POETRY.
ANXIETY.
THOU infant sister of more dread Despair, Chill visitant of every troubled heart,
Who, stealing on us from we know not where, Will all unwelcome play thy impish part ; Who cometh softly, driving gentle Sleep— Fair bidden guest who met thee on thy way— Behind those phantoms called from out the deep Where direst Future dwells, and where no ray Of brightness ever shines, nor gleam of opening day.
In vain we strive to banish from the mind The scenes thy ghostly fingers ever draw, Where'er we look, surrounding us we find New visions taken from thy hidden store ; The background may be changed, yet still we see The same dark shadow hovering ever near ; Pointing to something—something that shall be— An unknown dread, whose mocking voice we hear Rising and falling still on changing waves of fear.
As some entangled fly will strive in vain, When first its fragile wings are lightly bound, To battle with the thin transparent chain Which by each effort is more tightly wound; So dost thou lead us on, with cunning power, To fiercely argue and with thee contend, And thus do we more deeply, hour by hour, Our failing strength in useless effort spend, To find our minds enthralled more closely at the end.
We would outsoar the aching realm of thought, And find the region of the lotus-flower, Where past and future are so softly brought To mingle faintly with the passing hour, Where the unconscious mind is free from care, Sweetly regardless of all joy or pain, And where the odorous perfume in the air Might lull into oblivion again These scenes, that ever pass like phantoms through the brain.
Weak, hopeless effort ; if by conscious might
We strive before the bitter turmoil cease,
To draw between us and the foes we fight The royal presence of unfettered Peace, She cometh not, while still our foes arise ; We lift our sword, ten thousand swords are there ; We bid defiance to the threatening skies, A thousand echoes vibrate in the air, Filling the trembling heart with its own wild despair.
Then Weariness and chill Exhaustion creep, With lagging steps, to give their needed aid To their fair, gentle mistress, banished Sleep, Who hovering near us still has waiting stayed ; And now, with arms outstretched, they freeze the air, The feverish fancies vanish from the sight, Struggling through dreamland as they disappear, Darkening the dreams that meet them in their flight, Until, with regal calm, Peace rules the hours of night.
F. LEYTON.
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