TRIUMPHANT MUSIC. 151 Freed soul of song! yes, thou hast found the sought; And we will dream it is thy joy we hear, No tears for thee! the lingering gloom is ours- TRIUMPHANT MUSIC. "Tacete, tacete, O suoni trionfanti ! Risvegliate in vano 'l cor che non puo liberarsi." WHEREFORE and whither bear'st thou up my spirit, On eagle wings, through every plume that thrill? It hath no crown of victory to inherit Be still, triumphant harmony! be still! Thine are no sounds for earth, thus proudly swelling To mount so high, yet find on high no dwelling, No sounds for earth?-Yes, to young chieftain dying On his own battle-field, at set of sun, With his freed country's banner o'er him flying, Well might'st thou speak of fame's high guerdon won. No sounds for earth? -Yes, for the martyr leading For patriot by his rescued altars bleeding, But speak not thus to one whose heart is beating Be hush'd, or breathe of grief!-of exile yearnings Breathe of deep love-a lonely vigil keeping Through the night-hours, o'er wasted wealth to pine; Rich thoughts and sad, like faded rose-leaves heap ing, In the shut heart, at once a tomb and shrine. Or pass as if thy spirit-notes came sighing From worlds beneath some blue Elysian sky; Breathe of repose, the pure, the bright, the undyingOf joy no more-bewildering harmony! SECOND SIGHT. 153 SECOND SIGHT. "Ne'er err'd the prophet heart that grief inspired, A MOURNFUL gift is mine, O friends! MATURIN. An eye that through the triumph's hour And dwells upon the faded flower Ye smile to view fair faces bloom I see the stillness and the gloom I see the wither'd garlands lie While the lamps yet burn, and the dancers fly I see the blood-red future stain On the warrior's gorgeous crest; And the bier amidst the bridal train When they come with roses drest. I hear the still small moan of time, The thunder of the seas I hear, When the bark sweeps forth, and song and cheer With every breeze a spirit sends Oh! prophet heart! thy grief, thy power, The shadow in the sunny hour, The wail in the mirthful song. Their sight is all too sadly clear- Their piercing thoughts repose not here, THE SEA-BIRD FLYING INLAND. 155 THE SEA-BIRD FLYING INLAND. Thy path is not as mine; where thou art blest, HATH the summer's breath on the south-wind borne, Or art thou come on the hills to dwell, Thou hast done well, O thou bright sea-bird! Thou hast done well:-Oh! the seas are lone, -The proud bird rose as the words were said— He hath flown from the woods to the ocean's breast, "There lies the pathway of bliss for thee?" |