Thoughts on Seeing the Evening Star.
Mild star of the soul! in the vesper glow
Of the lingering daylight beaming—
There's a priceless balm to the bosom of woe
In the light from thy coronet streaming.
From the placid arch of the evening sky,
And the waveless ether sleeping—
Thy spell descends to the dewy eye,
And our woes dissolve in weeping.
On the lightning wings of memory borne,
We retrace the paths of our gladness,—
And the bounding bliss of our vernal morn
Brings smiles to lighten our sadness.
With the airy step and the bird-like song
Of our youth on the star-lit mountain,
We dance to the streamlet's tuneful tongue,
Or lave in the gelid fountain.
We renew the joys of the wild-rose bower
Where the burning vow was plighted;
And again in the calm of the genial hour
We drink the warm kiss delighted.
In the smiles of a Mother's love we stand,
The tears of joy repressing,
And we thrill at the touch of a Father's hand,
As we kneel to ask his blessing.
These—these are the thoughts that thy talisman ray,
Calls up from the years departed;
And these are the joys that in hope's decay,
Yield a balm to the broken-hearted.
For the Southern Literary Messenger.
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