16
POEMS.
Nor were these treasures handed me
An heirloom from the family tree,
And rich in many a blessing
From pious ancestry—nor were
They purchased by a connoisseur
Rare cultured taste possessing.
An heirloom from the family tree,
And rich in many a blessing
From pious ancestry—nor were
They purchased by a connoisseur
Rare cultured taste possessing.
But in my chamber, while I slept,
Some magic artist softly stepped
From distant realms Elysian,
And wrought upon my window-pane
Such wondrous pictures, that I fain
Believe I see a vision.
Some magic artist softly stepped
From distant realms Elysian,
And wrought upon my window-pane
Such wondrous pictures, that I fain
Believe I see a vision.
His cunning hand disdained the light,
And fashioned in the gloom of night,
Such strange designs—I wonder
If, 'twixt me and the heavenly land,
That shadowy veil by his command
Has not been rent asunder.
And fashioned in the gloom of night,
Such strange designs—I wonder
If, 'twixt me and the heavenly land,
That shadowy veil by his command
Has not been rent asunder.
While I in admiration stand,
And to that viewless master-hand
My silent homage tender,
The morning sunlight, glancing through,
Makes one kaleidoscopic view
Of rich prismatic splendor.
And to that viewless master-hand
My silent homage tender,
The morning sunlight, glancing through,
Makes one kaleidoscopic view
Of rich prismatic splendor.
