Felicia Hemans in The New Monthly Magazine Volume 26 1829/A Thought of the Future

by Felicia Hemans

The New Monthly Magazine, Volume 26, Page 448

A THOUGHT OF THE FUTURE.—BY FELICIA HEMANS.

       Dreamer! and wouldst thou know
If Love goes with us to the viewless bourne?
Wouldst thou bear hence th' unfathom'd source of woe
       In thy heart's lonely urn?

       What hath it been to thee,
That Power, the dweller of thy secret breast?
A Dove sent forth across a stormy sea,
       Finding no place of rest:

       A precious odour cast
On a wild stream, that recklessly swept by;
A voice of music utter'd to the blast,
       And winning no reply.

       Even were such answer thine,
Wouldst thou be blest?—too sleepless, too profound,
Are thy soul's hidden springs; there is no line
       Their depth of Love to sound.

       Do not words faint and fail,
When thou wouldst fill them with that ocean's power?
As thine own cheek before high thoughts grows pale
       In some o'erwhelming hour?

       Doth not thy frail form sink
Beneath the chain that binds thee to one spot,
When thy heart strives, held down by many a link,
       Where thy beloved are not?

       Is not thy very soul
Oft in the gush of powerless blessing shed,
Till a vain tenderness, beyond control,
       Bows down thy weary head?

       And wouldst thou bear all this,
The burden and the shadow of thy life,
To trouble the blue skies of cloudless bliss,
       With earthly feeling's strife?

       Not thus, not thus—oh no!
Not veil'd and mantled with dim clouds of care,
That spirit of my soul should with me go,
       To breathe celestial air:

       But as the sky-lark springs
To its own sphere, where night afar is driven,
As to its place the flower-seed findeth wings.
       So must Love mount to Heaven!

       Vainly it shall not strive
There on weak words to pour a stream of fire;
Thought unto thought shall kindling impulse give,
       As light might wake a lyre.

       And oh! its blessing there
Shower'd like rich balsam forth on some dear head,
Powerless no more, a gift shall surely bear,
       A joy of sunlight shed!

       Let me then, let me dream
That Love goes with us to the shore unknown;
So o'er its burning tears a heavenly gleam
       In mercy shall be thrown!