I sing, but not as those who sang Of battles fought, of victories won, When freedom's voice triumphant rang In thunder, for the work well done. I love that theme of other times Whose spell around my heart is thrown, And more, far more than other climes Love I the land I call my own; Yet not for these I weave the song, And not for these I wake the lay: To thee, the lost! these strains belong, To thee I consecrate the day!
Three years have passed, three years have sent Their shadows o'er the thronging earth; The voices of three years have blent Their mingled tones of grief and mirth. Oh! heard'st thou not the solemn strain, And heard'st thou not the tuneful lay? Could not thy spirit burst the chain That fettered it so far away. To gaze upon the calm, glad skies, To rove beneath their quiet blue, To mark each starry front arise And smile as thou wast wont to do?
My heart is very sad to-day; I know not why it is so sad, For I have seen the bright array— Have felt each life-pulse beating glad: Have gazed upon men's flashing eyes, And felt that courage dwelt within, Lips, that would scorn ignoble sighs, Hearts, all too proud to dream of sin. Have heard the spirit-stirring song, That told of great victorious wars; Around me was an eager throng, Above me waved the stripes and stars.
A glorious sight! and yet my heart Was not with them, nor felt their sway; But, standing sadly and apart I thought of thee the live-long day. I stood in spirit by thy side— I heard thy voice so like a sigh, And felt how much of hope had died In thy blue, melancholy eye. The hectic flush was on thy cheek, The damp of death was on thy brow, The dews of night, the day's last streak; I saw them then, I see them now:
And I must weep, as then I wept, For thine was a most noble mind, Where reason stumbled not, nor slept, Nor threw one doubtful ray behind. As some sweet stream, by day unknown, Raises at night its song of love, Whose calm invigorating tone Fills the blue vault of heaven above, So passed thy life, a hidden stream, None but a few had ever found; Yet on its breast shone many a beam, And many a flower was scattered round.
A star from life's bright diadem Has fallen, and can no more return; And many a heart has missed a gem, Which all too carelessly was worn. Like jewels thrown neglected by, Well satisfied that they are ours, Our. best affections ofttimes lie, Conceal'd among earth's meaner flowers. And often do our feelings prove How much our carelessness has cost; We seldom know how much we love Till all that we have loved is lost!
Lost one! while this revolving day Comes with the rolling years along, To thee I will awake my lay,— To thee will dedicate my song, And while it rises from my heart, Like incense from a broken urn, To drink the incense be thy part, For well I know thou wilt return. Thou wilt return when the fair earth Is bright with starlight and with showers, To bend in love above the mirth Seen in the young, confiding flowers!
Thou wilt return—not to mine eye, But to my spirit wilt appear, Clothed in the immortality Which I but vainly pine for here. And thy dear eyes will look in mine, And thy soft voice will reach mine ear, To tell of joys that now are thine, Up in yon blue, celestial sphere. O! it is happiness to know, While thro' this darksome world we move, That those whom we have loved below Will plead for us in heaven above.
