Shrined in the soul-for ever beautiful,
Undimm'd with earth-its tears-its weaknesses-
And changeless.
years have pass'd; but yet, in silent mood, When pleasure to the heart is but a dream, And life with cheerless gloom is canopied ; Amidst my musings, when I stray alone Through moorland wastes, and woodland solitudes; Or when, at twilight, by the hearth I sit, In loneliness and silence, bursting through The shadows of my reverie, appears, In undecay'd perfection, the same smile, The same bewitching and seraphic form.—
It cannot pass away-it haunts me still
From slumber waking on my midnight couch,
Methinks I see it floating beautiful
Before me-still before me, like a star
O'er the dark outline of a mountain-steep;
And, when the glory of the crimson morn,
Tinging the honeysuckle flowers, breaks in,
There still it passes o'er the pulseless mind,
Revolving silently the by-past times,
Quiet and lovely, like a rainbow gleam
O'er tempests that have shower'd and pass'd away.
Long years have pass'd-we cannot soon forget The lightning-gleams that flash upon the heart; amid the solitudes of life,
Its bright green spots unnoticed, or its flowers.
Long years have pass'd-'twas on a festal night,
A night of innocent mirth and revelry,
When, bounding, throbb'd the youthful heart, and smiles
Play'd, meteor-like, upon a hundred cheeks,
As if contagiously; while sparkling lamps
Pour'd forth a deluging lustre o'er the crowd,
And music, like a Syren, wean'd the heart
From every grovelling and contentious thought,
From every care. Amid familiar friends,
The lovely, and the faithful, glad I stood
To mark them all so joyous.-As I gazed,
An
eye encounter'd mine, that startled me-
Sure never breathing creature was more fair!
Amid the mazy movements of the dance,
Accordant to the music's finest tone,
Sylph-like she floated; graceful as the swan
Oaring its way athwart a summer lake,
Her step almost as silent :
:—as she stood, Again that heavenly eye encounter'd mine.— Pale was the brow, as if serenest thought, Quiet, and innocence, alone dwelt there; But yet around the rosy lips there play'd A laughing smile, like Hebe's, which dispell'd Its calmness, and betoken'd life and joy. Her golden tresses, from her temples pale, And from her rounded alabaster neck, Were filletted up with roses and gay flowers, Wove like a garland round them: skiey robes, The tincture of the young Year's finest blue, Were thrown in beauty round her graceful form, And added to its brightness; so that he Who dwelt on it delighted, almost fear'd The vision would disperse into the air,
And mock his gaze with vacancy. 'Tis past.
Years have outspread their shadowy wings between,
But yet the sound of that fair lady's voice
Hath been a music to my soul unheard;
The lightning of that glorious countenance,
The shining riches of that golden hair,
The fascination of those magic eyes,
The smiling beauty of those small red lips,
The graceful lightness of that angel form,
Have been to me but things of
memory.
Before that festal night, 'mid woman-kind,
That peerless form did never bless my view,
It was to me a blank-a thing unknown ;-
After that festal night, my wistful eyes
Have never feasted on its loveliness;
I know not whence it came-or whither fled-
I know not by what human name 'tis call'd-
Whether 'tis yet a blossom of this earth,
Or, long ere this, transplanted into Heaven.
It is to me a treasure of the mind,
A picture in the chambers of the brain
Hung up, and framed-a flower from youthful years, Breath'd on by heavenly zephyrs, and preserved
Safe from decay, in everlasting bloom!
It cannot be that, for abiding place,
This earth alone is ours; it cannot be
That, for a fleeting span of chequer❜d years,
Of broken sunshine, cloudiness, and storm,
We tread this sublunary scene-and die,
Like winds that wail amid a dreary wood,
To silence and to nothingness; like waves
That murmur on the sea-beach, and dissolve.
Why, then, from out the temple of our hearts,
Do aspirations spring, that overleap
The barriers of our mortal destiny,
And chain us to the very gates of heaven?
Why does the beauty of a vernal morn,
When earth, exulting from her wintry tomb,
Breaks forth with early flowers, and song of birds,
Strike on our hearts, as ominous, and say,
Surely man's fate is such ?—At summer eve,
Why do the faëry, unsubstantial clouds,
Trick'd out in rainbow garments, glimmer forth
To mock us with their loveliness, and tell
That earth hath not of these?—The tiny stars,
That gem in countless crowds the midnight sky,
Why were they placed so far beyond the grasp
Of sight and comprehension, so beyond
The expansion of our limited faculties,
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