"Am I so changed?—and yet we two,
Oft hand in hand have play'd;
This brow hath been all bath'd in dew,
From wreaths which thou hast made!
We have knelt down, and said one prayer,
And sang one vesper-strain;
My thoughts are dim with clouds of care—
Tell me those words again!
"Life hath been heavy on my head;
I come, a stricken deer,
Bearing the heart, 'midst crowds that bled,
To bleed in stillness here!"
She gaz'd—till thoughts that long had slept
Shook all her thrilling frame,—
She fell upon his neck and wept,
And breath'd her Brother's name.
Her Brother's name!—and who was He,
The weary one, th' unknown,
That came, the bitter world to flee,
A stranger to his own?
He was the Bard of gifts divine
To sway the hearts of men—
He of the song for Salem's shrine,
He of the sword and pen!
F. H.
Page:Felicia Hemans in The Monthly Magazine Volume 1 1826.pdf/4
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