The Image in the Heart.

319

Leave me!-thou com'st between my heart and Heaven;

I would be still, in voiceless prayer to die!—

Why must our souls thus love, and then be riven ?

Return! thy parting wakes mine agony!
Oh, yet awhile delay!

THE IMAGE IN THE HEART.

ΤΟ

I

"True, indeed, it is,

That they whom death has hidden from our sight,
Are worthiest of the mind's regard; with them
The future cannot contradict the past-

Mortality's last exercise and proof

Is undergone."-WORDSWORTH.

"The love where death hath set his seal,

Nor age can chill, nor rival steal,

Nor falsehood disavow."-BYRON.

CALL thee bless'd!-though now the voice be fled Which to thy soul brought dayspring with its tone, And o'er the gentle eyes though dust be spread,

Eyes that ne'er looked on thine but light was thrown
Far through thy breast:

And though the music of thy life be broken,
Or changed in every chord since he is gone-
Feeling all this, even yet, by many a token,
O thou, the deeply, but the brightly lone!
I call thee bless'd!

320

The Image in the Heart.

For in thy heart there is a holy spot,

As mid the waste an isle of fount and palm,
For ever green!—the world's breath enters not,
The passion-tempests may not break its calm!
'Tis thine, all thine!

Thither, in trust unbaffled, may'st thou turn
From bitter words, cold greetings, heartless eyes,
Quenching thy soul's thirst at the hidden urn
That, filled with waters of sweet memory, lies
In its own shrine.

Thou hast thy home!-there is no power in change
To reach that temple of the past; no sway,
In all time brings of sudden, dark, or strange,
To sweep the still transparent peace away
From its hushed air!

And oh that glorious image of the dead!
Sole thing whereon a deathless love may rest,
And in deep faith and dreamy worship shed
Its high gifts fearlessly! I call thee bless'd,
If only there.

Bless'd, for the beautiful within thee dwelling,
Never to fade!-a refuge from distrust,
A spring of purer life, still freshly welling,
To clothe the barrenness of earthly dust
With flowers divine.

And thou hast been beloved!—it is no dream,
No false mirage for thee, the fervent love,
The rainbow still unreached, the ideal gleam,
That ever seems before, beyond, above,
Far off to shine.

Corinne at the Capitol.

But thou, from all the daughters of the earth

321

Singled and marked, hast known its home and place;
And the high memory of its holy worth

To this our life a glory and a grace
For thee hath given.

And art thou not still fondly, truly loved?
Thou art!-the love his spirit bore away
Was not for death!—a treasure but removed,
A bright bird parted for a clearer day,—
Thine still in heaven!

CORINNE AT THE CAPITOL.

"Les femmes doivent penser qu'il est dans cette carriere bien peu de sorte qui puissent valoir la plus obscure vie d'une femme aimee et d'une mere heureuse."-MADAME DE STael.

AUGHTER of th' Italian heaven!

DAU

Thou to whom its fires are given,
Joyously thy car hath rolled

Where the conqueror's passed of old;
And the festal sun that shone
O'er three hundred triumphs gone,
Makes thy day of glory bright
With a shower of golden light.

Now thou tread'st th' ascending road
Freedom's foot so proudly trode ;
While, from tombs of heroes borne,
From the dust of empire shorn,

X

322

Corinne at the Capitol.

Flowers upon thy graceful head,
Chaplets of all hues, are shed,
In a soft and rosy rain,

Touched with many a gem-like stain.

Thou hast gained the summit now!
Music hails thee from below;

Music, whose rich notes might stir
Ashes of the sepulchre ;

Shaking with victorious notes
All the bright air as it floats.
Well may woman's heart beat high
Unto that proud harmony!

Now afar it rolls--it dies-
And thy voice is heard to rise
With a low and lovely tone,
In its thrilling power alone;
And thy lyre's deep silvery string,
Touched as by a breeze's wing,
Murmurs tremblingly at first,
Ere the tide of rapture burst.

All the spirit of thy sky

Now hath lit thy large dark eye,
And thy cheek a flush hath caught
From the joy of kindled thought;
And the burning words of song
From thy lip flow fast and strong,
With a rushing stream's delight
In the freedom of its might.

Radiant daughter of the sun!
Now thy living wreath is won.

The Parting Ship.

Crowned of Rome!-oh! art thou not

Happy in that glorious lot?—
Happier, happier far than thou,

With the laurel on thy brow,
She that makes the humblest hearth
Lovely but to one on earth!

323

THE PARTING SHIP.

"A glittering ship, that hath the plain

Of ocean for her own domain."-WORDSWORTH.

O, in thy glory, o'er the ancient sea,

thy sails to swell;

Sunshine and joy upon thy streamers be,
Fare thee well, bark! farewell!

Proudly the flashing billow thou hast cleft,

The breeze yet follows thee with cheer and song; Who now of storms hath dream or memory left? And yet the deep is strong!

But go thou triumphing, while still the smiles
Of summer tremble on the water's breast!
Thou shalt be greeted by a thousand isles,
In lone, wild beauty drest.

To thee a welcome breathing o'er the tide,
The genii groves of Araby shall pour;
Waves that enfold the pearl shall bathe thy side,
On the old Indian shore.