Page:Felicia Hemans in The New Monthly Magazine Volume 22 1828.pdf/6



Not so—it is not so! The warning voice I know, From other worlds a strange mysterious tone; A solemn funeral air It call'd me to prepare, And my heart answer'd secretly—My own!

One more then—one more strain, In links of joy and pain Mighty the troubled spirit to enthral! And let me breathe my dower Of passion and of power, Full into that deep lay—the last of all!

The last!—And I must go    From this bright world below, This realm of sunshine, ringing with sweet sound! Must leave its festive skies, With all their melodies, That ever in my breast glad echoes found!

Yet have I known it long— Too restless and too strong Within this clay hath been th' o'ermastering flame; Swift thoughts that came and went, Like torrents o'er me sent, Have shaken, as a reed, my thrilling frame.

Like perfumes on the wind, Which none may stay or bind, The Beautiful comes floating through my soul; I strive with yearnings vain The spirit to detain Of the deep harmonies that past me roll.

Therefore disturbing dreams Trouble the hidden streams And springs of music, that o'erflow my breast; Something, far more divine Than may on earth be mine, Haunts my worn heart, and will not let me rest.

Shall I then fear the tone That breathes from worlds unknown?— Surely these feverish aspirations there Will grasp their full desire, And this unsettled fire Burn calmly, brightly, in immortal air.

One more then—one more strain, To earthly joy and pain A rich, and deep, and passionate farewell! I pour each solemn thought With fear, hope, trembling fraught, Into the notes that o'er my dust shall swell. F. H.