Maria Gowen Brooks Poems

I.
The time has been--this holiest records say--
In punishment for crimes of mortal birth,
When spirits banished from the realms of day
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WOE to thee, wild ambition! I employ
Despair's low notes thy dread effects to tell;
Born in high Heaven, her peace thou couldst destroy;
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BLEST were those days! Can these dull ages boast
Aught to compare? though now no more beguile,
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ACACIAS here inclined
Their friendly heads in thick profusion, planted,
And with a thousand tendrils clasp'd and twined;
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ADIEU, fair isle! I love thy bowers,
I love thy dark-eyed daughters there;
The cool pomegranate’s scarlet flowers
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To meet a friendship such as mine,
Such feelings must the soul refine,
As are not oft of mortal birth; —
'T is love, without a stain of earth.
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ADIEU, fair isle! I love thy bowers,
I love thy dark-eyed daughters there;
The cool pomegranate's scarlet flowers
Look brighter in their jetty hair.
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'T IS now the hour of mirth, the hour of love,
The hour of melancholy. Night, as vain
Of her full beauty, seems to pause above,
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How beauteous art thou, O thou morning sun! —
The old man, feebly tottering forth, admires
As much thy beauty, now life's dream is done,
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Thou who wert born of Psyche and of Love
And fondly nurst on Poesy's warm breast
Painting, oh, power adored!
My country's sons have poured
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