Page:Hemans in Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine 27 1830.pdf/9



Tacete, tacete, O suoni triumfanti! Risvegliate in vano 'l cor che non pub liberarsi.

and whither bear'st thou up my spirit, On eagle-wings, through every plume that thrill? It hath no crown of victory to inherit— Be still, triumphant Harmony! be still!

Thine are no sounds for Earth, thus proudly swelling Into rich floods of joy:—it is but pain To mount so high, yet find on high no dwelling, To sink so fast, so heavily again!

No sounds for Earth?—Yes, to young Chieftain dying On his own battle-field at set of sun, With his freed Country's Banner o'er him flying, Well mightst thou speak of Fame's high guerdon won.

No sounds for Earth?–Yes, for the Martyr leading. Unto victorious Death serenely on, For Patriot by his rescued Altars bleeding, Thou hast a voice in each majestic tone.

But speak not thus to one whose heart is beating Against Life's narrow bound, in conflict vain! For Power, for Joy, high Hope, and rapturous greeting, Thou wak'st lone thirst—be hush'd, exulting strain.

Be hush'd, or breathe of Grief!—of Exile-yearnings Under the willows of the stranger-shore; Breathe of the soul's untold and restless burnings, For looks, tones, footsteps, that return no more.

Breathe of deep Love—a lonely Vigil keeping Through the night-hours o'er wasted health to pine; Rich thoughts and sad like faded rose-leaves heaping, In the shut heart, at once a Tomb and Shrine,

Or pass as if thy spirit-notes came sighing From Worlds beneath some blue Elysian sky; Breathe of repose, the pure, the bright, th' undying— Of Joy no more—bewildering Harmony!