A REVERIE.
Oh! the deep loneliness of heart and soul,
When feeling is crushed back upon itself,
And thought is shadowless: there is no fate
In the vast chronicle of human woe
That tells a tale of suffering more than #his.
Death, in itself a sad and solemn thing,
That wrings all hearts within its pale of woe,
May find relief in sympathy sincere;
For all have felt its soul-dividing power,
Crushing the fond affections of the heart,
And leaving earth a desolation vast,
Where neither hope, nor joy, nor gladness come.
Yet sympathy is there—we may forget,
Or time may shadow o'er the deep regret.
The withering breath of poverty may blast
The buoyant spirit of resisting man;
And hopes and fears, that trembled o'er the rich
In all the fretwork of anxiety,
That ever haunts each honour-gaining step
Tn this strange life, that levels man with man,
'Neath the sad pressure of adversity.
Some griefs there are that pass like clouds away,
Leaving a sunshine brighter than before;
And e'en the storm's dread and biting blast
Must cease conflicting, and subside at last—
But there's a sorrow that will last for ever,
Wrapping the soul in grief too deep for words—
Keen, burning feelings, that may never wake
The slumbering echo of a kindred soul,
And thoughts that soar on imag'ry's wild wing,
And find no resting-place, but turn again
To the lone shelter of that lonely heart.
When feeling is crushed back upon itself,
And thought is shadowless: there is no fate
In the vast chronicle of human woe
That tells a tale of suffering more than #his.
Death, in itself a sad and solemn thing,
That wrings all hearts within its pale of woe,
May find relief in sympathy sincere;
For all have felt its soul-dividing power,
Crushing the fond affections of the heart,
And leaving earth a desolation vast,
Where neither hope, nor joy, nor gladness come.
Yet sympathy is there—we may forget,
Or time may shadow o'er the deep regret.
The withering breath of poverty may blast
The buoyant spirit of resisting man;
And hopes and fears, that trembled o'er the rich
In all the fretwork of anxiety,
That ever haunts each honour-gaining step
Tn this strange life, that levels man with man,
'Neath the sad pressure of adversity.
Some griefs there are that pass like clouds away,
Leaving a sunshine brighter than before;
And e'en the storm's dread and biting blast
Must cease conflicting, and subside at last—
But there's a sorrow that will last for ever,
Wrapping the soul in grief too deep for words—
Keen, burning feelings, that may never wake
The slumbering echo of a kindred soul,
And thoughts that soar on imag'ry's wild wing,
And find no resting-place, but turn again
To the lone shelter of that lonely heart.