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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=391631" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Parting Song</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">A youth went forth to exile, from a home<br>Such as to early thought gives images,<br>The longest treasur'd, and most oft recall'd,<br>And brightest kept, of love;-a mountain home,<br>That, with the murmur of its rocking pines<br>And sounding waters, first in childhood's heart<br>Wakes the deep sense of nature unto joy,<br>And half unconscious prayer;-a Grecian home,<br>With the transparence of blue skies o'erhung,<br>And, through the dimness of its olive shades,<br>Catching the flash of fountains, and the gleam<br>Of shining pillars from the fanes of old.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And this was what he left!-Yet many leave<br>Far more:-the glistening eye, that first from theirs<br>Call'd out the soul's bright smile; the gentle hand,<br>Which through the sunshine led forth infant steps<br>To where the violets lay; the tender voice<br>That earliest taught them what deep melody<br>Lives in affection's tones.-He left not these.<br>-Happy the weeper, that but weeps to part<br>With all a mother's love!-A bitterer grief<br>Was his-To part unlov'd! -of her unlov'd,<br>That should have breath'd upon his heart, like Spring,<br>Fostering its young faint flowers!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Yet had he friends,<br>And they went forth to cheer him on his way<br>Unto the parting spot-and she too went,<br>That mother, tearless for her youngest-born.<br>The parting spot was reach'd:-a lone deep glen,<br>Holy, perchance, of yore, for cave and fount<br>Were there, and sweet-voiced echoes; and above,<br>The silence of the blue, still, upper Heaven<br>Hung round the crags of Pindus, where they wore<br>Their crowning snows.-Upon a reck he sprung,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The unbelov'd one, for his home to gaze<br>Through the wild laurels back; but then a light<br>Broke on the stern proud sadness of his eye,<br>A sudden quivering light, and from his lips<br>A burst of passionate song.<br>'Farewell, farewell!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'I hear thee, O thou rushing stream!-thou 'rt from my native dell,<br>Thou 'rt bearing thence a mournful sound-a murmur of farewell!<br>And fare thee well-flow on, my stream!-flow on, thou bright and free!<br>I do but dream that in thy voice one tone laments for me;<br>But I have been a thing unlov'd, from childhood's loving years,<br>And therefore turns my soul to thee, for thou hast known my tears;<br>The mountains, and the caves, and thou, my secret tears have known:<br>The woods can tell where he hath wept, that ever wept alone!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'I see thee once again, my home! thou 'rt there amidst thy vines,<br>And clear upon thy gleaming roof the light of summer shines.<br>It is a joyous hour when eve comes whispering through thy groves,<br>The hour that brings the son from toil, the hour the mother loves!<br>-The hour the mother loves!-for me belov'd it hath not been;<br>Yet ever in its purple smile, thou smil'st, a blessed scene!<br>Whose quiet beauty o'er my soul through distant years will come-<br>-Yet what but as the dead, to thee, shall I be then, my home?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Not as the dead!-no, not the dead!-We speak of them -we keep<br>Their names, like light that must not fade, within our bosoms deep!<br>We hallow ev'n the lyre they touch'd, we love the lay they sung,<br>We pass with softer step the place they fill'd our band among!<br>But I depart like sound, like dew, like aught that leaves on earth<br>No trace of sorrow or delight, no memory of its birth!<br>I go!-the echo of the rock a thousand songs may swell<br>When mine is a forgotten voice.-Woods, mountains, home, farewell!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'And farewell, mother!-I have borne in lonely silence long,<br>But now the current of my soul grows passionate and strong!<br>And I will speak! though but the wind that wanders through the sky,<br>And but the dark deep-rustling pines and rolling streams reply.<br>Yes! I will speak!-within my breast whate'er hath seem'd to be,<br>There lay a hidden fount of love, that would have gush'd for thee!<br>Brightly it would have gush'd, but thou, my mother! thou hast thrown<br>Back on the forests and the wilds what should have been thine own!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Then fare thee well! I leave thee not in loneliness to pine,<br>Since thou hast sons of statelier mien and fairer brow than mine!<br>Forgive me that thou couldst not love!-it may be, that a tone<br>Yet from my burning heart may pierce, through thine, when I am gone!<br>And thou perchance mayst weep for him on whom thou ne'er hast smil'd,<br>And the grave give his birthright back to thy neglected child!<br>Might but my spirit then return, and 'midst its kindred dwell,<br>And quench its thirst with love's free tears!-'tis all a dream-farewell!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Farewell!'-the echo died with that deep word,<br>Yet died not so the late repentant pang<br>By the strain quicken'd in the mother's breast!<br>There had pass'd many changes o'er her brow,<br>And cheek, and eye; but into one bright flood<br>Of tears at last all melted; and she fell<br>On the glad bosom of her child, and cried<br>'Return, return, my son!'-the echo caught<br>A lovelier sound than song, and woke again,<br>Murmuring-'Return, my son!'--</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Felicia+Dorothea+Hemans">Felicia Dorothea Hemans</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=391631" data-title="The Parting Song de Felicia Dorothea Hemans" data-description="A youth went forth to exile, from a home
Such as to early thought gives images,
The longest treasur'd, and most oft recall'd,
And brightest kept, of love;-a mountain home,
That, with the murmur of its rocking pines
And sounding waters, first in ch..."></div>
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