Page:Literary Examiner 1824.pdf/2



The dark curls cluster round thy graceful head, And hang o'er thy pale forehead, where the mind Her visible temple hath; upon thy lip Is throned a rich and melancholy smile, So sad, it seems prophetic of the doom That hangs o'er thy young life, and thine eye wears An inward look where outward things but pass Unnoticed: thou dost hold communion with Thoughts dark and terrible; a blight hangs o'er The spring flowers of thy youth; the seeds of death Are sown within thy bosom, and there is Upon thee consciousness of fate. The light That lingers on thy face is as a star, The last remaining one, a shadowy beam Of those which have been. Ardent hopes were thine, Dreams of the laurel and of high renown, Ere health departed; and on thy wan lip And hope-forsaken cheek a spirit burns, Which will not wholly pass till in the grave. I looked upon thee, youthful minstrel! thou Wert like the lovely presence of a dream; Such shapes as come when, o'er the sleeper's brain, The memory floats of some wild, saddening tale; And he has slept, his inmost spirit filled With sorrow's beautiful imaginings, Or as th' Endymion of thine own sweet song. I look'd upon thy open brow, and felt Almost an interest like to life in thee; Thine influence is upon the heart; thou can'st Awaken such sweet sympathies, we think Of youth, of genius, gathered like the rose In the first blushing of its purple morn; Of a bright harp, whose chords for aye are mute, But whose rich breathings are remembered still; Whose tone can never be forgotten. L. E. L.