Page:Felicia Hemans in The Winter's Wreath 1830.pdf/2



A fit abode, wherein appear enshrined Our hopes of immortality.

low!—the place is holy to the breath Of awful harmonies, of whisper'd prayer: Tread lightly!—for the sanctity of death Broods with a voiceless influence on the air; Stern, yet serene!—a reconciling spell Each troubled billow of the soul to quell.

Leave me to linger silently awhile! —Not for the light that pours its fervid streams Of rainbow-glory down through arch and aisle, Kindling old banners into haughty gleams, Flushing proud shrines, or by some warrior's tomb Dying away in clouds of gorgeous gloom:

Not for rich music, though in triumph pealing, Mighty as forest-sounds when winds are nigh; Nor yet for torch and cross, and stole, revealing Through incense-mists their sainted pageantry; Though o'er the spirit each hath charm and power, Yet not for these I ask one lingering hour, C