Page:Hemans in Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine 27 1830.pdf/8



Thou art fled Like some frail exhalation, which the dawn Robes in its golden beams—ah! thou hast fled! The brave, the gentle, and the beautiful; The child of grace and genius. Heartless things Are done and said i' the world, and mighty earth, In vesper low or joyous orison, Lifts still her solemn voice—but thou art fled!

tears for thee!—though light be from us gone With thy soul's radiance, bright, yet restless one! No tears for thee! They that have loved an exile must not mourn To see him parting for his native bourne, O'er the dark sea.

All the high music of thy spirit here, Breathed but the language of another sphere, Unechoed round; And strange, though sweet, as midst our weeping skies, Some half-remember'd song of Paradise Might sadly sound.

Hast thou been answer'd? Thou that from the night, And from the voices of the tempest's might, And from the past, Wert seeking still some oracle's reply, To pour the secrets of Man's destiny Forth on the blast.

Hast thou been answer'd?—thou that through the gloom, And shadow, and stern silence of the tomb, A cry didst send, So passionate and deep, to pierce, to move, To win back token of unburied love From buried friend.

And hast thou found where living waters burst? Thou that didst pine amidst us in the thirst Of fever-dreams! Are the true fountains thine for evermore? Oh! lured so long by shining mists that wore The light of streams!

Speak! is it well with thee? We call as thou, With thy lit eye, deep voice, and kindled brow, Wert wont to call On the departed! Art thou blest and free? Alas! the lips earth covers, ev'n to thee, Were silent all!

Yet shall our hope rise, fann'd by quenchless faith, As a flame foster'd by some warm wind's breath, In light upsprings. Freed soul of song! Yes! thou hast found the sought, Borne to thy home of beauty and of thought, On morning's wings.

And we will deem it is thy voice we hear, When life's young music, ringing far and clear: O'erflows the sky: No tears for thee! the lingering gloom is ours— Thou art for converse with all glorious powers, Never to die!