THE DEATH-SONG OF ALCESTIS. Far from thy light to dwell; Dim in that world-bright sun of Greece, farewell! Thy glad beam yet may see, O'er the dark wave 1 haste from them and thee. "Yet doth my spirit faint to part? Joy, solemn joy, o'erflows my heart, Mine, mine the rapture, mine the victory! In one consuming burst find way, In one bright flood all, all its riches pour! "Thou know'st, thou know'st what love is now, Its glory and its might Are they not written on my brow? And will that image ever quit thy sight? "No! deathless in thy faithful breast, While o'er my grave the cypress branches weep. And rich notes fill the scented air, And all are gifts-my love's last gifts to thee! "Take me to thy warm heart once more! Seek not to quicken, to restore Joy is in every pang-I go, I go! "I feel thy tears, I feel thy breath, Keen is the strife of love and death; Faint and yet fainter grows my bosom's thrill. "Yet swells the tide of rapture strong, Though mists o'ershade mine eye! -Sing, Pæan! sing a conqueror's song! For thee, for thee, my spirit's lord, I die !" 305 THE HOME OF LOVE. THOU mov'st in visions, love!-Around thy way, Not from the realms of moonlight or the morn, Love, shall I read thy dream?-oh! is it not Yes! lone and lowly is that home; yet there Something that mellows and that glorifies, The very whispers of the wind have there And there thou dreamest of Elysian rest, There would'st thou watch the horneward step, whose sound Thine inmost soul can thrill. There by the hearth should many a glorious page, For thee its treasures pour; And the rich unison of mingled prayer, There, dost thou well believe, no storm should come There should thy slumbers be BOOKS AND FLOWERS. Weigh'd down with honey-dew, serenely bless'd, Love, Love! thou passionate in joy and woe! Gifts of infinity! Thou must be still a trembler, fearful Love! So in thy prescient breast Are lyre-strings quivering with prophetic thrill -Oh! canst thou dream of rest? Bear up thy dream! thou mighty and thou weak! Will he not pity?-He whose searching eye Thy fond idolatry, thy blind excess, And seek with Him that bower of blessedness- 307 BOOKS AND FLOWERS. "La vue d'une fleur caresse mon imagination, et flatte mes sens un point inexprimable. Sous le tranquille abri du toit paternal j'etais nourrie des l'enfance avec des fleurs et des livres ;-dans l'etroite enciente d'une prison, au milieu des fers imposies par la tyrannie, j'oublie l'injustice des hommes, leurs sottises et mes maux avec des livres et des fluers."-Madame Roland. COME, let me make a sunny realm around thee, Of thought and beauty! Here are books and flowers, The soul of song is in these deathless pages, |