Poems (Taggart)/To an Intimate Friend

4563133Poems — To an Intimate FriendCynthia Taggart

TO AN INTIMATE FRIEND.1827.
While fierce afflictions darken round
And pleasure's smile no more is found,
While hope and happiness are flown,
And sorrow heaves the breast alone,
The tortured heart in deep distress
Still ponders o'er thy loveliness;—
Still seems thy soothing voice to hear,
That sweetly falls on misery's ear.
The memory of thy worth and truth,
The sweetness of thy early youth,
From thy sad friend's dissolving heart
Nor pain, nor agony, can part.
And though this hand no more can guide
The friendly pen, till pain subside,
Yet, gentle one, at thy request,
The thoughts within this heart compressed,
In simple, mournful strains, shall flow,
On pleasures past and present woe.
Yet must thy gentle heart prepare
To hear the tones of deep despair;
Though lightly touched my grief shall be,
Thou much loved friend of infancy!

When morning life in brightness bloomed,
And pleasure each young heart illumed,
Hope's joyous accents then were borne
On the soft breath of balmy morn:
And virtue's pure, seraphic voice
Bade youth in her loved power rejoice;
While friends and kindred sweetly smiled,
And every transient care beguiled.
The ardent, young, and glowing mind
O'er pleasure's flowery scenes reclined,—
O'er fairy tale and vision pored
With fancy's glowing beauties stored.
The poet's page of ancient name
Charmed with its bright, bewitching flame;—
And history's calm and learned lore
Was added to the mental store.
While each a varying picture wrought
To charm the soul, or guide the thought,
All met the heart, and transient pain
Released its victim soon again.
The minstrel's tuneful notes of joy
Could every saddening thought destroy,—
And fancy's scenes of rapture bright
Through every tranquil hour delight.
But now, those happy days are o'er,
And these loved treasures charm no more;
No more the poet's sweetest strain
Can check the cruel force of pain;
Nor flowery page, nor reason's voice
Can bid the breaking heart rejoice.
E'en Nature's blooming aspect fails
To cheer the soul where grief prevails:
Nor vernal music's gentle flow
Can soothe the heart o'erwhelmed with woe.
Past are those sweet and happy hours,
Which, spent in nature's blooming bowers,
Delight serene and pleasure gave,
Though destined to an early grave.
Ah me! what grief hath shadowed o'er
Those prospects that can charm no more;—
What clouds of sorrow move between
The dawning and the noon-day scene!
Once each fair smile of morning light
Awoke our souls to visions bright.
The spirits in rejoicing ease
Sprang lightly as the vernal breeze,—
And mingled free in social joy,
And kindred kindness' sweet employ:
Or contemplation's calmer thought
Delight in loved retirement sought,
When oft, at evening's sweeter calm,
Silent we sipped the breathing balm;
While the fair moon with chastened beam
Gilded the playful, murmuring stream,
And with her soft, quiescent light
Silvered the sable garb of night.
Pensive we ranged the pebbly shore,
Whose waters their wild music pour,—
Where mingling waves, in loftier tone
Of mournful grandeur, wake the song.
Then happiness and we were seen
In gayer rambles on the green;
And life was sweet with peace and joy,
Nor aught could long the bliss annoy.
E'en now, my friend, in mental view,
Gliding we skip the vernal dew,
And taste the fresh morn's healthful breeze,
Charmed with her fragrant gayeties;
Then pause, while, all delighted, spring
Glad spirits on their airy wing:
Our bosoms thrill with pleasure's glow
And rapture's ardent accents flow.
Alas! how changed! the tear, the sigh,
Instead of song, are ever nigh;
And life grows dim with lingering pain,
While mitigation 's sought in vain.

Once more forgive the mournful song
That flows from sorrow sad and long,
But fain would yield to friendship's claim
A tribute to its sacred name,—
Would dwell upon the pleasing theme,
When virtue glows with gentlest beam,
And sweet affection's power benign
Expands that generous breast of thine.
But sorrow checks the pleasing thrill,
Blending affliction's deadliest ill,—
And boding guides my thoughts afar
To misery's night without a star.
But still may friendship's cheering sound
Oft soothe the rankling, cureless wound;
And oft the midnight thought will rove
On virtues that it still must love;—
Where innocence and truth combined
Adorn the treasures of the mind,
Where sympathy's sweet voice relieves
The aching heart that silent grieves.
I view the beauteous, blooming maid
As when 'mid flowery scenes she strayed.
Where the fair lily and the rose
Their beauty and their sweets disclose;
Which her own blooming aspect wears,
With loveliness more dear than theirs,—
And sweetly smiled in artless ease,
Brightest of blooming gayeties.
But beauty's charms on me no more
Exert their soul-enlivening power;
For vision fails, with light oppressed,
And beauty mocks the troubled breast.
Then strive, my aching thought, to shun
Those ills that cloud thy brightest sun;—
And dwell on fadeless beauties now,
And mark the matron's milder brow;
For wisdom, prudence, pious care
Mingle in meek assemblage there.
The wife,—affectionate, resigned,
The mother,—tender, watchful, kind,
Bespeak the heart where virtue yields
Her choicest fruits, and gently shields
Her votary from mental pain,—
And sweet content and quiet reign.
Methinks I see thee fondly gaze,
As thy loved infant near thee plays,
With all a mother's anxious care,
And hope delighted, beaming there;—
When at its lovely, winning wiles.
Responsive, sweet affection smiles,—
And its first uttered accent breathes
Sweetest of pleasing harmonies.
Then, clasped within thy longing arms,
I see thee bear its infant charms,
Or fold it gently to thy breast,
And lull it to its peaceful rest.
O may the beauteous infant fair
Its mother's charms, her virtues share,—
And long, thy joy and solace prove,
The cherished offspring of thy love;—
And bless her father's guardian name,
And long his loved protection claim.
Still may'st thou here be ever blest,
And go at last to blissful rest.

Adieu; these pains, augmenting fast,
Rack every nerve, and check the last,
The fond remembrance of thy worth,
That fain would breathe thy beauties forth;
But pangs imperious cry—"Obey!"—
And nature faints beneath their sway.
Once more, farewell, my gentle friend;
May guardian angels all thy life attend!