On a picture of my father
I strive in vain those features to restore
To Memory's faded tablets, which on me,
From the mute ivory, beam so lovingly,
And to recall their living light once more.
In vain I strive to pierce that veil of years,
And turn away all blinded with my tears.
But sometimes when the garish day is passed,
And night and sleep their spell upon me cast,
Thou comest to me, my father, from above,
And then for that brief moment I am blest,
For I am folded to thy sheltering breast;
And in the sacred rapture of thy love
A holy spell is on my spirit laid:
This mighty hunger of my heart is stayed.
poem by Anne Lynch Botta from Poems (1848)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Sonnet. The bee
The honey-bee that wanders all day long,
The field, the woodland, and the garden o'er,
To gather in his fragrant winter store,
Humming in calm content his quiet song,
Seeks not alone the rose's glowing breast,
The lily's dainty cup, the violet's lips, --
But from all rank and noxious weeds he sips
The single drop of sweetness closely press'd
Within the poison chalice. Thus, if we
Seek only to draw forth the hidden sweet,
In all the varied human flowers we meet,
In the wide garden of humanity,
And like the bee, if home the spoil we bear,
Hived in our hearts it turns to nectar there.
poem by Anne Lynch Botta from Poems (1848)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Sonnet. Milton
Oh bard! what though upon thy mortal eyes
There fell no glimmering ray of earthly light,
And the deep shadow of eternal night
Shut from thy gaze our lovely earth and skies,
Yet was it to thy spirit's vision given
To gaze upon the splendors of that shore
Eye had not seen, nor heart conceived before.
Then didst thou, Poet Laureate of heaven,
Sing of those courts and of that angel host,
Of that majestic Spirit who in vain
Dared, warred, and fell, never to rise again,
And of that Paradise so early lost,
In strains "posterity shall not let die,"
In "thoughts that wander through eternity."
poem by Anne Lynch Botta from Poems (1848)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Ode
Our patriot sires are gone,
The conqueror Death lays low
Those veterans one by one,
Who braved each other foe; --
Though on them rests death's sable pall,
Yet o'er their deeds no shade shall fall.
No, ye of deathless fame!
Ye shall not sleep unsung,
While freedom hath a name,
Or gratitude a tongue; --
Yet shall your names and deeds sublime
Shine brighter through the mists of Time.
Oh, keep your armor bright,
Sons of those mighty dead,
And guard ye well the right,
For which such blood was shed!
Your starry flag should only wave
O'er Freedom's home, or o'er your grave.
poem by Anne Lynch Botta from Poems (1848)
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Sonnet II
Oh thou who once on earth, beneath the weight
Of our mortality didst live and move,
The incarnation of profoundest love;
Who on the Cross that love didst consummate;
Whose deep and ample fullness could embrace
The poorest, meanest of our fallen race:
How shall we e'er that boundless debt repay?
By long loud prayers in gorgeous temples said?
By rich oblations on thine altars laid?
Ah, no! not thus thou didst appoint the way:
When thou wast bowed our human woe beneath,
Then as a legacy thou didst bequeath
Earth's sorrowing children to our ministry --
And as we do to them, we do to thee.
poem by Anne Lynch Botta from Poems (1848)
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Charity
O Thou who once on earth beneath the weight
Of our mortality didst live and move,
The incarnation of profoundest love;
Who on the Cross that love didst consummate,
Whose deep and ample fullness could embrace
The poorest, meanest of our fallen race:
How shall we e'er that boundless debt repay?
By long, loud prayers in gorgeous temples said?
By rich oblations on thine altars laid?
Ah, no! not thus Thou didst appoint the way:
When Thou wast bowed our human woe beneath,
Then as a legacy Thou didst bequeath
Earth's sorrowing children to our ministry,
Saying, As ye do to them ye do to me.
poem by Anne Lynch Botta from Poems (1848)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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To my friend, on his birthday (II)
He who has walked among his fellow-men
This life's rough path for threescore years and ten,
Bearing for others, on the weary way,
The heat and burden of the toilsome day;
Sounding the silvery notes of faith and hope
Whene'er the weak or the despairing droop;
Speaking the words of sympathy and love,
Far the wild discords of the world above;
Raising the fallen, succoring the opprest---
The Holy Graal of unfound good his quest;
Holding aloft, a true and blameless Knight,
The stainless banner of the Just and Right:
He is the Christian hero of to-day,
And at his feet my tribute here I lay.
poem by Anne Lynch Botta from Poems (1848)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Sonnet. Love
Go forth in life, oh friend! not seeking love;
A mendicant, that with imploring eye
And outstretched hand asks of the passers by
The alms his strong necessities may move.
For such poor love to pity near allied,
Thy generous spirit may not stoop and wait,
A suppliant, whose prayer may be denied,
Like a spurned beggar's at a palace gate:
But thy heart's affluence lavish uncontrolled;
The largess of thy love give full and free,
As monarchs in their progress scatter gold;
And be thy heart like the exhaustless sea,
That must its wealth of cloud and dew bestow,
Though tributary streams or ebb or flow.
poem by Anne Lynch Botta from Poems (1848)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Sonnet. On a picture of the Virgin
If the young mother clasp, for the first time,
The mortal child that earthly love has given,
With a deep joy preluding that of heaven;
Who shall describe thy ecstacy sublime,
Oh Virgin mother! when upon thy ear
The message of the announcing angel fell,
In heavenly tones to calm thy rising fear,
And thy approaching glory to fortell.
Was ever mother so divinely blest,
As when, the glow of Heaven yet clinging round him,
Before the weight of human grief had bound him,
The gentle Christ-child to thy heart was prest?
Oh, blessed among women! joy like thine
What hand shall dare describe! alas, not mine.
poem by Anne Lynch Botta from Poems (1848)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Sonnet. A remembrance
Night closes round me, and wild threatening forms
Clasp me with icy arms and chain me down,
And bind upon my brow a cypress crown,
Dewy with tears, and heaven frowns dark with storms;
But the one glorious memory of thee
Rises upon my path to guide and bless,
The bright SHEKINAH of the wilderness,
The Polar Star upon a trackless sea,
The beaming Pharos of the unreached shore.
It spans the clouds that gather o'er my way,
The rainbow of my life's tempestuous day.
Oh, blessed thought! stay with me evermore,
And shed thy lustrous beams where midnight glooms,
As fragrant lamps burned in the ancient tombs.
poem by Anne Lynch Botta from Poems (1848)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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