Page:Felicia Hemans in The Winter's Wreath 1829.pdf/8



is the might of thy master-spell? Speak to me, voice of sweet sound, and tell! How canst thou wake, by one gentle breath, Passionate visions of love and death!

How callest thou back, with a note, a sigh, Words and low tones from the days gone by— A sunny glance, or a fond farewell?— Speak to me, Voice of sweet sound, and tell!

What is thy power, from the soul's deep spring In sudden gushes the tears to bring; Even 'midst the swells of thy festal glee, Fountains of sorrow are stirred by thee!

Vain are those tears!—vain and fruitless all— Showers that refresh not, yet still must fall; For a purer bliss while the full heart burns, For a brighter home while the Spirit yearns!

Something of mystery there surely dwells, Waiting thy touch, in our bosom cells; Something that finds not its answer here— A chain to be clasped in another sphere,