Page:Felicia Hemans in The Literary Souvenir 1826.pdf/7

 Alas, to think of this!—the heart's void place Filled up so soon!—so like a summer-cloud All that we loved to pass, and leave no trace!— He lay forgotten in his early shroud— Forgotten?—not of all! The sunny smile Glancing in play o'er that proud lip erewhile, And the dark locks whose breezy wavings threw A gladness round, whene'er their shade withdrew From the bright brow; and all the sweetness lying Amidst that eagle-eye's jet radiance deep, And all the music with that young voice dying, Whose joyous echoes made the quick heart leap As at a hunter's bugle—these things lived Still in one breast, whose silent love survived The pomps of kindred sorrow. Day by day. On Aymer's tomb fresh flowers in garlands lay, Through the dim fane soft summer-odours breathing; And all the pale sepulchral trophies wreathing, And with a flush of deeper brilliance glowing In the rich light, like molten rubies flowing From pictured windows down. The violet there Might speak of love—a secret love and lowly, And the rose, image all things fleet and fair, And the faint passion-flower, the sad and holy, Tell of diviner hopes. But whose light hand, As for an altar, wove the radiant band? Whose gentle nurture brought, from hidden dells, That gem-like wealth of blossoms and sweet bells,