Page:Felicia Hemans in The Literary Souvenir 1829.pdf/3



A mournful gift is mine, O friends! A mournful gift is mine! A murmur of the soul, which blends With the flow of song and wine.

An eye that through the triumph's hour Beholds the coming wo, And dwells upon the faded flower. Midst the rich summer's glow.

Ye smile to view fair faces bloom Where the father's board is spread; I see the stillness and the gloom Of a home whence all are fled.

I see the wither'd garlands lie Forsaken on the earth, While the lamps yet burn, and the dancers fly Through the ringing hall of mirth.

I see the blood-red future stain On the warrior's gorgeous crest, And the bier amidst the bridal train, When they come with roses drest.

I hear the still small moan of Time Through the ivy-branches made, Where the palace, in its glory's prime, With the sunshine stands arrayed.

The thunder of the seas I hear, The shriek along the wave, When the hark sweeps forth, and song and cheer Salute the parting brave.

With every breeze a spirit sends To me some warning sign;— A mournful gift is mine, O friends! A mournful gift is mine!

Oh, prophet heart! thy grief, thy power, To all deep souls belong; The shadow in the sunny hour, The wail in the mirthful song.

This sight is all too sadly clear— For them a veil is riven; Their piercing thought repose not here, Their home is but in heaven!"

Literary Souvenir, 1829.