Felicia Hemans in The New Monthly Magazine Volume 25 1829/The Image of the Dead
The New Monthly Magazine, Volume 25, Pages 420-421
THE IMAGE OF THE DEAD.—BY FELICIA HEMANS.
To
True indeed it is
That they whom Death has hidden from our sight,
Are worthiest of the mind's regard; with them,
The Future cannot contradict the Past.
Mortality's last exercise and proof
Is undergone.Wordsworth.
"The love where Death has set his seal,
Nor age can chill, nor rival steal,
Nor falsehood disavow.Byron.
I call thee blest!—though now the voice be fled,
Which to thy soul brought dayspring with its tone,
And o'er the gentle eyes though dust be spread,
Eyes that ne'er look'd on thine but light was thrown
Far through thy breast:
And though the music of thy life be broken,
Or changed in every chord, since He is gone,
Feeling all this, ev'n yet, by many a token,
O thou, the deeply, but the brightly lone!
I call thee blest.
For in thy heart there is a holy spot,
As mid the waste an Isle of Fount and Palm,
For ever gone!—the world's breath enters not,
The passion-tempests may not break its calm:
'Tis thine, all thine!
Thither, in trust unbaffled, mayst thou turn,
From weary words, cold greetings, heartless eyes,
Quenching thy soul's thirst at the hidden urn,
That fill'd with waters of sweet Memory lies
In its own shrine.
Thou hast thy home!—there is no power in change
To reach that Temple of the Past;—no sway
In all Time brings of sudden, dark, or strange,
To sweep the still transparent peace away
From its hush'd air.
And oh! that glorious Image of the Dead!
Sole thing whereon a deathless love may rest,
And in deep faith and dreamy worship shed
Its high gifts fearlessly!—I call thee blest,
If only there!
Blest, for the Beautiful within thee dwelling,
Never to fade!—a refuge from distrust,
A spring of purer life, still freshly welling,
To clothe the barrenness of earthly dust,
With flowers divine.
And thou hast been beloved!—it is no dream,
No false mirage for thee, the fervent love,
The Rainbow still unreach'd, th' ideal gleam,
That ever seems before, beyond, above,
Far off to shine.
But thou, from all the daughters of the earth
Singled and mark'd, hast known its home and place,
And the high memory of its holy worth
To this our life a glory and a grace
For thee hath given.
And art thou not still fondly, truly loved?
—Thou art!—the love his spirit bore away
Was not for earth!—a treasure but removed,
A bright bird parted for a clearer day—
Thine still in Heaven!