Passing Thoughts on Love

The ancient poets sang a love Whose spell of wild and fiery power Ruled men below, and gods above, And conquered in its burning hour.

The wine-cup’s rich delicious draught Ne’er maddened more the reeling brain, Or filled the heart so full, when quaffed, With ecstacy akin to pain.

Then like a dream it passed away, A fervid vision of the night, Till some bright beauty’s potent sway Awoke again the fierce delight.

Such might be passion’s wayward course That flashes like the lightning’s gleam; But ne’er was love, whose fountain-source Sends ever forth a constant stream.

True love is like the stars on high That shine with undiminished ray, And glows all warm and fervently As does the splendid orb of day.

Naught but the beauty of the soul, Arrayed in virtue’s peerless dress, Can pure love waken, or controul The bosom with its loveliness.

It is the glorious bond of life That joins two kindred souls in one; And when they meet, amid earth’s strife, The same bright path they journey on.

Heart yields to heart a living strength, And thought to thought increase of light, Until their happy days at length Well nigh partake of heaven’s delight.

’Tis not the high and manly brow Enlinked to beauty’s witching charm, Can make such deep-soul’d passion glow, Or keep it from decay and harm.

The pure in heart, the pure in thought, Alone such inward union gain; And by the law in heaven wrought Such souls can never more be twain.

Alas! for earth where love is sold For station, honour, pride, and power; Bartered for fame, betrayed for gold, And often scarcely lasts an hour.

Yet some there be who do partake A measure of this love divine; Then such deep love, for love’s pure sake, Oh may I own, or none be mine!

The smiling look, and cheerful playfulness, Continued through the piece. But many found A loftier element pervade the song, And deeper sentiments than they had deemed Indwellers of such theme. When he had done He cast around a furtive glance to see The influence of his verse. All faces wore A look of bland approval. One alone Hung bending down, as if to mark the bloom Of rosy flowerets in the rich bouquet That beautified her bosom. Did her cheek Catch deeper crimson from their loveliness That made it glow so brightly? Sooth to tell There was a hue like that of sunset clouds Which fluttered sweetly there. It might be caught By strong reflection from those happy flowers Which hung upon that breast; or it might spring From thoughts still happier, nestled warm within, Whose stirring motions made the pure blood flow More freely o’er that cheek. Were such the truth, It might betoken sympathy of soul With those high sentiments, and with the heart That gave them utterance. Young Arthur long Had deemed her beautiful, and she to him Had moved a star of light; but mutual words Of loving import had not yet revealed Their hearts unto each other. With a glance Of quick delight, like to the lambent flash Of summer lightning, he beheld that blush, So meek and rosy, and with instinct true His soul divined its meaning. With a word Of rapid whisper in Matilda’s ear, He bad that sister hasten to bring forth Her promised verse; whilst he awhile withdrew From the gay circle, that in solitude He might indulge the overpowering thought Which filled his raptured breast. His joy intense, No words could tell; whilst now in soul convinced That Emma’s noble and susceptive heart Was his for ever! Shortly he returned With looks elate, and joys delightful glow On his proud countenance. When he rejoined His father’s guests, his sister had not yet Commenced her promised task. With timid heart And shrinking feeling, she awhile forbore In modest diffidence; for she was one Of tender nature, of affections warm, And delicately sensitive of soul. Her truth of heart, and nobleness of thought, Made her abhor all wrong. Her simple mind, As clear as crystal, made her ever love Simplicity in all things. Hence she chose To frame a ballad of domestic scenes And their endearments. In a gentle voice, Replete with feeling, she began to read A tale of rural life, of fervent passion, That bore inscribed the humble name of—