THE VICTOR.

"De tout ce qui t'aimoit n'est-il plus rien qui t'aime ?”

MIGHTY Ones, Love and Death!

Ye are the strong in this world of ours,

LAMARTINE.

Ye meet at the banquets, ye dwell 'midst the flowers, -Which hath the conqueror's wreath?

Thou art the victor, Love!

Thou art the fearless, the crown'd, the free,
The strength of the battle is given to thee,
The spirit from above!

Thou hast look'd on Death, and smiled!
Thou hast borne up the reed-like and fragile form,
Thro' the waves of the fight, thro' the rush of the storm,
On field, and flood, and wild!

No! Thou art the victor, Death!

Thou comest, and where is that which spoke,
From the depths of the eye, when the spirit woke?
-Gone with the fleeting breath!

Thou comest-and what is left
Of all that loved us, to say if aught
Yet loves-yet answers the burning thought

Of the spirit lone and reft?

Silence is where thou art!

Silently there must kindred meet,

No smile to cheer, and no voice to greet,
No bounding of heart to heart!

LINES FOR THE ALBUM AT ROSANNA. 239

Boast not thy victory, Death!

It is but as the cloud's o'er the sunbeam's power, It is but as the winter's o'er leaf and flower, That slumber, the snow beneath.

It is but as a tyrant's reign

O'er the voice and the lip which he bids be still: But the fiery thought and the lofty will,

Are not for him to chain!

They shall soar his might above!

And thus with the root whence affection springs,
Though buried, it is not of mortal things—
Thou art the victor, Love!

LINES WRITTEN FOR THE ALBUM AT
ROSANNA.1

OH! lightly tread through these deep chestnut-bowers Where a sweet spirit once in beauty moved! And touch with reverent hand these leaves and flowers,

Fair things, which well a gentle heart hath loved! A gentle heart, of love and grief th' abode, Whence the bright stream of song in tear-drops flow'd.

And bid its memory sanctify the scene!

And let th' ideal presence of the dead

A beautiful place in the county of Wicklow, formerly the abode of the authoress of "Psyche."

Float round, and touch the woods with softer green,

And o'er the streams a charm, like moonlight, shed; Through the soul's depths in holy silence feltA spell to raise, to chasten, and to melt!

THE VOICE OF THE WAVES.

WRITTEN NEAR THE SCENE OF A RECENT SHIPWRECK.

"How perfect was the calm! It seem'd no sleep,
No mood, which season takes away or brings;

I could have fancied that the mighty deep

Was even the gentlest of all gentle things.

And frequent sights of what is to be borne."

WORDSWORTH.

ANSWER, ye chiming waves!

That now in sunshine sweep;
Speak to me from thy hidden caves,
Voice of the solemn deep!

Hath man's lone spirit here

With storms in battle striven?
Where all is now so calmly clear,
Hath anguish cried to heaven?

-Then the sea's voice arose,
Like an earthquake's under-tone :
"Mortal, the strife of human woes
Where hath not nature known?

THE VOICE OF THE WAVES.

241

"Here to the quivering mast

Despair hath wildly clung,

The shriek upon the wind hath pass'd,
The midnight sky hath rung.

"And the youthful and the brave
With their beauty and renown,
To the hollow chambers of the wave
In darkness have gone down.

"They are vanish'd from their place

Let their homes and hearths make moan!
But the rolling waters keep no trace
Of pang or conflict gone."

-Alas! thou haughty deep!
The strong, the sounding far!
My heart before thee dies,-I weep
To think on what we are!

To think that so we pass,

High hope, and thought, and mind, Even as the breath-stain from the glass, Leaving no sign behind!

Saw'st thou nought else, thou main?

Thou and the midnight sky?

Nought save the struggle, brief and vain,

The parting agony !

-And the sea's voice replied,

"Here nobler things have been!

Power with the valiant when they died,
To sanctify the scene:

VOL. VI.

21

Float round, and touch the woods with softer green,

And o'er the streams a charm, like moonlight, shed; Through the soul's depths in holy silence felt— A spell to raise, to chasten, and to melt!

THE VOICE OF THE WAVES.

WRITTEN NEAR THE SCENE OF A RECENT SHIPWRECK.

"How perfect was the calm! It seem'd no sleep,
No mood, which season takes away or brings;

I could have fancied that the mighty deep
Was even the gentlest of all gentle things.

But welcome fortitude and patient cheer,
And frequent sights of what is to be borne."

ANSWER, ye chiming waves!

WORDSWORTH.

That now in sunshine sweep;
Speak to me from thy hidden caves,
Voice of the solemn deep!

Hath man's lone spirit here

With storms in battle striven?
Where all is now so calmly clear,
Hath anguish cried to heaven?

-Then the sea's voice arose,

Like an earthquake's under-tone : "Mortal, the strife of human woes Where hath not nature known?