Page:Hemans in Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine 29 1831.pdf/6



Or where some fountain lies, With lotus-cups through orient spice-woods gleaming! There have ye been, ye wanderers! idly dreaming Of man's lost paradise!

Return, my thoughts, return! Cares wait your presence in life's daily track, And voices, not of music, call you back; Harsh voices, cold and stern!

Oh! no, return ye not! Still farther, loftier, let your soarings be! Go, bring me strength from journeyings bright and free, O'er many a haunted spot.

Go, seek the martyr's grave, 'Midst the old mountains, and the deserts vast; Or through the ruin'd cities of the past, Follow the wise and brave!

Go, visit cell and shrine! Where woman hath endured!—through wrong, through scorn, Uncheer'd by fame, yet silently upborne By promptings more divine!

Go, shoot the gulf of death! Track the pure spirits where no chain can bind, Where the heart's boundless love its rest may find, Where the storm sends no breath!

Higher, and yet more high! Shake off the cumbering chain which earth would lay On your victorious wings—mount, mount!—Your way Is through eternity!