TO A PICTURE OF THE MADONNA.
When brightest names are breathed on,
When loftiest fall so fast,
We would not call our brother back
On dark days to be cast,-
From the shadow of the Pyramid,
Where his noble heart we laid,
When the battle-day was done,
And the desert's parting sun
A field of death survey'd.
TO A PICTURE OF THE MADONNA.
"Ave Maria! May our spirits dare
Look up to thine, and to thy Son's above?"
FAIR vision! thou'rt from sunny skies,
Born where the rose hath richest dyes;
To thee a southern heart hath given
That glow of love, that calm of heaven,
And round thee cast th' ideal gleam,
The light that is but of a dream.
Far hence, where wandering music fills
The haunted air of Roman hills,
Or where Venetian waves of yore
Heard melodies, they hear no more,
Some proud old minster's gorgeous aisle
Hath known the sweetness of thy smile.
Or haply, from a lone, dim shrine,
'Mid forests of the Appenine,
Whose breezy sounds of cave and dell
Pass like a floating anthem-swell,
Thy soft eyes o'er the pilgrim's way
Shed blessings with their gentle ray.
Or gleaming through a chestnut wood,
Perchance thine island-chapel stood,
Where from the blue Sicilian sea,
The sailor's hymn hath risen to thee,
And bless'd thy power to guide, to save,
Madonna watcher of the wave!
Oh! might a voice, a whisper low,
Forth from those lips of beauty flow!
Could'st thou but speak of all the tears
The conflicts, and the pangs of years,
Which, at thy secret shrine reveal'd,
Have gush'd from human hearts unseal'd!
Surely to thee hath woman come,
As a tired wanderer back to home!
Unveiling many a timid guest,
And treasured sorrow of her breast,
A buried love-a wasting care
Oh! did those griefs win peace from prayer?
And did the poet's fervid soul
To thee lay bare its inmost scroll?
Those thoughts, which pour'd their quenchless fire
And passion o'er th' Italian lyre,
Did they to still submission die,
Beneath thy calm, religious eye?
A THOUGHT OF THE ROSE.
And hath the crested helmet bow'd
Before thee, 'midst the incense-cloud?
Hath the crown'd leader's bosom lone,
To thee its haughty griefs made known?
Did thy glance break their frozen sleep,
And win the unconquer'd one to weep?
Hush'd is the anthem-closed the vow
The votive garland wither'd now;
Yet holy still to me thou art,
Thou that hast sooth'd so many a heart!
And still must blessed influence flow
From the meek glory of thy brow.
Still speak to suffering woman's love,
Of rest for gentle hearts above;
Of hope, that hath its treasure there,
Of home, that knows no changeful air!
Bright form, lit up with thoughts divine,
Ave! such power be ever thine!
A THOUGHT OF THE ROSE.
How much of memory dwells amidst thy bloom,
Rose! ever wearing beauty for thy dower!
The bridal-day-the festival-the tomb-
Thou hast thy part in each, thou stateliest flower!
Therefore with thy soft breath come floating by
A thousand images of love or grief,
Dreams, fill'd with tokens of mortality,
Deep thoughts of all things beautiful and brief.
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!
"We colour Heaven with our own human thoughts,
Our vain aspirings, fond remembrances,
Our passionate love, that seems unto itself
DREAM'ST thou of Heaven?-what dreams are thine?
Fair child, fair gladsome child?
With eyes that like the dewdrop shine,
And bounding footsteps wild!
Tell me what hues the immortal shore
Can wear, my bird! to thee?
Ere yet one shadow hath pass'd o'er
Thy glance and spirit free?
"Oh! beautiful is Heaven, and bright,
With long, long summer days;
I see its lilies gleam in light,
Where many a fountain plays.
"And there uncheck'd, methinks, I rove,
And seek where young flowers lie,
In vale and golden-fruited grove-
Flowers that are not to die!"
Thou poet of the lonely thought,
Sad heir of gifts divine!
Say with what solemn glory fraught,
Is heaven in dreams of thine?
"Oh! where the living waters flow
Along that radiant shore,
My soul, a wanderer here, shall know
The exile thirst no more.
"The burden of the stranger's heart,
Which here alone I bear,
Like the night-shadow shall depart,
With my first wakening there.
"And borne on eagle wings afar,
Free thought shall claim its dower,
From every realm, from every star,
Of glory and of power."
O woman! with the soft sad eye,
Of spiritual gleam,
Tell me of those bright worlds on high,
How doth thy fond heart dream?
By thy sweet mournful voice I know,
On thy pale brow I see,
That thou hast loved, in fear, and woe-
Say what is Heaven to thee?
|