EVENING CLOUDS by Miss M. Miles. 1839, June [poetry]

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Poughkeepsie Casket. June 29, 1839

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EVENING CLOUDS. Clouds of various and radiant dies! Floating at eve in the deep blue skies, May ye tell of your glorious homes of light— As ye fade away in the dim twilight? Do ye melt in air? or far away, rest Curtains of light o'er ocean's breast? Purple clouds! In the sweet south-west, Float ye o'er isles of the blest? Bird-like do ye flit around the departed? Or the spirit's call bear to all broken-hearted? Bidding them e'en at this sweet, still time, Leave a world of guilt, and woe, and crime. Rose-touched clouds! Is the south your home? Do you go where the rainbow flowers bloom? Do ye cast a shade o'er the silver flood, Or tinge as with light the deep green wood? Touching the heart at the sunset hour, With your softened brow and gentle power. Golden clouds! oh! where do ye fly, Now moving away so gorgeously? Canopy-like, o'ershadow ye those Whose hearts are bowed with early woes? Or touch'd by a seraph's radiant hand, Seek ye a home in the 'better land?' No answer! but like an angel's plume, Ye hang o'er the world in its deep'ning gloom. But the star-beam above, bright and clear, Is a guide to that home where no clouds appear. But you beautiful ones, seem a holy spell To hush the heart, where bitter thoughts dwell. MISS M. MILES.

LINES by Miss M. Miles. 1840, June [poetry]

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The Ladies' Companion. June, 1840 || +1 || +2

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Original. LINES. BY MISS M. MILES. A low strain of music fell upon my ear, that stirred up many mournful memories. One! the dearest and loveliest of our household band, had fondly loved that sweet melody, and as we watch'd hour after hour, beside her dying bed—she would beg for music! low music! and flowers! for she prized earth's beautiful things, as evidence of her Father's love'. And when she sunk calmly into the dreamless sleep, it was with a spirit purified from error, ere the clouds of sorrow had dimmed its brightness. But with music there is blent mournfulness, for it calls memory's land” the loved and lost! IT comes, to break the hush again, That fairy-like, and thrilling strain; But mournfully, tho' sweet and clear, It lingers now upon mine ear— Touching a chord within my heart— That hath with earthly things, no part. It carries me back to a still, pleasant room— When the mild summer came, in its brightness and bloom, Where we watch'd thro' long hours o'er a dear one's decay— In the light of young loveliness passing away, 'Till it seemed as her couch were the couch of the blest, And angels watched o'er it, to bear her to rest. No gloom round the dying! bright flowers were there, The tulip, and blush rose, and lily-bell fair; And music, just such as a pure one would love, Whose spirit unfetter'd was soaring above. And smiles of affection altho' when apart, The bitter tears gushed, from the half-breaking heart. The tones that she loved, are still dearest to me, But mournfulness blends with their deep melody; And tho' one sweet star has gone down in our Heaven, And one “silver cord” in the harp of life riven, There still is a land, where the music and flowers Ne'er feel the sad blight, of this dim world of ours.

EARLY DEATH by Miss M. Miles. 1842 [poetry]

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The Gift: a Christmas and New Year's Present for 1842 || archive.org

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From Google+ || Screenshot is/was here

EARLY DEATH. BY MISS M. MILES. 'Here a vain love to passing flowers Thou gav'st; but where thou art, The sway is not with changeful hours, There love and death must part.' SHE loved the merry spring-time, Its gay and sunny hours, The glad song of its bright birds, Its wealth of buds and flowers; The gushing of its fountains, Its sunset's lingering ray, And the golden cloud that floated So silently away! She loved the fair, and beautiful, And fleeting things of earth; Whilst gladness, as a spell, was flung O'er her spirit and her path! And 'neath the sky's blue canopy She dearly loved to roam; Where she could steal some wild-wood sweet From out its forest home. Life was to her one fairy dream, No cloud upon her brow, And as the chime of some sweet bells Her laughter's silvery flow; And yet so beautiful she bent In prayer, at morn and even, She seem'd some angel messenger, To point the way to heaven! We guarded her with changeless love; But ever, day by day, We saw her step grow faltering, Her bright smile pass away! The rose-tint fade upon her cheek, The light of her blue eye Grow dim, ere we could give her up, And feel that she could die! She died! when bud and blossom Were bursting into bloom; And the bird she loved was singing, As we bore her to the tomb; But though the 'silver cord' was loosed, We bow'd beneath the rod, And felt a spirit purified Was resting with its God! But now, the merry spring-time To me comes fraught with sadness, Where erst, of old, it only bore The radiant tinge of gladness; But still, whene'er the pale sweet stars Come forth so fair at even, I love to steal, and hold commune With that angel girl in heaven. Boston. ———————————————— The epigraph is from THE GRAVE OF A POETESS ———————————————— Records of Woman: With Other Poems. by Felicia Hemans. 1828 The Poetical Works of Mrs. Felicia Hemans: Complete in One Volume, with a Critical Preface. 1836