THE HOME OF LOVE. Lifting th' eternal hope, th' adoring breath, 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, Love, Love! thou passionate in joy and woe! O thou! that wildly worshipping, dost shed Gifts of infinity! Thou must be still a trembler, fearful Love! Thy stately pine-tree, or thy gracious rose, And as a flower, with some fine sense imbued, So in thy prescient breast Are lyre-strings quivering with prophetic thrill 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 Oh! pray to be forgiven Thy fond idolatry, thy blind excess, And seek with Him that bower of blessedness- 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, BOOKS AND FLOWERS. Here the crown'd spirits of departed ages 221 Their thoughts, that strove with time, and change, and anguish, For some high place where faith her wing might rest, Are burning here—a flame that may not languish – Still pointing upward to that bright hill's crest! Their grief, the veil'd infinity exploring For treasures lost, is here;-their boundless love Its mighty streams of gentleness outpouring On all things round, and clasping all above. And the bright beings, their own heart's creations, Bright, yet all human, here are breathing still; Conflicts, and agonies, and exultations Are here, and victories of prevailing will! Listen, oh, listen! let their high words cheer thee! Or would'st thou turn to earth? Not earth all furrow'd Look on these flowers! As o'er an altar shedding, They are from lone wild places, forest dingles, Fresh banks of many a low-voiced hidden stream, Where the sweet star of eve looks down and mingles Faint lustre with the water-lily's gleam. They are from where the soft winds play in gladness, Covering the turf with flowery blossom-showers; -Too richly dower'd, O friend! are we for sadness— Look on an empire-mind and nature-ours! FOR A PICTURE OF ST. CECILIA ATTENDED BY ANGELS. "How rich that forehead's calm expanse! Ere sorrow be renew'd, And intercourse with mortal hours WORDSWORTH. How can that eye, with inspiration beaming, Breathes no faint under-tone through songs of bliss. FOR A PICTURE OF ST. CECILIA. 223 Say by what strain, through cloudless ether swelling, Thou hast drawn down those wanderers from the skies? Bright guests! even such as left of yore their dwelling, For the deep cedar shades of Paradise! What strain?-oh! not the nightingale's when showering Her own heart's life drops on the burning lay, She stirs the young woods in the days of flowering, And pours her strength, but not her grief, away: And not the exile's-when, 'midst lonely billows, And not the pilgrim's-though his thoughts be holy, And sweet his ave song, when day grows dim ; Yet, as he journeys, pensively and slowly, Something of sadness floats through that low hymn. But thou!-the spirit which at eve is filling Founts, leaves, and flowers, with solemn rapture thrilling, This is the soul of thy rich harmony. This bears up high those breathings of devotion |