Page:Hemans in Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine 34 1833.pdf/12



is a wakening on the mighty hills, A kindling with the spirit of the morn! Bright gleams are scatter'd from the thousand rills, And a soft visionary hue is born On the young foliage, worn By all the imbosom'd woods,—a silvery green, Made up of spring and dew, harmoniously serene.

And lo! where floating through a glory, sings The Lark, alone amidst a crystal sky! Lo! where the darkness of his buoyant wings, Against a soft and rosy cloud on high, Trembles with melody! While the far-echoing solitudes rejoice To the rich laugh of music in that voice.

But purer light than of the early sun Is on you cast, oh, mountains of the earth! And for your dwellers nobler joy is won Than the sweet echoes of the skylark's mirth, By this glad morning's birth! And gifts more precious by its breath are shed Than music on the breeze, dew on the violet's head.

Gifts for the soul, from whose illumined eye O'er nature's face the colouring glory flows; Gifts from the fount of Immortality, Which, fill'd with balm, unknown to human woes, Lay hush'd in dark repose, Till Thou, bright Dayspring! mad'st its waves our own, By thine unsealing of the burial stone.

Sing, then, with all your choral strains, ye hills! And let a full victorious tone be given By rock and cavern to the wind which fills Your urn-like depths with sound! The tomb is riven, The radiant gate of Heaven Unfolded—and the stern, dark shadow cast By Death's o'ersweeping wing, from the earth's bosom past.

And you, ye graves! upon whose turf I stand, Girt with the slumber of the hamlet's Dead, Time with a soft and reconciling hand The covering mantle of bright moss hath spread O'er every narrow bed: But not by time, and not by nature sown Was the celestial seed, whence round you Peace hath grown.

Christ hath arisen! oh! not one cherish'd head Hath, 'midst the flowery sods, been pillow'd here Without a hope, (howe'er the heart hath bled In its vain yearnings o'er the unconscious bier,) A hope, upspringing clear From those majestic tidings of the morn, Which lit the living way to all of woman born.