Oh! hadst thou found but Sparta's wall of men, Heroes-but martyrs-have ye ever been; But doth not God, from his inscrutable place, The glorious martyrs of Humanity? Shall they pass, cloud-like, here, and leave no trace? Shall nought be done for them on earth or skies?— Unchangeable is Nature and her laws: The miracles are by your valour wrought, The ever-living and the unforgot; For He hath fixed in human memory To be like them who won the world's applause. Most in defeat your victory was won: For ye have left, in Ostrolenka's name, Such as old heroes fought, who felt that life L RECORD OF A HAPPY DAY. I. WE climbed the grassy steep to see her seat Where those three wild and withered fir-trees meet: II. Mellowed and softened, shone o'er that waste plain, That our brief day was past-as he in vain III. But now the time, the hour, had entered in us, Meek Evening, like an angel, came to win us IV. From musings sweet, yet sad, whose very sadness For, oh! what wassail hour of rudest gladness V. We sat together by the silent river, And heard the note Of birds, and saw o'er us the aspens quiver; VI. Upon the current, borne on-on-until They rose no more; And then we sighed, and felt the moral thrill To our hearts' core. VII. The current of our days thus ever gliding; Impulses, not our own, our pathway guiding, VIII. But then we felt how good and ill are blended : Feeling though life upon a thread suspended, IX. And now meek Evening, beautiful and holy, Chased from my eyes away the melancholy, X. We felt that blessed hour of Nature's love, Quiet and tranquil, thus, removed above The world's far strife. XI. All lovely forms within our hearts were dwelling As in a shrine: The happiness within her bosom dwelling, Was felt by mine! THOUGHTS BEFORE RAFFAELLE'S PORTRAIT ETERNAL power of Beauty! how the soul And beauty which we dwell upon? Is 't drawn Wreathing the o'ershadowed brow with sun-like rays, From the heart-breathing lips?—or claim thy spells II. No marvel shrines to thee of old were given ; Far above all the fabled hosts of heaven! They felt thee life's sole fount of happiness: Kings prostrated before thy shrine were less Than their own slaves; stern conquerors owned thy darts, And lost their fame, and felt their mighty hearts Faint, and their eyes grow dim before the power Of all-absorbing Beauty! limners drew Thy hues, and sculptors dared thy form renew: Cold stone, or colder words, could hope to tell LINES IN VERSAILLES FOREST: TO THE LADY A COME to the forest now the sun is high, While the sun sheds his glinting rays declined While the quick fancy images behind Glades greener than e'er bloomed in Arcady! |