This page has been validated.
THE MAGIC GLASS.
153
Speak! and those dwellers of the marble urn,
Robed for the feast of victory, shall return,
As on their proudest day.
"Or wouldst thou look upon the lords of song?—
O'er the dark mirror that immortal throng
Shall waft a solemn gleam!
Passing, with lighted eyes and radiant brows,
Under the foliage of green laurel-boughs,
But silent as a dream."
"Not these, O mighty master!—Though their lays
Be unto man's free heart, and tears, and praise,
Hallow'd for evermore!
And not the buried conquerors! Let them sleep,
And let the flowery earth her Sabbaths keep
In joy, from shore to shore!
"But, if the narrow house may so be moved,
Call the bright shadows of the most beloved,
Back from their couch of rest!
G 2
