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Graham's Magazine, Vol. XXXVII, No. 5, November 1850

Part 2 — TO L——. WITH SOME POEMS.

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———

BY GRACE GREENWOOD.

———

I know these lays will come to thee

Like flowers along thy pathway strown—

And wear to thy young, generous eyes

A grace and beauty not their own.

Thou know’st they spring where deepest shade

And blinding sunlight are at strife—

Faint blooms and frail, yet bringing thee

Sweet breathings from my inmost life.

Or come like waters, leaping out

From shadowy places to the day,

To catch heaven’s brightness on their waves,

And freshen earth along their way.

A streamlet laughing in the sun

Is all a busy world may hear—

The deepest fountains of my soul

Send up their murmurs to thine ear.

There are to whom these lays shall come

Like strains that sky-larks downward send;

But ah, no higher than thy heart

They sing to thee, belovéd friend!

For in thy manhood pure and strong,

With thy great soul, thy fresh, young heart,

Thou livest my ideal life,

And what I only dream thou art.

The Grecian youth whose name thou bear’st,

Who nightly with the billows strove,

And through the wild seas cleaved his way

To the dear bosom of his love,

Ne’er bore a braver soul than thine,

When yawned great deeps and tempests frowned,

Nor lifted up amid the waves

A brow with loftier beauty crowned.

The poet’s rare and wondrous gifts

In thee await their triumph-hour—

There sleep within thy dreamy eyes

The mighty secrets of his power.

Thy heart, with one high throb, can rise

His fair, heroic dreams above—

There breathes more passion in thy voice

Than in a thousand lays of love.

Ah, know’st thou not, the while thou deem’st

The poet’s mission most divine,

Life’s grand, unwritten poetry

Goes out from natures such as thine?

What though it falleth brokenly,

And faintly on the world’s dull ear—

Though clamorous voices cry it down,

To God it rises, pure and clear!

It cometh as a service glad—

A music all as full and sweet,

As though the stars hymned forth their joy,

And rolled their anthems to His feet.

When, like the Grecian youth, thou see’st

The midnight tempests gather round—

When storm-clouds seem to flood the heavens,

And all the starry lights are drowned;—

Upborne by angel-hands, may’st thou

Through life’s wild sea right onward sweep,

To where Hope’s signal lights the night,

And Love stands watching by the deep.

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