Page:Felicia Hemans in The New Monthly Magazine Volume 35 1832.pdf/4



They sin who tell us Love can die. With Life all other Passions fly, All others are but Vanity;— But Love is indestructible. Its holy flame for ever burneth, From Heaven it came, to Heaven returneth; Too oft on earth a troubled guest, At times deceived, at times oppressed, It here is tried and purified, And hath in Heaven its perfect rest."—

movest in visions, Love!—Around thy way, E'en through this World's rough path and changeful day, For ever floats a gleam, Not from the realms of Moonlight or the Morn, But thine own Soul's illumined chambers born— The colouring of a dream!

Love, shall I read thy dream?—Oh! is it not All of some sheltering, wood-embosomed spot— A Bower for thee and thine? Yes! lone and lowly is that Home; yet there Something of Heaven in the transparent air Makes every flower divine.

Something that mellows and that glorifies Bends o'er it ever from the tender skies, As o'er some Blessed Isle; E'en like the soft and spiritual glow, Kindling rich woods, whereon th' ethereal bow Sleeps lovingly awhile.

The very whispers of the Wind have there A flute-like harmony, that seems to bear Greeting from some bright shore, Where none have said Farewell!—where no decay Lends the faint crimson to the dying day; Where the Storm's might is o'er.

And there thou dreamest of Elysian rest, In the deep sanctuary of one true breast Hidden from earthly ill: There wouldst thou watch the homeward step, whose sound Wakening all Nature to sweet echoes round, Thine inmost soul can thrill.

There by the hearth should many a glorious page, From mind to mind th' immortal heritage, For thee its treasures pour; Or Music's voice at vesper hours be heard, Or dearer interchange of playful word, Affection's household lore.