Page:Hemans in Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine 31 1832.pdf/2



Hail to thee, blithe spirit! Bird thou never wert, That from heaven, or near it, Pourest thy full heart, In profuse strains of unpremeditated art.

the long reeds that o'er a Grecian stream Unto the faint wind sigh'd melodiously, And where the sculpture of a broken shrine Sent out, through shadowy grass and thick wild flowers, Dim alabaster gleams—a lonely swan Warbled his death-chant, and a poet stood Listening to that strange music, as it shook The lilies on the wave; and made the pines, And all the laurels of the haunted shore, Thrill to its passion. Oh! the tones were sweet, Ev’n painfully—as with the sweetness wrung From parting love; and to the poet's thought This was their language.

"Summer, I depart! O light and laughing Summer, fare thee well! No song the less through thy rich woods shall swell,    For one, one broken heart!