died within a few days after completing this magnificent piece of music, which was performed at his interment.] "These birds of Paradise but long to flee Back to their native mansion." Prophecy of Dante. A REQUIEM!-and for whom? For beauty in its bloom? For valour fallen-a broken rose or sword? With pomp of stately grief, Banner, and torch, and waving plume deplored? Not so-it is not so! The warning voice I know, From other worlds a strange mysterious tone; It called me to prepare, And my heart answered secretly—my own! One more then, one more strain, Mighty the troubled spirit to enthrall! Full into that deep lay-the last of all! The last!-and I must go This realm of sunshine, ringing with sweet sound! With all their melodies, That ever in my breast glad echoes found! Yet have I known it long : Too restless and too strong Within this clay hath been the o'ermastering flame; Like torrents o'er me sent, Have shaken, as a reed, my thrilling frame. Like perfumes on the wind, The beautiful comes floating through my soul; The spirit to detain Of the deep harmonies that past me roll! Therefore disturbing dreams Trouble the secret streams And founts of music that o'erflow my breast; Than may on earth be mine, Haunts my worn heart, and will not let me rest. Shall I then fear the tone That breathes from worlds unknown ?— Surely these feverish aspirations there Shall grasp their full desire, And this unsettled fire Burn calmly, brightly, in immortal air. One more then, one more strain; A rich, and deep, and passionate farewell! With fear, hope, trembling, fraught, THE IMAGE IN LAVA.1 THOU thing of years departed! Since here the mournful seal was set Temple and tower have mouldered, And childhood's fragile image, Survives the proud memorials reared By conquerors of mankind. Babe wert thou brightly slumbering Shut round each gentle guest? A strange, dark fate o'ertook you, Haply of that fond bosom Ón ashes here impressed, Thou wert the only treasure, child! Perchance all vainly lavished Its other love had been, And where it trusted, nought remained But thorns on which to lean. The impression of a woman's form, with an infant clasped to the bosom, found at the uncovering of Herculaneum. Far better, then, to perish, Thy form within its clasp, Than live and lose thee, precious one! Oh! I could pass all relics Love human love! what art thou? Immortal, oh! immortal Thou art, whose earthly glow Hath given these ashes holiness→ It must, it must be so! CHRISTMAS CAROL. O LOVELY Voices of the sky, O clear and shining light! whose beams Be near, through life and death, O star! which led to Him whose love In heaven thou art not set, A FATHER. READING THE BIBLE.' 'TWAS early day, and sunlight streamed Pure fell the beam, and meekly bright, And touched the page with tenderest light, But oh that patriarch's aspect shone Some word of life e'en then had met Some ancient promise, breathing yet Some martyr's prayer, wherein the glow That my Redeemer lives!" And silent stood his children by, Of thoughts o'ersweeping death. O! blest be those fair girls, and blest 1 This little poem, which, as its Author herself expressed in a letter to Mrs. Joanna Baillie, was to her "a thing set apart,' as being the last of her productions ever read to her beloved mother, was written at the request of a young lady, who thus made known her wish "that Mrs. Hemans would embody in a picture that so warmed a daughter's heart: Upon going into our dear father's sitting-room this morning, my sister and I found him deeply engaged reading his Bible, and, being unwilling to interrupt such a holy occupation, we retired to the further end of the apartment, to gaze unobserved upon the serene picture. The bright morning sun was beaming on his venerable silver hair, while his defective sight increased the earnestness with which he perused the blessed book. Our fancy led us to believe that some immortal thought was engaging his mind, for he raised his fine open brow to the light, and we felt we had never loved him more deeply. After an involuntary prayer had passed from our hearts, we whispered to each other, 'Oh! if Mrs. Hemans could only see our father at this moment, her glowing pen would detain the scene; for even as we gaze upon it, the bright gleam is vanish ing.' " December 9, 1826." THE MEETING OF THE BROTHERS! -"His early days Were with him in his heart." THE Voices of two forest boys, WORDSWORTH. Had filled with childhood's merry noise To rock and stream that sound was known, The sunny laughter of their eyes, But this, as day-spring's flush, was brief Alas! 'tis but the withered leaf That wears the enduring hue! Those rocks along the Rhine's fair shore For now on manhood's verge they stood, As if a silver clarion wooed To some high festival; And parted as young brothers part, They parted. Soon the paths divide And making strangers in their course, Met they no more? Once more they met, 'Twas on a field of death, where yet Though the fierce day was wellnigh past, And the red sunset smiled its last. But as the combat closed, they found For the tale on which this little poem is founded, see L'Hermite en Italie. |