Page:National Lyrics.pdf/52

Its time was come—and from the spirit's depths,
The passion and the mighty melody
Of its immortal voice, in triumph broke,
Like a strong rushing wind!

The soft pure air,
Came floating through that hall;—the Grecian air,
Laden with music—flute-notes from the vales,
Echoes of song—the last sweet sounds of life;
And the glad sunshine of the golden clime
Stream'd, as a royal mantle, round her form,
The glorified of love! But she—she look'd
Only on him for whom 'twas joy to die,
Deep—deepest, holiest joy!—or if a thought
Of the warm sunlight, and the scented breeze,
And the sweet Dorian songs, o'erswept the tide
Of her unswerving soul—'twas but a thought
That owned the summer-loveliness of life
For him a worthy offering!—So she stood,
Wrapt in bright silence, as entranced awhile,