Page:The Court Magazine Tributes.pdf/4



The heaven whence thy nature came Only recall'd its own, It is Hope that now breathes thy name, Though borrowing Memory's tone; I feel this earth could never be The native home of one like thee."—L. E. L.

Another light has left the sky, Another brilliant star Has ceased to charm the wanderer's eye With lustre from afar. The silver lute, whose chords entranced, Is broken and unbound; And Death has dimm'd the eye which glanced Its love on all around.

Sweet sister of immortal song! I have not words to tell The stern unbidden thoughts that throng Within my bosom's cell. The treasures of thy mighty mind Still float amid my dreams, As pilgrims hear upon the wind The voice of falling streams.

A nobler wreath than Sappho won Adorns thy marble brow; Alas! we never deem'd thy sun Would set as dark as now! When shall we hear thy tuneful voice Bid passion's throb reply?— The heart must lose its early choice, The gifted one must die.

Beneath Ausonia's cloudless sky No roses deck thy grave, Thou hast not closed thy beauteous eye Amid the Atlantic wave; No—far upon a southern shore Must rest thy lovely form, Where the departing thunder's war Is mingled with the storm.

Yet shall thy verse be cherish'd long Within our ocean-isle; Thy song of love—thy matchless song Our sadness shall beguile.