Not such thy spells o'er those that hail'd thee first, In the clear light of Eden's golden day! There thy rich leaves to crimson glory burst, Link'd with no dim remembrance of decay. Rose! for the banquet gather'd, and the bier; Rose colour'd now by human hope and pain; Surely where death is not-nor change, nor fear, Yet may we meet thee, joy's own flower again ! DREAMS OF HEAVEN. "We colour Heaven with our own human thoughts, Our vain aspirings, fond remembrances, Our passionate love, that seems unto itself An Immortality." DREAM'ST thou of Heaven?-what dreams are thine? Fair child, fair gladsome child? And bounding footsteps wild! Tell me what hues the immortal shore "Oh! beautiful is Heaven, and bright, I see its lilies gleam in light, DREAMS OF HEAVEN. "And there uncheck'd, methinks, I rove, Thou poet of the lonely thought, Say with what solemn glory fraught, "Oh! where the living waters flow My soul, a wanderer here, shall know "The burden of the stranger's heart "And borne on eagle wings afar, O woman! with the soft sad eye, Tell me of those bright worlds on high, By thy sweet mournful voice I know, That thou hast loved, in fear, and woe- 265 "Oh! Heaven is where no secret dread "Where every sever'd wreath is bound- WRITTEN AFTER VISITING A TOMB, NEAR WOODSTOCK, IN THE COUNTY OF KILKENNY.1 "Yes! hide beneath the mouldering heap, The undelighting, slighted thing; There in the cold earth, buried deep, In silence let it wait the Spring." MRS. TIGHE'S Poem on the Lily. I STOOD where the lip of song lay low, I stood in the silence of lonely thought, 1 See the "Grave of a Poetess," in the "Records of Woman," on the same subject, and written several years previously to visiting the scene. WRITTEN AFTER VISITING A TOMB. Then didst thou pass me in radiance by, Thou wert flitting past that solemn tomb, 267 Mine, with its inborn mysterious things Thine, in its reckless and joyous way, Like an embodied breeze at play! Child of the sunlight!-thou wing'd and free! Thou art not lonely, though born to roam, Thou hast no longings that pine for home; In thy brief being no strife of mind, And she, that voiceless below me slept, Yet, ere I turn'd from that silent place, Thou that dost image the freed soul's birth, THE WISH. COME to me, when my soul Hath but a few dim hours to linger here; That I may look once more Into thine eyes, which never changed for me; That I may speak to thee of that bright shore, Where, with our treasure, we have longed to be. Thou friend of many days! Of sadness and of joy, of home and hearth! By every solemn thought Which on our hearts hath sunk in days gone by, From the deep voices of the mountains caught, Or all th' adoring silence of the sky; |