Poems (Hornblower)/Lines, on the Death of a Young German Author
Jump to navigation
Jump to search
LINES
ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG GERMAN AUTHOR.
Pure spirit! who on wings of love descended,
Amidst the bright and beautiful on earth,
Yet with a bearing conscious of thy birth,
Of youthful dignity, and ever blended
The poet's heirdom of high thought, with all
Thy sad though radiant youth—how soon did life
Call from thy bleeding bosom the young strife,
And heavy clouds of sorrow o'er thee fall.—
Yet would' st thou not recall
That gift,which brought to thee
Such peace and purity,
Though grief with spectre shapes thy fancy did appal;
Still through the deepening gloom
One angel-form did come,
Beckoning unto thee, with her smile divine;
And thy young glowing heart
With freshening hopes did start,
To hail the love that bad on earth been thine.—
In sun or shade, in calm or storm,
A sweet and shadowy form
Was ever at thy side,
And wore the features of thy sainted bride!
Ah! fatally too fond,
Her gathering arras she spread,
And winged the dart that sent thee to the dead!
Thou too didst gaze thy promised joys beyond,
With yearning all too true,
For her who for long years had vanished from thy view.
Heaven, pitying parted love,
Called thy pure soul above,
To its true home and ever dearest rest,
Where, with thy young love blest,
Thou mightest rove through calm Elysian bowers,
And, with thy fancy high,
Look down on this our sky,
Quaffing the sweets of rich immortal flowers.
There, in beatitude,
With all supreme and good,
Thy glorious nature might its powers unfold,
Far from a world to thee so lone and cold.
The while that world,
That saw an hour unfurled,
The unripe fruit of thy young spirit's bloom,
Erected thee a bier,
And shed a parting tear,
Hanging an unflowered laurel on thy tomb.
Arid I, in foreign scene,
From thy pure lite-tracks glean
Thoughts far too high for tears, and hopes for years to come.
Amidst the bright and beautiful on earth,
Yet with a bearing conscious of thy birth,
Of youthful dignity, and ever blended
The poet's heirdom of high thought, with all
Thy sad though radiant youth—how soon did life
Call from thy bleeding bosom the young strife,
And heavy clouds of sorrow o'er thee fall.—
Yet would' st thou not recall
That gift,which brought to thee
Such peace and purity,
Though grief with spectre shapes thy fancy did appal;
Still through the deepening gloom
One angel-form did come,
Beckoning unto thee, with her smile divine;
And thy young glowing heart
With freshening hopes did start,
To hail the love that bad on earth been thine.—
In sun or shade, in calm or storm,
A sweet and shadowy form
Was ever at thy side,
And wore the features of thy sainted bride!
Ah! fatally too fond,
Her gathering arras she spread,
And winged the dart that sent thee to the dead!
Thou too didst gaze thy promised joys beyond,
With yearning all too true,
For her who for long years had vanished from thy view.
Heaven, pitying parted love,
Called thy pure soul above,
To its true home and ever dearest rest,
Where, with thy young love blest,
Thou mightest rove through calm Elysian bowers,
And, with thy fancy high,
Look down on this our sky,
Quaffing the sweets of rich immortal flowers.
There, in beatitude,
With all supreme and good,
Thy glorious nature might its powers unfold,
Far from a world to thee so lone and cold.
The while that world,
That saw an hour unfurled,
The unripe fruit of thy young spirit's bloom,
Erected thee a bier,
And shed a parting tear,
Hanging an unflowered laurel on thy tomb.
Arid I, in foreign scene,
From thy pure lite-tracks glean
Thoughts far too high for tears, and hopes for years to come.