Page:Hemans in Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine 31 1832.pdf/9



Clasp me a little longer on the brink Of life, while I can feel thy dear caress; And when this heart hath ceased to beat, oh! think, And let it mitigate thy woe's excess, That thou hast been to me all tenderness, And friend to more than human friendship just.

TERESA. The fever's hue hath left thy cheek, beloved! Thine eyes, that make the day-spring in my heart, Are clear and still once more. Wilt thou look forth? Now, while the sunset with low-streaming light— The light thou lov'st—hath made the chestnut-stems All burning bronze, the lake one sea of gold! Wilt thou be raised upon thy couch, to meet The rich air fill'd with wandering scents and sounds? Or shall I lay thy dear, dear head once more On this true bosom, lulling thee to rest With vesper hymns?

FRANCESCO. No, gentlest love! not now: My soul is wakeful—lingering to look forth, Not on the sun, but thee! Doth the light sleep So gently on the lake? and are the stems Of our own chestnuts by that alchymy So richly changed?—and is the orange-scent Floating around?—But I have said farewell, Farewell to earth, Teresa! not to thee, Nor yet to our deep love, nor yet awhile Unto the spirit of mine art, which flows Back on my soul in mastery!—one last work! And I will shrine my wealth of glowing thoughts, Clinging affection and undying hope, All that is in me for eternity, All, all, in that memorial.

TERESA. Oh! what dream Is this, mine own Francesco? Waste thou not Thy scarce-returning strength; keep thy rich thoughts For happier days! they will not melt away Like passing music from the lute;—dear friend! Dearest of friends! thou canst win back at will The glorious visions.