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But thou serenely silent art !
By Heaven and Love was taught to lend A milder solace to the heart,
The sacred image of a friend. All is not lost! if, yet possess'd,
To me that sweet memorial shine :
I hold that idol all divine.
Melt o'er the loved, departed form,
With life, and speech, and spirit warm. She looks! she lives! this tranced hour
Her bright eye seems a purer gem Than sparkles on the throne of power,
Or glory's wealthy diadem. Yes, Genius, yes ! thy mimic aid
A treasure to my soul has given, Where Beauty's canonized shade
Smiles in the sainted hues of heaven. No spectre forms of pleasure fled,
Thy soft'ning, sweet’ning tints restore ; For thou canst give us back the dead,
E’en in the loveliest looks they wore. Then bless'd be Nature's guardian muse,
Whose hand her perish'd grace redeems! Whose tablet of a thousand hues
The mirror of creation seems. From Love began thy high descent;
And lovers, charm’d by gifts of thine, Shall bless thee mutely eloquent,
And call thee brightest of the Nine!
DIRGE OF WALLACE.
They lighted a taper at the dead of night,
And chanted their holiest hymn;
Her eye was all sleepless and dim!
When a deathwatch beat in her lonely room,
To tell of her warrior's doom ! “ Now sing you the death-song, and loudly pray
For the soul of my knight so dear;
Since the warning of God is here!
The lord of my bosom is doom'd to die :
For Wallace of Elderslie !"
Ere the loud matin-bell was rung,
Had the dirge of her champion sung!
On the highborn blood of a martyr slain,
And his heart was rent in twain!
Was true to that knight forlorn,
At the blast of the hunter's horn; When he strode on the wreck of each well-fought field
With the yellow-hair'd chiefs of his native land; For his lance was not shiver'd on helmet or shield ; And the sword that seem'd fit for archangel to wield,
Was light in his terrible hand!
Yet bleeding and bound, though her Wallace wight
For his long-loved country die,
Than Wallace of Elderslie!
His head unentomb'd shall with glory be balm'd, From its blood-streaming altar his spirit shall start : Though the raven has sed on his mouldering heart,
A nobler was never embalm'd !
What's hallow'd ground? Has earth a clod
Erect and free,
To bow the knee?
Yon churchyard's bowers ?
A part of ours.
That ne'er are riven,
And up to heaven!
And will not cool,
In Lethe's pool.
What hallows ground where heroes sleep?
Their turf may bloom ;
Their coral tomb.
Lifts thine on high?
Is not to die.
The sword he draws :
A noble cause ! Give that! and welcome War to brace Her drums! and rend Heaven's reeking space! The colours planted face to face,
The charging cheer, Though Death's pale horse lead on, the chase
Shall still be dear.
And place our trophies where men kneel
Oh God above!
To Peace and Love.
Peace, Love! the cherubim, that join
Where they are not :
To incantations dost thou trust,
Belie the vaunt,
With chime or chant.
A temple given
Its space is Heaven!
The harmonious spheres
By mortal ears.
Aspéct above ?
Of heavenly love!
Shall yet be drawn,
Earth's compass'd round;
ALL HALLOW'D GROUND.