Page:Felicia Hemans in The New Monthly Magazine Volume 39 1833.pdf/8



From a ruin thou art singing, O lonely, lonely bird! The soft blue air is ringing By thy summer-music stirr'd; But all is dark and cold beneath, When harps no more are heard; Whence winn'st thou that exulting breath? O lonely, lonely bird!

Thy song flows richly swelling To a triumph of glad sounds, As from its cavern-dwelling A stream in glory bounds! Though the castle echoes catch no tone Of human step or word, Though the fires be quench'd, and the feasting done, O lonely, lonely bird!

How can that flood of gladness Rush through thy fiery lay, From the haunted place of sadness, From the bosom of decay? While dirge-notes in the breezes moan Through the ivy garland heard, Come, chant with thy rejoicing tone, O lonely, lonely bird!

Yet I know a heart, wild singer! Like thy forsaken tower, Where joy no more may linger, Whose love hath left his bower; And I know a spirit e'en like thee, To mirth as lightly stirr'd, Though it soar from ruin in its glee— O lonely, lonely bird!