But thou, true-hearted Daughter! thou
O'er whose bright honour'd head
Blessings and tears of holiest flow
Ev'n here were fondly shed;
Thou from the passion of thy grief
In its full tide couldst draw relief.
For oh! though painful be th' excess,
The might wherewith it swells,
In Nature's fount no bitterness
Of Nature's mingling dwells;
And thou hadst not, by wrong or pride,
Poison'd the free and healthful tide.
But didst thou meet the face no more
Which thy young heart first knew?
And all—was all in this world o'er
With ties thus close and true?
It was: on earth no other eye
Could give thee back thine infancy.
No other voice could pierce the maze
Where, deep within thy breast,
The sounds and dreams of other days
With Memory lay at rest;
No other smile to thee could bring
A gladdening like the breath of Spring.
Yet, while thy place of weeping still
Its lone memorial keeps,
While on thy name, midst wood and hill,
The quiet sunshine sleeps,
And touches, in each graven line,
Of reverential thought a sign;
Can I, while yet these tokens wear
The impress of the Dead,
Think of the love embodied there,
As of a vision fled?
A perish'd thing, the joy and flower
And glory of an earthly hour?
Not so!—I will not bow me so
To thoughts that breathe despair;
A loftier faith we need below,
Life's farewell words to bear!
Mother and Child!—your tears are past,—
Surely your hearts have met at last!F. H.
Page:Felicia Hemans in The New Monthly Magazine Volume 19 1827.pdf/15
