Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, Volume 37, Pages 793-795
DESPONDENCY AND ASPIRATION,
A LYRIC.
By Mrs Hemans.
Per correr miglior acqua alza le vele,
Omai la navicella del mio Intelletto.-Dante.
My soul was mantled with dark shadows, born
Of lonely Fear, disquieted in vain;
Its phantoms hung around the star of morn,
A cloud-like weeping train;
Through the long day they dimm'd the autumn-gold
On all the glistening leaves; and wildly roll'd,
When the last farewell flush of light was glowing,
Across the sunset sky;
O'er its rich isles of vaporous glory throwing
One melancholy dye.
And when the solemn Night
Came rushing with her might
Of stormy oracles from caves unknown,
Then with each fitful blast
Prophetic murmurs pass'd,
Wakening or answering some deep Sybil tone,
Far buried in my breast, yet prompt to rise
With every gusty wail that o'er the wind-harp flies.
"Fold, fold thy wings," they cried, "and strive no more,
Faint spirit, strive no more!–for thee too strong
Are outward ill and wrong,
And inward wasting fires!—Thou canst not soar
Free on a starry way
Beyond their blighting sway,
At Heaven's high gate serenely to adore!
How shouldst thou hope Earth's fetters to unbind?
O passionate, yet weak! O trembler to the windl!
"Never shall aught but broken music flow
From joy of thine, deep love, or tearful woe;
Such homeless notes as through the forest sigh,
From the reed's hollow shaken,
When sudden breezes waken
Their vague wild symphony:
No power is theirs, and no abiding-place
In human hearts; their sweetness leaves no trace,—
Born only so to die!
"Never shall aught but perfume, faint and vain,
On the fleet pinion of the changeful hour,
From thy bruis'd life again
A moment's essence breathe;
Thy life, whose trampled flower
Into the blessed wreath
Of household charities no longer bound,
Lies pale and withering on the barren ground.
