Page:The Poets and Poetry of the West.djvu/147

1830-40.] GEORGE D. PRENTICE. 131 TO A POETESS. I TOO would kneel before thy shrine, Young minstrel of the Eden-lja-e, For oh ! to me each word of thine Seems radiant with a soul of fii-e. I love to watch thy fancy's wing Upon the breath of beauty rise, And, bathed in glory's sunbeams spring To hail the poet's paradise. My heart is bowed, in silence bowed, Before thy spirit's burning gleams. As on my view in glory crowd The visions of thy sun-bright dreams. Full oft, as passion wakes thy lyre, I listen to its music sweet, Till every thought is touched with fire. And heart and pulse in wUdness beat. All nature seems more beautiful. As pictured in thy song — her bowers With gentler sounds the spirit lull, And winds go lightlier o'er the flowers. The spirit of the evening fills The shutting rose with softer dew, A brighter dream is on the hills. And on the waves a deeper blue. With lovelier hue at twilight hour. The banner of the sunset gleams. And gentle birds and gentle flowers Sink softlier to their blessed dreams. The rainbow o'er the evening sky With brighter, loftier arch is thrown. And the lone sea-shell's mournful sigh Is swelhng in a wilder tone. The music-voice of childhood flows More ringingly upon the air, And with a heavenlier fervor glows The eloquence of praise and prayer. The lost ones that we loved so well, Come back to our deserted bowers ; Upon the breeze their voices swell, And their dear hands are clasped in ours. Thy genius wanders wild and free 'Mid all things beautiful and bless'd, For the young heart is like the sea, That wears heaven's picture on its breast. And as thy muse her soul of fire In high and glorious song is breathing, Thy hand around thy country's lyre A deathless coronal is wreathing. A WISH. In Southern seas, there is an isle. Where earth and sky forever smile ; Where storms cast not their somber hue Upon the welkin's holy blue ; Where clouds of blessed incense rise From myriad flowers of myriad dyes, And strange bright bu'ds glance through the bowers. Like mingled stars or mingled flowers. Oh, dear one, would it were our lot To dwell upon that lovely spot, To stray through woods with blossoms starred, Bright as the dreams of seer or bard, To hear each other's whispered words 'Mid the wild notes of tropic birds, And deem our lives in those bright bowers One glorious dream of love and flowers.