The weekly clarion. [volume] (Jackson, Miss.) 1863-1882, 1879-07-23
A MEMORY.
BY REV. FATHER RYAN.


With lilies dropped on either side;
Our hearts, in spite OF us, viii dream
In such place, at Eventide.
Bright wayelets wore the scarf OF Blue
! That well became the valley fair
Aud grassy fringe Of greenest hue
Hung round the borders everywhere.
And when the stream. in maynard whirls
Went winding IN and winding out,
/ Lay shells that wore the look of pearls
Without the pride, all strewn about
And here and there along the strand.
/ Where some ambitious wave had strayed,
+ Lay little monuments OF sand
! As frail as those BY mortal made
And many a flower was blooming there
In beauty, Yet without name,
/ Like humble hearts that often bear
| The gifts-but not the palm Of fame.
/ The rainbow's tints could never vie
With all the colors that they wore;
While bluer than the biuest sky
The stream flowed on tween shore and she
And on the height, and down the side,
OF either hill that hid the place,
Rose elms in all their stately pride,
Ot youthful strength and ancient race.
While here and there the trees between
Bearing the sears of battle-shocks,
And frowning wrathful might be seen
The moss yelled faces Of the rocks.
And round the rocks crept lowered vines
And climbed the trees that lowered high
The type OF lofty thought that twines
Around Truth, TO touch the sky.
And TO the vale from first of May
Until the last of August went;
Beauty, the exile, came each day,
In all her charms, TO cast her tent.
Twas there one Iong-gone August day
| wandered down the valley fair
The spell has never passed away,
That fell upon my spirit there.
The summer sunset glorifed
The clouded face of dying day
Which flung smile upon the tide
And lilies, ere he passed away.
And DER the valleys grassy slopes
There fell an evanescent sheen,
That flashed and faded like the copes
That haunt us, OF what might have been.
And rocks and trees flung back the light
OF all the sunsets golden gems,
As if it were beneath their right
To wear such borrowed diadems.
Low in the West CLEAN after CLEAN
Glowed faint and fainter-till the last
Made the dying Day a living Dream
To last as long as life shall last.
And in the arches of the trees
The wild birds slept with folded wing,
And cen the lips of the summer breeze,
That sung all day, had ceased to sing.
And all was silent-save the rll
That rippled round the lilies feet
And sang-while stiffness grew more still
To listen TO the murmur sweet.
And now and then it surely seemed
The little stream was laughing low
As if the sleepy wavelets dreamed
Such dreams only children know.
So stilI-that not the faintest breath
Did stir the shadows i'll the air =
1t would have seemed the house OF Death
Had not felt life sleeping there.
And slow and soft-and soft and slow,
From darkling earth and darkened sky,
While wings of Gloom waved to and fro
And spectral shadows fitted by.
And then methought upon the sward
| SAVIOR was it starlight's ray?
Or Angels-come 10 watch and guard
The valley, till the dawn OF day
Is every lower life the ward
OF spirits more divinely wrought?
IT'S sweet To believe It's Gods, and hard
To think tits but Poets thought.
L
My senses did not fail me when
saw yelled angels watch the scene
And guard its sleep-as they guard men.
Sweet sang the stream on it pressed,
As sorrow sings heart to Sleep
As mother sings one child to rest
And for the dead one still Will weep.
walked adown the singing stream
The lilies slept on either side =:
My heart-it could not help but dream
At Eve, and after Eventide.
All! dreams of such a lofty reach
With more than earthly fancies fraught,
That not the strongest wings of speech
Could ever touch their lowest thought
Dreams of the Bright-the Fair-the Far
Heart-fancies flashing Heavens hue
That swept around, as sweeps star
The boundless orbit of the True.
Yea, dreams all free from earthly faint
Where human Passion plays no part
As pure thoughts that thrill a Saint
Or haunts an Arehangelic heart.
All dreams that did not rise from Sense,
And rose too high to stoop to it
And famed aloft the frankincense
In censors round the infinite.
Yea dreams that We'd with Angels flight,
And soaring-bore my heart away
Beyond the far Star bounds OF Night
Unto the Everlasting Day.
How long | strolled beside the stream
do not know, nor may ] say;
But when the Poet ceased to dream
The Priest went on his knees to pray.
l felt-as sure a Seraph feels,
When, i'll some golden hour of grace,
God smiles, and suddenly reveals
A new, strange Glory in his face.
All star-ht valley; lilies white,
The Poet dreamed, We slumbered deep
But when the Priest knelt down that night
And prayed, why woke We from your sleep?
The stream sang down the valley fair,
| saw the waken lilies nod,
knew they heard me whisper there:
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