There should thy slumbers be Weigh'd down with honey-dew, serenely bless'd, Like theirs who first in Eden's grove took rest Under some balmy tree. Love, Love! thou passionate in joy and woe! Thou must be still a trembler, fearful Love! Thy stately pine-tree, or thy gracious rose, And as a flower, with some fine sense imbued, So in thy prescient breast Are lyre-strings quivering with prophetic thrill Bear up thy dream! thou mighty and thou weak! He that sits calm on high is yet the source BOOKS AND FLOWERS. Will he not pity?-He whose searching eye Thy fond idolatry, thy blind excess, And seek with Him that bower of blessedness- 203 BOOKS AND FLOWERS. "La vue d'une fleur caresse mon imagination, et flatte mes sens à un point inexprimable. Sous le tranquille abri du toit paternel j'etais nourrie des l'enfance avec des fleurs et des livres ;-dans l'etroite enceinte d'une prison, au milieu des fers imposies par la tyrannie, j'oublie l'injustice des hommes. leurs sottises et mes maux avec des livres et des fleurs." MADAME ROLAND. COME, let me make a sunny realm around thee, Of thought and beauty! Here are books and flowers, With spells to loose the fetter which hath bound thee The ravell'd coil of this world's feverish hours. The soul of song is in these deathless pages, Their thoughts, that strove with time, and change, and anguish, For some high place where faith her wing might rest, Are burning here-a flame that may not languish Still pointing upward to that bright hill's crest! Their grief, the veil'd infinity exploring For treasures lost, is here ;-their boundless love Its mighty streams of gentleness outpouring On all things round, and clasping all above. And the bright beings, their own heart's creations, Bright, yet all human, here are breathing still; Conflicts, and agonies, and exultations Are here, and victories of prevailing will! Listen, oh, listen! let their high words cheer thee! Their swan-like music ringing through all woes;' Let my voice bring their holy influence near thee— The Elysian air of their divine repose! Or would'st thou turn to earth? Not earth all furrow'd Look on these flowers! As o'er an altar shedding, O'er Milton's page, soft light from colour'd urns! They are the links, man's heart to nature wedding, When to her breast the prodigal returns. They are from lone wild places, forest dingles, Fresh banks of many a low-voiced hidden stream, Where the sweet star of eve looks down and mingles Faint lustre with the water-lily's gleam. FOR A PICTURE OF ST CECILIA. 205 They are from where the soft winds play in gladness, Covering the turf with flowery blossom-showers; -Too richly dower'd, O friend! are we for sadnessLook on an empire-mind and nature—ours! FOR A PICTURE OF ST CECILIA ATTENDED "How rich that forehead's calm expanse! Ere sorrow be renew'd, And intercourse with mortal hours WORDSWORTH. How can that eye, with inspiration beaming, Hath it not sounds from voices long departed? Echoes of tones that rung in childhood's ear? Low haunting whispers, which the weary-hearted, Stealing 'midst crowds away, have wept to hear? No, not to thee!-thy spirit, meek, yet queenly, Breathes no faint under-tone through songs of bliss. Say by what strain, through cloudless ether swelling, Thou hast drawn down those wanderers from the skies? Bright guests! even such as left of yore their dwelling, For the deep cedar shades of Paradise! What strain ?-oh! not the nightingale's when showering Her own heart's life drops on the burning lay, She stirs the young woods in the days of flowering, her strength, but not her grief away: And pours And not the exile's-when, 'midst lonely billows, And not the pilgrim's-though his thoughts be holy, And sweet his ave song, when day grows dim; Yet, as he journeys, pensively and slowly, Something of sadness floats through that low hymn. But thou the spirit which at eve is filling Founts, leaves, and flowers, with solemn rapture thrilling, This is the soul of thy rich harmony. This bears up high those breathings of devotion |