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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=456090" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>To Hope</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">OH come, thou power divine,<br>Thou lovely spirit with the wings of light,<br>And let thy dewy eyes<br>Shed their sweet influences on my soul;<br>Oh let me hear thy voice,<br>Whose sound thrills with a keener, deeper bliss,<br>Than the shrill jubilance the bird of joy<br>Pours on the air!<br>Or the child babblings of the gladsome rill<br>When, issuing first from out its mossy couch<br>In venturesome delight, it frisks in glee<br>Adown the hoary mountain, silver-fraught.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Oh come!<br>Where I do lie drenched in my bitter tears,<br>And drowning in dejection: haunted by <br>The pale gaunt fears that spectre-like rush forth<br>In shadowy swarms from out the brains's black cells,<br>Like glaring madmen in confusion 'scaped <br>From out their dens, whirling with shambling limbs<br>In whooping dances through the startled dusk,<br>And pouncing wildly on my shiv'ring soul,<br>Where in her hour of weakness prostrate she<br>Doth palpitate in terror, like a deer,<br>That hunted by the swift pursuing hounds,<br>Wounded and bleeding, sinks upon the ground,<br>While with hoarse croaks the ravening birds of prey<br>Wheel close and closer, darkening all the air.<br>But thou--<br>Come breathe upon me with thy balmy breath,<br>Like a young wind, born in the rosèd east,<br>That leapeth boy-like from the lap of morn,<br>To blow the land all clear from crouching fogs:</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Thus drive thou hence the phantoms; cleanse my soul!<br>Thou sweet enchantress, with the magic spells!<br>Wails there a heart, lone on the populous earth,--<br>Like a weak infant lost within the night<br>That crieth piteously in helplessness,<br>And pusheth its blind limbs with gestures scared<br>Against the gloom,--<br>Then with an airy footfall glidest thou<br>Gently anigh, as softly as a cloud,<br>When one alone in crimson glory slides<br>Along the twilight sky: tak'st the bewildered thing<br>Into thine arms, thy fair and downy arms,<br>And rock'st it on thy bosom--singing low<br>An old, old song, old as the flowers that bloom,<br>And like them ever young; till dreams rise up,<br>Like cool white mists from out the heart of hills,<br>And lie dew-sweet upon it in its sleep!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Sits there an orphan girl with sunken cheeks,<br>And red-rimmed eyes, high up beneath the leads,<br>Stitching with aching fingers all the night<br>Beside the meagre flame, to earn her bread,<br>And feed with scanty fuel the low fire<br>Of life, while the shrill blast<br>Dashes the rain against the rattling panes,<br>And down the chimney roars with smoke and wet;--<br>Then comest thou, with memories all dim<br>And faint, with beauty from the childish years,<br>Transposing them into the time to come<br>With a new lustre of the full-grown heart.<br>Where the bare walls stood with a hungry stare,<br>The golden cornfields, weighed down by their wealth,<br>Sway to and fro; purling the brook flows on;<br>And, like a bit of sky drawn down by love,<br>Wilds of forget-me-nots run riot round;<br>And meadows scent the air; and lowing kine<br>Are driven home; and silver geese hiss loud<br>Within the pools; and childhood's silver laughs<br>Ring o'er the green like chimes of silver bells<br>In the clear atmosphere; and through green boughs<br>Curls up the smoke from many a thatchèd roof,<br>Flushed all the land with roseate floods of eve,<br>While large and full glows low the harvest moon,<br>There as through homely fields she lightly walks,<br>And one is by her side, and whispers low,<br>And thine, oh hope! the future's kindling glow.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Rocks there a sailor on a reeling ship,<br>That staggers blindly like a brain-struck man,<br>Around the staring cliffs!<br>While the wild blast, the fiddler of the deep,<br>Wakes such mad music on his shrieking strings <br>That the fierce elements in huge delight<br>Vault from their torpor, rearing giant heights!<br>Ha! The maned billows from abysmal deeps<br>Leap like live Alps, and catch the tearing clouds<br>That dizzy haste along the wilds of sky;<br>Tossing them round in labyrinthic whirls<br>To the witch light of lightning, and the roar<br>Of thunder, in its crashing clattering fall.<br>Yea, while the ocean yawneth for its prey,<br>Yelling with starvèd jaws around the hull,<br>Man's sole frail guardian from the fangs of death,--<br>Thou softly float'st,<br>Like to the dove that bore the olive branch<br>Across the waste of waters, to his side. . . .<br>No longer sees he then the wide wild sea,<br>No longer hears he the tempestuous blast:<br>But where the cottage leans against the cliff,<br>The evening star shedding its peace adown,<br>He lifts the latch, and with one bound of joy<br>He stands in the low room, beside the hearth,<br>Where sits his winsome wife, and rocks her babe<br>With lullabies; and heaving one big sob <br>He strains her to his breast, her whom he thought <br>On this side of the grave to see no more!<br>Then does she take him by the hand, and leads<br>Him round from cot to cot, where with round cheeks<br>His children lie, sleep-flushed, 'twixt snow-white sheets,<br>And snatching up the youngest in his arms, <br>With an untameable emotion, weeps<br>His kisses on him, till it opens wide<br>Large dream-dew'd eyes, and lisps with cherry mouth,<br>'Oh, Dada, Dada!'----That thou dost for him!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Wanders the patriot on a stranger shore,<br>And exile from the land he loved too well:<br>Within his heart<br>The festering wound a thankless nation strikes,<br>When cloud-capp'd by its ignorance and fear,<br>And goaded on by spurring king and priest,<br>Like a mad dog it turns and bites the hand<br>Stretched out to heal.<br>He sees his friends fall off like rotten leaves<br>That scrambling flee the tempest-girted oak;<br>He sees the enemies he boldly braved,<br>Forging the red-hot slanders wherewithal <br>To scorch his writhing soul!<br>Alone in the wide world, alone he stands;<br>Alone, save where beyond the roaring seas<br>His mother weeps, and weeps, oh God! through him.<br>Then, blowing from dead deserts the simoom<br>Of doubt breathes on him, with its killing breath,<br>With'ring the flowers of faith, the groves of youth,<br>And buffeting his heart on cruel waves<br>Of wind, e'en like a quiv'ring autumn leaf.<br>Oh, is it strange?<br>That in the midnight, on the dark there grow <br>Pale faces sweating blood, and wrapped in shrouds,<br>Turning reproachful eyes upon his eyes,<br>And asking dumbly, 'Wherefore did we die,<br>And spill the wine-filled goblets of our youth<br>On barren soil that will not teem with birth?'<br>That brides, like broken lilies whirled along<br>By arrowy streams, glide past and sadly sob,<br>'Thou'st mowed us down, and mowed us down in vain!'<br>That infants thrill the silence with their wail,<br>'Why are we fatherless, if fatherland<br>Is still denied?' And that his heartstrings quake<br>With sobs of mothers' hearts that hopeless break?<br>Strange that his purpose, that did seem so fair,<br>With a white blaze of light around her head,<br>Which fell like orient beams on nations' brows,<br>Should wane before his terror-stricken eyes?<br>And that in direst agony of soul<br>His noble nature tott'ring on her base, <br>Should question if his deeds were rightful deeds?<br>Stirred up by God's own living breath, or pushed<br>By hot ambition's ravenous desire?<br>And if the aim that drew were but a dream <br>By which his visionary youth was mocked,<br>As travellers in the desert by the shine<br>Of fair false waters?--At that torturing thought<br>Smells of cold graves struck damp upon his brow,<br>Till his wilds eyes grew void, and limp his limbs,<br>And he had dropped resistless in the jaws<br>Of madness or of death!<br>Hadst thou not come, perennial presence! bright<br>As Phosphorus in the dim morning skies!<br>And poured thy morning sunbeams on his heart,<br>And blown thy morning breezes on his soul,<br>Till freshly born the world, and on him smiled<br>With eyes as tender as his mother's were,<br>When sowing love upon his cradled self.<br>Then back plucked he his purpose, fixed it firm<br>In iron steadfastness upon his soul,<br>And called on faith, where with upturnèd eyes<br>Above the clouds she treads the mountain peaks,<br>And on that love, which boundless as the sky,<br>Stretches o'er all mankind its azured vault.<br>Then rose he, set his trustful eyes on high,<br>And set his heart among the lowly born:<br>For in the vasty glimmerings of the dawn<br>He saw such visions of the things to be,<br>Such heights of being ascended, and such love<br>And justice throning on the seats of men,<br>That with unflagging steps he calmly trod<br>The walks of martyrdom! Oh, crown his brows<br>With buds of those full summers of the race!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Mourns there an aged mother, lying low<br>Upon the lowly grave,<br>Round which the autumn moans her mournful dirge,<br>And shivering cadence of the shrunken leaves<br>Keeps saddest measure with the wailing wind;<br>While the pale glimm'rings of the waning moon<br>Fall in cold tears upon the unknown tomb,<br>Beneath whose sod, washed by the ghastly mists,<br>Lies he, her one sole flower, that on the breast<br>Of life bloomed for her all the days and nights;<br>In the midsummer of his lusty life<br>Devoured by that grim beast, whose reeking breath<br>Is saturated with the blood of man--<br>The twin of pestilence--the foul firstborn<br>Of her who spinneth in the nether gloom<br>The phantasms that turn mad the brains of men,<br>And him whose savage lusts and greedy soul<br>Would make his footstool on the necks of men!<br>Oh here, even here like a stray beam of light<br>That glides unscared in sacred tenderness<br>Across the heavy vapours, brooding blind<br>In shapeless masses o'er a joyless tarn<br>Deep sunk in mountains,--even here the gleam<br>Of thy gold hair makes music in the dark,<br>Cradlest the head of grief on thy warm breast,<br>Whisperest in tones sweeter than honeycomb<br>Of that new heaven where death shall be no more,<br>Nor grief, nor crying, neither shall there be<br>More pain; for former things have passed away.<br>And with thy wings of light around her soul,<br>And with thy dewy eyes upon her heart, <br>Death takes her gently like a cherubim<br>By the shrunk hand, and leads her to her rest.<br>* * * * * <br>Oh Hope! thou consolation of the soul!<br>Flash forth, and like a sun strike on the clouds<br>Of dull despondency, that pour their rain <br>In showers upon the sad heart's shivering soil;<br>Flash forth, and force each drop e'en as it falls <br>To glass thy loveliness, and on the cloud<br>Frowning in dumb defiance, paint such bloom<br>Etherial, that its blackness but becomes<br>A foil on which thy brightness brighter beams,<br>Till spanned with rainbow-glory the sad soul<br>Glistens in glimmering smiles through all her tears,<br>And life shone through by white eternity,<br>Circled with calm as by a covenant, <br>Is born in beauty of the bitter tears,<br>Like Aphrodite from the salt sea waves.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Mathilde+Blind">Mathilde Blind</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=456090" data-title="To Hope de Mathilde Blind" data-description="OH come, thou power divine,
Thou lovely spirit with the wings of light,
And let thy dewy eyes
Shed their sweet influences on my soul;
Oh let me hear thy voice,
Whose sound thrills with a keener, deeper bliss,
Than the shrill jubilance the bird of ..."></div>
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