never form’d to last;
That those fair days of guileless joy
Are past — for ever past!

January, 1837.

From: Irving, Washington and Davidson, Margaret Miller, Poetical Remains and Biography of the Late Margaret Miller Davidson, 1850, Clark, Austin & Co.: New York, pp. 203-204.

Date: 1837

By: Margaret Miller Davidson (1823-1838)

Saturday, 23 March 2013

Lines by Henry Kirke White

Written impromptu, on reading the following passage in Mr. Capel Lofft’s beautiful and interesting Preface to Nathaniel Bloomfield’s Poems, just published:—”It has a mixture of the sportive, which deepens the impression of its melancholy close. I could have wished, as I have said in a short note, the conclusion had been otherwise. The sours of life less offend my taste than its sweets delight it.”

Go to the raging sea, and say, “Be still!”
Bid the wild lawless winds obey thy will;
Preach to the storm, and reason with Despair,
But tell not Misery’s son that life is fair.

Thou, who in Plenty’s lavish lap hast roll’d,
And every year with new delight hast told,
Thou, who, recumbent on the lacquer’d barge,
Hast dropt down joy’s gay stream of pleasant marge,
Thou mayst extol life’s calm untroubled sea,
The storms of misery never burst on thee.

Go to the mat, where squalid Want reclines,
Go to the shade obscure, where merit pines;
Abide with him whom Penury’s charms control,
And bind the rising yearnings of his soul,
Survey his sleepless couch, and, standing there,
Tell the poor pallid wretch that life is fair!

Press thou the lonely pillow of his head,
And ask why sleep his languid eyes has fled;
Mark his dew’d temples, and his half shut eye,
His trembling nostrils, and his deep drawn sigh,
His muttering mouth contorted with despair,
And ask if Genius could inhabit there.

Oh, yes! that sunken eye with fire once gleam’d,
And rays of light from its full circlet stream’d:
But now Neglect has stung him to—the core,
And Hope’s wild raptures thrill his breast no more;
Domestic Anguish winds his vitals round,
And added Grief compels him to the ground.
Lo! o’er his manly form, decay’d and wan,
The shades of death with gradual steps steal on;
And the pale mother, pining to decay,
Weeps for her boy her wretched life away.

Go, child of Fortune! to his early grave,
Where o’er his head obscure the rank weeds wave;
Behold the heart-wrung parent lay her head
On the cold turf, and ask to share his bed.
Go, child of Fortune, take thy lesson there,
And tell us then that life is wondrous fair!

Yet, Lofft, in thee, whose hand is still stretch’d forth,
To encourage genius, and to foster worth;
On thee, the unhappy’s firm, unfailing friend,
‘T is just that every blessing should descend;
‘T is just that life to thee should only show
Her fairer side but little mix’d with woe.


Date: 1803

By: Henry Kirke White(1785-1806)