Though fleeting the radiance, though transient the smile,
They speak not of sorrow, they breathe not of guile,
But light up the tremulous chords of the soul,
Its virtues to heighten, its sins to control.
RECEIVED FROM MISS SEDGWICK.
AND thou art fading too, my rose,
Thy healthful bloom is fled,
From thy pale flower the leaves unclose,
And bows thy pallid head.
I knew how quickly fades away
Each brighter, lovelier thing,
And did not deem that thou couldst stay,
Thou fairest rose of spring.
But I have watch'd thy varying hue,
As fading hour by hour,
And mourn'd that thou must perish too,
My lovely, cherish'd flower.
Oh, 'tis a mournful thing to see
How all that's fair must die;
How death will pluck the sweetest bud,
On his cold breast to lie.
'Tis sad to mark his icy hand
Destroy our all that's dear,
In silent, shivering awe to stand,
And know his footstep near.
Yet 't were unmeet that thou shouldst live,
When man himself must die;
That death should cull each human form
And pass the flow'ret by.
Why do I mourn for thee my rose,
When graven in my beart,
I read a deeper sorrow there
Than thou could'st e'er impart.
For one who came from heaven awhile
To bless the mourners here;
Their joys to hallow with her smile,
Their sorrows with her tear;
Who join'd to all the charms of earth
The noblest gifts of heaven;
To whom the Muses, at her birth,
Their sweetest smiles had given;
Whose eye beam'd forth with fancy's ray,
And genius pure and high;
Whose very soul had seem'd to bathe
In streams of melody,-
Was all too like to thee, my rose,
As fragile and as fair;
For, while her eye most brightly beam'd,
The mark of death was there.
The cheek which once so sweetly bloom'd,
Grew pallid with decay;
The burning fire within consumed
Its tenement of clay.
Death, as if fearing to destroy,
Paused o'er her couch awhile;
She gave a tear for those she loved,
Then met him with a smile.
Oh, who may tell what angel bands
Convey'd that soul away;
And who may tell what tears were shed
Above that lifeless clay.
They laid her in the silent grave,
The moist earth for her bed!
And placed the rose and violet
To blossom o'er her head!
But though unseen by mortal eye,
She seem'd not to depart,
Her memory linger'd still below
In every kindred heart;
As if her pure unfetter'd soul
Return'd to earthly things,
And spread o'er all her cherish'd scenes
The shadow of her wings.
Still thou art like to her, my rose,
Though bending in decay;
The tyrant death can never take
Thy fragrant breath away.
Like thee, my rose, she bloom'd and died,
Like thee, her life was brief;
And to her name remembrance clung,
Like perfume to thy leaf.
But when the torch of memory burn'd
With fainter, feebler flame,
The pen of Sedgwick spread anew
A lustre round her name.
For this our daily gratitude
In raptures shall ascend;
For this a sister's blessings
And a mother's prayer shall blend.
And if the Lord of heaven permits
His sainted ones to know
The varied scenes of joy and grief
Which mark the world below;
Then she will bend her angel form,
With heavenly raptures fired,
And bless the hand which penn'd the tale,
The genius which inspired.
How sweet is the sound of the church-going bell
When it bursts on the ear with its full rich swell,
So slow and so solemn it peals through the air,
It seems as if calling the soul to prepare
To meet in his temple, so holy and pure,
The Saviour, whose presence shall ever endure;
To unburthen the conscience-devoutly to kneel-
To pray for the pardon of sins which we feel;
Before our almighty Preserver to bow,
With a purified soul, and a heart humbled low.
[Unfinished.]
OH, for a something more than this,
To fill the void within my breast;
A sweet reality of bliss,
A something bright, but unexpress'd!
My spirit longs for something higher
Than life's dull stream can e'er supply;
Something to feed this inward fire,
This spark, which never more can die.
I'd dwell with all that nature forms
Of wild or beautiful or gay,
Bow, when she clothes the heaven with storms,
And join her in her frolic play.
I'd hold companionship with all
Of pure, of noble, or divine;
With glowing heart adoring fall,
And kneel at nature's sylvan shrine.
My soul is like a broken lyre,
Whose loudest, sweetest chord is gone;
A note, half trembling on the wire,
A heart that wants an echoing tone.
Where shall I find this shadowy bliss,
This shapeless phantom of the mind?
This something words can ne'er express,
So vague, so faint, so undefined?
Language! thou never canst portray
The fancies floating o'er my soul!
Thou ne'er canst chase the clouds away
Which o'er my changing visions roll!
On, I have gazed on forms of light,
Till life seem'd ebbing in a tear-
Till in that fleeting space of sight
Were merged the feelings of a year.
And I have heard the voice of song,
Till my full heart gush'd wild and free,
And my rapt soul would float along
As if on waves of melody.
But while I glow'd at beauty's glance,
I long'd to feel a deeper thrill:
And while I heard that dying strain,
I sigh'd for something sweeter still.
I have been happy, and my soul
Free from each sorrow, care, regret;
Yet ever in those hours of bliss
I long'd to find them happier yet.
Oft o'er the darkness of my mind
Some meteor thought has glanced at will;
'T was bright-but ever have I sigh'd
To find a fancy brighter still.
Why are these restless, vain desires,
Which always grasp at something more
To feed the spirit's hidden fires,
Which burn unseen, unnoticed soar?
Well might the heathen sage have known
That earth must fail the soul to bind;
That life, and life's tame joys, alone,
Could never chain the ethereal mind.
WRITTEN WHEN BETWEEN FOURTEEN AND FIFTEEN.
ON RETURNING TO BALLSTON,
AFTER THE DEATH OF A LITTLE BROTHER.
YES! this is home! the home we loved before,
The dear retreat we hope to leave no more!
Since first we mourn'd thy calm enjoyments fled,
Two weary years with silent steps have sped;
And ah! in that short space what scenes have past!
Death has been with us since we saw thee last!
Yes! robed in gloom he came, the tyrant Death,
To blight our fairest with his chilling breath.
He stole along beneath the smiles of spring,
When youthful hearts to life most fondly cling;
The loveliest flowers were blushing 'neath his tread;
He stole the sweetest of them all, and fled!
In vain, my brother, now we look for thee,
Thy form elastic, and thy step of glee;
In vain we strove our thoughts from thee to win,
Our hearts recoiling feel the void within.
Alas! alas! thou dear and cherish'd one,
How soon on earth thy tranquil course was run!
Like some bright stream that pours its waves to-day,
Glides gently on, and vanishes away!
A brief, brief time has pass'd with giant stride,
And thou hast lived, hast suffer'd, and hast died!
Memory, unmindful of the lapse between,
Paints forth in vivid hues that closing scene;
The more we gaze, we feel its truth the more,
And live in thought those painful moments o'er.
We see his form upon its couch of pain,
We hear his soft and trembling voice again;
Grief forcing from our lips the shuddering groan,
And sweet composure breathing from his own.
The earth was clothed in spring's enlivening hue,
The faded buds were bursting forth anew,
The birds were heard in sweet, melodious strain,
And Nature woke to radiant life again,
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