Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, HINC ILLAE LACHRYME, by MARCUS S. C. RICKARDS


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

HINC ILLAE LACHRYME, by                    
First Line: Embosomed deep it lies, the fount of tears
Last Line: And fruitfulness, and all that drowns dark death in life.
Subject(s): Life; Love; Tears


EMBOSOMED deep it lies, the fount of tears
Untapped for sterile years,
Till floating down from God
One hovers o'er the arid human sod,
Equipped methinks with a divining rod
That pointing truly, lo!
The spring is won, and soon refreshing waters flow.

They flow, the ready tears, at his behest
From the impassioned breast,
Flow lightly, sadly oft,
Now in full volume, now in trickling soft,
Unstemmed though angels frowned and demons scoffed, --
To-day, in wild despair,
To-morrow, in some darling hope none else may share.

Upwelling, oft unwillingly they rise
And brim the tell-tale eyes;
Glistening with rainbow gleam
If spirit radiance flash a happy beam;
Or dim as bubbles on a turgid stream
If gloom holds sunless sway,
In strife perchance lest deep heart secrets they betray.

Vain strife, ye traitor drops! too hard the task:
What Stoic wears a mask
That never falls? The trace
Of stifled passion lingers in the face
Tho' eyes be tearless, and unruffled grace
Hold empire o'er the form:
Chance looks, unguarded tones, bespeak the smothered storm.

They flow and ebb, unswayed by tidal laws,
And oft from scarce a cause;
No feeling, thought or mood
But starts or stanches them -- a gesture rude,
A tender glance, a dream of vanished good,
And the weak wistful heart
Yields a fresh tribute to her lord's imperious art.

Ye ask his name? 'Tis all-subduing Love
Divining from above
And sinking down -- whose spell
Fails not, tho' hard the soil, and deep the well.
True tears! I scorn you never, for ye tell
Of pure reviving strife,
And fruitfulness, and all that drowns dark death in life.





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