THE REQUIEM OF GENIUS. And who will think, when the strain is sung None, none!—his treasures live like thine, 149 -Thou, that hast been to the pearl's dark shrine, O wrestler with the sea! THE REQUIEM OF GENIUS. "Les poètes dont l'imagination tient à la puissance d'aimer et de souffrir, ne sont-ils pas les bannis d'une autre région?” MADAME DE STAEL- -De L'Allemagne. No tears for thee!-though light be from us gone They that have loved an exile, must not mourn O'er the dark sea. All the high music of thy spirit here, And strange, though sweet, as 'midst our weeping skies Some half-remember'd strain of paradise Might sadly sound. Hast thou been answer'd? thou, that from the night And from the voices of the tempest's might, And from the past, Wert seeking still some oracle's reply, Hast thou been answer'd?—thou, that through the gloom, And shadow, and stern silence of the tomb, So passionate and deep? to pierce, to move, From buried friend! And hast thou found where living waters burst? Are the true fountains thine for evermore? Speak! is it well with thee?-We call, as thou, On the departed! Art thou bless'd and free? Yet shall our hope rise fann'd by quenchless faith, As a flame, foster'd by some warm wind's breath, In light upsprings : TRIUMPHANT MUSIC. 151 Freed soul of song! yes, thou hast found the sought; And we will dream it is thy joy we hear, No tears for thee! the lingering gloom is ours— TRIUMPHANT MUSIC. "Tacete, tacete, O suoni trionfanti ! Risvegliate in vano 'l cor che non puo liberarsi." WHEREFORE and whither bear'st thou up my spirit, On eagle wings, through every plume that thrill? It hath no crown of victory to inherit Be still, triumphant harmony! be still! Thine are no sounds for earth, thus proudly swelling To mount so high, yet find on high no dwelling, No sounds for earth?-Yes, to young chieftain dying On his own battle-field, at set of sun, With his freed country's banner o'er him flying, Well might'st thou speak of fame's high guerdon won. No sounds for earth?-Yes, for the martyr leading For patriot by his rescued altars bleeding, But speak not thus to one whose heart is beating Be hush'd, or breathe of grief!—of exile yearnings Under the willows of the stranger-shore! Breathe of the soul's untold and restless burnings, For looks, tones, footsteps, that return no more. Breathe of deep love-a lonely vigil keeping Through the night-hours, o'er wasted wealth to pine; Rich thoughts and sad, like faded rose-leaves heap ing, In the shut heart, at once a tomb and shrine. Or pass as if thy spirit-notes came sighing From worlds beneath some blue Elysian sky; Breathe of repose, the pure, the bright, the undyingOf joy no more-bewildering harmony! SECOND SIGHT. 153 SECOND SIGHT. "Ne'er err'd the prophet heart that grief inspired, A MOURNFUL gift is mine, O friends! MATURIN. An eye that through the triumph's hour And dwells upon the faded flower Ye smile to view fair faces bloom I see the stillness and the gloom I see the wither'd garlands lie While the lamps yet burn, and the dancers fly I see the blood-red future stain On the warrior's gorgeous crest; And the bier amidst the bridal train When they come with roses drest. |