"Yet doth my spirit faint to part?
-I mourn thee not, O sun!

Joy, solemn joy, o'erflows my heart,
Sing me triumphal songs!-my crown is won!

"Let not a voice of weeping rise-
My heart is girt with power!

Let the green earth and festal skies
Laugh, as to grace a conqueror's closing hour!

66

For thee, for thee, my bosom's lord!

Thee, my soul's loved! I die;

Thine is the torch of life restored,

Mine, mine the rapture, mine the victory!

"Now may the boundless love, that lay
Unfathom'd still before,

In one consuming burst find way,
In one bright flood all, all its riches pour!

"Thou know'st, thou know'st what love is now,

Its glory and its might

Are they not written on my brow?
And will that image ever quit thy sight?

"No! deathless in thy faithful breast,
There shall my memory keep

Its own bright altar-place of rest,

While o'er my grave the cypress branches weep.

66

Oh, the glad light!—the light is fair,

The soft breeze warm and free;

And rich notes fill the scented air,

And all are gifts—my love's last gifts to thee!

THE HOME OF LOVE.

217

"Take me to thy warm heart once more!
Night falls-my pulse beats low:
Seek not to quicken, to restore-

Joy is in every pang-I go, I go!

"I feel thy tears, I feel thy breath,
I meet thy fond look still;

Keen is the strife of love and death;
Faint and yet fainter grows my bosom's thrill.

"Yet swells the tide of rapture strong, Though mists o'ershade mine eye! -Sing, Pæan! sing a conqueror's song! For thee, for thee, my spirit's lord, I die!"

THE HOME OF LOVE.

THOU mov'st in visions, love!-Around thy way, E'en through this world's rough path and changeful day,

For ever floats a gleam,

Not from the realms of moonlight or the morn,
But thine own soul's illumined chambers born-
The colouring of a dream!

Love, shall I read thy dream?-oh! is it not
All of some sheltering, wood-embosom'd spot-
A bower for thee and thine?

Yes! lone and lowly is that home; yet there
Something of heaven in the transparent air
Makes every flower divine.

Something that mellows and that glorifies,
Breathes o'er it ever from the tender skies,
As o'er some blessed isle;

E'en like the soft and spiritual glow,
Kindling rich woods, whereon th' ethereal bow
Sleeps lovingly awhile.

The very whispers of the wind have there
A flute-like harmony, that seems to bear
Greeting from some bright shore,
Where none have said farewell!-where no decay
Lends the faint crimson to the dying day;
Where the storm's might is o'er.

And there thou dreamest of Elysian rest,
In the deep sanctuary of one true breast
Hidden from earthly ill:

There would'st thou watch the homeward step, whose sound

Wakening all nature to sweet echoes round,
Thine inmost soul can thrill.

There by the hearth should many a glorious page, From mind to mind the immortal heritage,

For thee its treasures pour;

Or music's voice at vesper hours be heard,
Or dearer interchange of playful word,
Affection's household lore.

And the rich unison of mingled prayer,
The melody of hearts in heavenly air,
Thence duly should arise;

THE HOME OF LOVE.

Lifting th' eternal hope, th' adoring breath,
Of spirits, not to be disjoin'd by death,
Up to the starry skies.

219

There, dost thou well believe, no storm should come To mar the stillness of that angel-home;

There should thy slumbers be

Weigh'd down with honey-dew, serenely bless'd,
Like theirs who first in Eden's grove took rest
Under some balmy tree.

Love, Love! thou passionate in joy and woe!
And canst thou hope for cloudless peace below-
Here, where bright things must die?

O thou! that wildly worshipping, dost shed
On the frail altar of a mortal head

Gifts of infinity!

Thou must be still a trembler, fearful Love!
Danger seems gathering from beneath, above,
Still round thy precious things;

Thy stately pine-tree, or thy gracious rose,
In their sweet shade can yield thee no repose,
Here, where the blight hath wings.

And as a flower, with some fine sense imbued,
To shrink before the wind's vicissitude,
So in thy prescient breast

Are lyre-strings quivering with prophetic thrill
To the low footstep of each coming ill;

-Oh! canst thou dream of rest?

Bear up thy dream! thou mighty and thou weak!
Heart, strong as death, yet as a reed to break-
As a flame, tempest-sway'd!

He that sits calm on high is yet the source
Whence thy soul's current hath its troubled course,
He that great deep hath made!

Will he not pity?—He whose searching eye
Reads all the secrets of thine agony?—
Oh! pray to be forgiven

Thy fond idolatry, thy blind excess,

And seek with Him that bower of blessedness-
Love! thy sole home is heaven!

BOOKS AND FLOWERS.

"La vue d'une fleur caresse mon imagination, et flatte mes sens à un point inexprimable. Sous le tranquille abri du toit paternel j'etais nourrie des l'enfance avec des fleurs et des livres ;-dans l'etroite enceinte d'une prison, au milieu des fers imposies par la tyrannie, j'oublie l'injustice des hommes, leurs sottises et mes maux avec des livres et des fleurs."MADAME ROLAND.

COME, let me make a sunny realm around thee, Of thought and beauty! Here are books and flowers,

With spells to loose the fetter which hath bound thee

The ravell'd coil of this world's feverish hours.

The soul of song is in these deathless pages,
Even as the odour in the flower enshrined;