Page:Felicia Hemans in The New Monthly Magazine Volume 20 1827.pdf/8



I stood beside thy lowly grave;— Spring-odours breathed around, And music in the river-wave Pass'd with a lulling sound.

All happy things that love the sun In the bright air glanced by, And a glad murmur seem'd to run Through the soft azure sky.

Fresh leaves were on the ivy bough That fringed the ruins near; Young voices were abroad—but thou Their sweetness couldst not hear.

And mournful grew my heart for thee, Thou in whose woman's mind The ray that brightens earth and sea, The light of song was shrined.

Mournful, that thou wert slumbering low, With a dread curtain drawn Between thee and the golden glow Of this world's vernal dawn!

Parted from all the song and bloom Thou wouldst have loved so well, To thee the sunshine round thy tomb Was but a broken spell.

The bird, the insect on the wing, In their bright reckless play, Might feel the flush and life of Spring, —And thou wert pass'd away!

—But then, ev'n then, a nobler thought O'er my vain sadness came; Th' immortal spirit woke and wrought Within my thrilling frame.

Surely on lovelier things, I said, Thou must have look'd ere now, Than all that round our pathway shed Odours and hues below!