Page:Felicia Hemans in The New Monthly Magazine Volume 22 1828.pdf/3



Are thy thoughts wandering to Elves and Fays, And spirits that dwell where the water plays? Oh! in the heart there are stronger powers, That sway, though viewless, this world of ours!

Have I not lived midst these lowly dells, And loved, and sorrow'd, and heard farewells, And learn'd in my own deep soul to look, And tremble before that mysterious Book?

Have I not, under these whispering leaves, Woven such dreams as the young heart weaves? Shadows—yet unto which life seem'd bound, And is it not—is it not haunted ground?

Must I not hear what thou hearest not, Troubling the air of the sunny spot? Is there not something, to none but me, Told by the rustling of every tree?

Song hath been here, with its flow of thought, Love—with its passionate visions fraught; Death—breathing stillness and sadness round— And is it not—is it not haunted ground?

Are there no phantoms but such as come By night, from the darkness that wraps the tomb? —A sound, a scent, or a whispering breeze, Can summon up mightier far than these!

But I may not linger amidst them here, Lovely they are, and yet things to fear, Passing and leaving a weight behind, And a thrill on the chords of the stricken mind.

Away, away! that my soul may soar As a free Bird of blue skies once more! Here from its wing it may never cast The chain by those spirits brought back from the past.

Doubt it not—smile not—but go thou too, Look on the scenes where thy Childhood grew, Where thou hast pray'd at thy mother's knee, Where thou hast roved with thy brethren free;

Go thou when Life unto thee is changed, Friends thou hast loved as thy soul estranged, When from the idols thy heart hath made Thou hast seen the colours of glory fade;

Oh! painfully then, by the wind's low sigh, By the voice of the stream, by the flower-cup's dye, By a thousand tokens of sight and sound, Thou wilt feel thou art treading on haunted ground. F. H.