Page:Stanzas on George III.pdf/10

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They might be with thee still—the loved, the tried, The fair, the lost—they might be with thee still! More softly seen, in radiance purified From each dim vapour of terrestrial ill; Long after earth received them, and the note Of the last requiem o'er their dust was pour'd, As passing sunbeams o'er thy soul might float Those forms, from us withdrawn—to thee restored! Spirits of holiness, in light reveal'd, To commune with a mind whose source of tears was seal'd.

Came they with tidings from the worlds above, Those viewless regions, where the weary rest? Sever"d from earth, estranged from mortal love,   Was thy mysterious converse with the blest? Or shone their visionary presence bright    With human beauty?—did their smiles renew Those days of sacred and serene delight,    When fairest beings in thy pathway grew? Oh! Heaven hath balm for every wound it makes, Healing the broken heart; it smites—but ne'er forsakes.