« ZurückWeiter »
WE LEAVE, FOR FANCY'S LURES, THE FIXED AND TRUE; DESTROY WHAT TIME HATH SPARED, YET BUILD AGAIN;
WE FIX OUR EYES ON PHANTOMS, AND PURSUE;
D. M. Moir.
[OF Moir, once well known in the pages of Blackwood under the
of them are beautiful in a cheerful spirit that has only to look on nature to
David Macbeth Moir was born at Musselburgh, near Edinburgh, in 1798.
[Casa Wappy was the pet name of an infant son of the poet, snatched
|ND hast thou sought thy heavenly home,
Our fond, dear boy
The realms where sorrow dare not come,
Where life is joy?
Pure at thy death as at thy birth,
Even by its bliss we mete our death,
Despair was in our last farewell,
As closed thine eye;
Tears of our anguish may not tell
When thou didst die;
WE CHASE THE AIRY BUBBLES OF THE BRAIN;
YEARS O'ER US PASS, AND AGE, THAT COMES TO FEW, COMES BUT TO TELL THEM THEY HAVE LIVED IN VAIN."-MOIR.
"ALL THINGS AROUND US PREACH OF DEATH, YET MIRTH SWELLS THE VAIN HEART, DARTS FROM THE EYE,
AS IF WE WERE CREATED NE'ER TO DIE, AND HAD OUR EVERLASTING HOME ON EARTH!"-DAVID M. MOIR.
"WHEN SUMMER'S GLOOMY CLOUDS HAVE RAINED FULL OFT ON MAN'S DEVOTED HEAD,-(MOIR)
EARTH, OUTSPREAD TO CHILDHood's glance,—(moir)
I feel thy breath upon my cheek—
I see thee smile, I hear thee speak-
Methinks thou smil'st before me now,
The hair thrown back from thy full brow,
I see thine eyes' deep violet light,
Thy dimpled cheek carnationed bright,
The nursery shows thy pictured wall,
Thy cloak and bonnet, club and ball;
A corner holds thine empty chair,
Even to the last thy every word—
Was sweet as sweetest song of bird,
On summer's eve;
In outward beauty undecayed,
Death o'er thy spirit cast no shade,
We mourn for thee when blind blank night
We pine for thee when morn's first light
GLOWED, LIKE A DREAM OF BRIGHT ROMANCE."-MOIR.
THE TIME-TAUGHT SPIRIT LOVES TO WEND BACK THROUGH THE PAST ITS MAZY WAY."-MOIR.
"WE MAKE OUR SORROW; NATURE KNOWS ALONE OF HAPPINESS AND PEACE;-(D. M. MOIR)
'TIS GUILT THAT GIRDS US WITH THE THROES AND HYDRA PANGS THAT NEVER CEASE."-MOIR.
"THUS WANE THE NOONDAY DREAMS OF YOUTH AWAY, AND TWILIGHT HUES THE PATH OF LIFE PERVADE;
"OF OUR EARLY FRIENDS THE MEMORIES SEEM-(D. M. MOIR)
Heaven were a coinage of the brain,
And all our hopes to meet again,
Then be to us, O dear, lost child,
A star, death's uncongenial wild
Soon, soon thy little feet have trod
Yet 'tis sweet balm to our despair,
That heaven is God's, and thou art there
There past is death in all its woes,
Farewell, then-for a while, farewell
Pride of my heart!
It cannot be that long we dwell
Time's shadows, like the shuttle, flee:
[From Dr. Moir's "Miscellaneous Poetical Works."]
HALF LOST IN YEARS, THE FRAGMENT OF A DREAM."-MOIR.
THUS, LIKE THE WESTERN SUNLIGHT, RAY BY RAY, INTO THE DARKNESS OF OLD AGE WE FADE."-MOIR.