Page:Poems Sigourney 1827.pdf/178

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Spirit of bright intelligence!—that beam'd Through the quick-darting eye, and sat enthroned On that pure smile which seem'd not of the earth! Spirit of mild benevolence!—that hung O'er the wan sufferer's couch, soothing his pangs Regardless of thy own.—Spirit!—that loved To rove amid the scenes of other days, The shades of ancient story,—and the bowers Of classic Fancy,—whither art thou flown?— Why am I answer'd by the rushing sigh?— Alas!—I know it all!—I mark'd the sign In that deep hectic flush which stain'd thy cheek When thou didst part from us, and knew that death Lent that brief beauty ere he set his seal Of icy paleness.—Thou didst go to seek Hygeia o'er the wave,—and in those climes Where she delights to revel.—But her gifts Were not for thee.—Her fountain was close-seal'd To thy parch'd lip.—And didst thou fall alone?— Unwept, uncherish'd.—No!—in stranger breasts Love rose to meet thee,—and a foreign voice In holiest accents bade thee rest in peace.— —Thy God forsook thee not,—and thy meek soul Communing with its Saviour, saw the world Recede unmourn'd.—Thy mouldering ashes fill A foreign tomb,—but thou hast found a home From whence is no departing,—where thy heart No more vibrating on the arrow's point Of this unpitying world,—expands to taste Fulness of bliss.—