Though something, won from the grave's embrace, Of her beauty still was there, Its hues were all of that shadowy place, Alas! the crown, the sceptre, The treasures of the earth, And the priceless love that pour'd those gifts, The rites are closed:-bear back the Dead Lay down again the royal head, There is music on the midnight— A requiem sad and slow, As the mourners through the sounding aisle And the ring of state, and the starry crown, And all the rich array, Are borne to the house of silence down, And tearlessly and firmly King Pedro led the train, But his face was wrapt in his folding robe, 'Tis hush'd at last the tomb above, Hymns die, and steps depart: Who call'd thee strong as death, O Love? Mightier thou wast and art. HYMN TO THE VIRGIN. 33 ITALIAN GIRL'S HYMN TO THE VIRGIN. O sanctissima, o purissima! Dulcis Virgo Maria, Ora, ora pro nobis! Sicilian Mariner's Hymn. In the deep hour of dreams, Through the dark woods, and past the moaning sea, And by the star-light gleams, Unto thy shrine I bear Night-blowing flowers, like my own heart, to lie All, all unfolded there, Beneath the meekness of thy pitying eye. For thou, that once didst move, In thy still beauty, through an early home, The fear of woman's soul; to thee I come! Many, and sad, and deep, Were the thoughts folded in thy silent breast; Hear, gentlest mother! hear a heart oppress'd ! There is a wandering bark Bearing one from me o'er the restless waves; His course;-be with him, Holiest, guide and save! My soul is on that way; My thoughts are travellers o'er the waters dim, I walk, o'ershadow'd by vain dreams of him. Aid him, and me, too, aid! Oh! 't is not well, this earthly love's excess! On thy weak child is laid The burden of too deep a tenderness. Too much o'er him is pour'd My being's hope-scarce leaving Heaven a part; Too fearfully adored, Oh! make not him the chastener of my heart! I tremble with a sense Of grief to be; I hear a warning low Sweet mother! call me hence! This wild idolatry must end in woe. The troubled joy of life, Love's lightning happiness, my soul hath known; And, worn with feverish strife, Would fold its wings;-take back, take back thine own! Hark! how the wind swept by! The tempest's voice comes rolling o'er the wave Hope of the sailor's eye, And maiden's heart, blest mother, guide and save! TO A DEPARTED SPIRIT. 35 TO A DEPARTED SPIRIT. FROM the bright stars, or from the viewless air, And if thy visions with the past be fraught, Answer me, answer me! Have we not communed here with life and death? Have we not said that love, such love as ours, Was not to perish as a rose's breath, To melt away, like song from festal bowers? Answer, oh! answer me! Thine eye's last light was mine-The soul that shone Intensely, mournfully, through gathering hazeDidst thou bear with thee to the shore unknown, Naught of what lived in that long earnest gaze? Hear, hear, and answer me! Thy voice-its low, soft, fervent, farewell tone Thrill'd through the tempest of the parting strife, Like a faint breeze :-oh! from that music flown, Send back one sound, if love's be quenchless life, But once, oh! answer me ! In the still noontide, in the sunset's hush, In the dead hour of night, when thought grows deep, When the heart's phantoms from the darkness rush, Fearfully beautiful, to strive with sleep Spirit! then answer me! By the remembrance of our blended prayer; The grave is silent:-and the far-off sky, What voice has Earth?-Hear, pity, speak, mine own! Answer me, answer me! THE CHAMOIS HUNTER'S LOVE. For all his wildness and proud fantasies, I love him! CROLY. THY heart is in the upper world, where fleet the Chamois bounds, Thy heart is where the mountain-fir shakes to the torrent-sounds; And where the snow-peaks gleam like stars, through the stillness of the air, And where the Lauwine's' peal is heard-Hunter! thy heart is there! 1Lauwine, the avalanche. |