1830-40] AMELIA B. WELBY. 213 THE RAINBOW. I SOMETIMES have thoughts, in my loneliest hours, That lie on my heai't like the dew or^ the flowers, Of a ramble I took one bright afternoon, When my heart was as light as a blossom in June ; The green earth was moist with the late fallen showers. The breeze fluttered down and blew open the flowers. While a single white cloud to its haven of rest On the white wing of peace, floated off in the west. As I threw back my tresses to catch the cool breeze, That scattered the rain-drops and dimpled the seas. Far up the blue sky a fair rainbow un- rolled Its soft-tinted pinions of purple and gold. 'Twas born in a moment, yet, quick as its birth, It had stretched to the uttermost ends of the earth. And, fair as an angel, it floated as free, With a wing on the earth and a wing on the sea. How calm was the ocean ! how gentle its swell ! Like a woman's soft bosom it rose and it fell; While its light sparkling waves, stealing laughingly o'er. When they saw the fair rainbow, knelt down on the shore. No sweet hymn ascended, no murmur of prayer, Yet I felt that the spirit of worship was there. And bent my young head, in devotion and love, 'Neath the form of the angel, that floated above. How wide was the sweep of its beautiful wings ! How boundless its circle ! how radiant its rings ! If I looked on the sky, 'twas suspended in air; If I looked on the ocean, the rainbow was there ; Thus forming a girdle, as brilliant and whole As the thoughts of the rainbow, that cir- cled my soul. Like the wing of the Deity, calmly un- furled. It bent from the cloud and encircled the world. There are moments, I think, when the spirit receives Whole volumes of thought on its unwritten leaves. When the folds of the heart in a moment unclose. Like the innermost leaves from the heart of a rose. And thus, when the rainbow had passed from the sky. The thoughts it awoke were too deep to pass by ; It left my full soul, like the wing of a dove. All fluttering with pleasure, and fluttering with love. I know that each moment of rapture or pain But shortens the links in life's mystical chain ; I know that my form, like that bow from the wave, Must pass from the earth, and He cold in the grave ;
