Laura Sophia Temple

Dreams of the Morning

Ye mantling hues that paint the changeful sky,
Ye opening flow'rs, of bright and varied die,
Thou wak'ning breeze whose light and silken wing
Wafts thro' the ambient air the musk of Spring,
Whose low-notes breathing softness and perfume
Pant thro' the windings of the forest-gloom;
Oh! let these sad-eyes drink your graces wild!
Be Mem'ry's sigh by Nature's power beguil'd;
And let gay Fancy all her gifts bestow;
Begone for one short hour the clouds of woe.
Yes! She shall come upon her golden wing,
And o'er my senses all her magic fling,
Shall with her wand recal the bloom of joy,
And chase the starting tear of agony.
Steal o'er my soul, ye thoughts of other hours,
Lead me, fair Hope, through all your living bow'rs:
Till with sweet languor ev'ry sense opprest,
I sink, unconscious, in eternal rest.--
And now, e'en now I feel your witching pow'r,
Gone are the dark-mists of the present hour,
E'en as the vapours on some mountain's side
Whose murky shadows all the landscape hide,
When Night's inshrouding curtains fade away,
Melt and disperse before the beam of day.

What sounds are those that trembling in the wind
Flash such delight athwart my darken'd mind?
Oh! well I know thee, wild, enchanting strain!
Return sweet notes and bless mine ear again.
Fly, lovely cadence, through the woodlands fly,
And wrap my soul in dreams of melody.
Yes! 'tis the smiling song of other days,
Wild o'er the breezy hill its sweetness strays,
It speaks of blessings lost, of moments dear,
And weeping Mem'ry lends her wond'ring ear.--
Oh! the fair hand that once awoke the song,
Chaining in rapture mute the list'ning throng!
Oh grace of form ! Oh Virtue's bloomy dress!
Oh, all that waits upon the steps of loveliness!
Fair beam ! whose dawning glories sunk so soon!
Swift roll'd the dark cloud o'er thy blazing Noon:
By Fate's rude wing the angry blast was hurl'd,
Fled was the beam to light a purer world!
But Fancy's hand shall each lost charm survey,
"Ye envious clouds of fate,--away--away--"
Fancy shall make the lamp of Love to burn,
Shall bid the smile of yesterday return.
Creative pow'r! whose soft persuasive tongue
Tells of the dawn of Hope, when Joy was young,
When rapture trembled in the tearless eye,
And tenderness alone awoke the sigh.
Oh, ye bright orbs! the heralds of her soul,
Whose sparkling warmth on me no more must roll,
For whom these eyes o'er all creation stray,
But vainly seek to catch one kindling ray!
What tho' Death's Angel spreads his sable wings,
And o'er your dazzling day his darkness flings,
What tho', for ever veil'd from mortal sight,
Quench'd are your liquid fires in endless night,
Yet Fancy's piercing glance dispels the gloom,
And bursts the icy fetters of the tomb:
Once more to friendship's arms the maid is giv'n,
Once more I gaze upon the bloom of Heav'n.
Still let me gaze upon that mantling cheek,
Still in those eyes their wonted sweetness seek!
Oh! let that voice still warble o'er the heath,
That voice far softer than the Zephyr's breath;
Still o'er the mountains let us gaily rove,
Still wildly wander through the tangled grove.
But ah! what sad realities arise?
Fast from my gaze the painted vapour flies;
Still in this heart I wear grief's rankling thorn,
For lost and vanish'd are the dreams of Morn.