I felt how the pure, intellectual fire How soon, in the lavishing cup of desire, And I pray'd of that Spirit who lighted the flame, The thought was ecstatic! I felt as if Heaven I look'd to the west, and the beautiful-sky more: "Oh! thus," I exclaim'd, "can a heavenly eye "Shed light on the soul that was darken'd before!" THE TELL-TALE LYRE. I've heard, there was in ancient days 'Twas play'd on by the gentlest sighs, And to their breath it breathed again In such entrancing melodies As ear had never drunk till then! Not harmony's serenest touch So stilly could the notes prolong; They were not heavenly song so much As they were dreams of heavenly song! If sad the heart, whose murmuring air The soothings it awaken'd there Or if the sigh, serene and light, Was but the breath of fancied woes, The string, that felt its airy flight, Soon whisper'd it to kind repose! And oh when lovers talk'd alone, If 'mid their bliss the Lyre was near, It made their murmurs all its own, And echoed notes that Heaven might hear! There was a nymph, who long had loved, 'Twas there, at twilight time, she stole It chanced that in the fairy bower Where they had found their sweetest shed, This Lyre, of strange and magic power, Hung gently whispering o'er their head. And while, with eyes of mingling fire, And while the melting words she breathed Alas! their hearts but little thought, So mingled with its tuneful soul Were all their tender murmurs grown, That other sighs unanswer'd stole, Nor changed the sweet, the treasured tone. Unhappy nymph! thy name was sung The fatal Lyre, by Envy's hand Hung high amid the breezy groves, To every wanton gale that fann'd Betray'd the mystery of your loves! Yet, oh!-not many a suffering hour, And took the Lyre and thee to Heaven! There, as thy lover dries the tear Yet warm from life's malignant wrongs, Within his arms, thou lovest to hear The luckless Lyre's remember'd songs! Still do your happy souls attune The notes it learn'd, on earth, to move; Still breathing o'er the chords, commune In sympathies of angel love! TO THE FLYING-FISH.* WHEN I have seen thy snowy wing * It is the opinion of St. Austin, upon Genesis, and I believe of nearly all the Fathers, that birds, like fish, were originally produced from the waters; in defence of which idea they have collected every fanciful circumstance which can tend to prove a kindred similitude between them; ovyγενειαν τοις πετομένοις προς τα νηκτα. With this thought in our minds when we first see the Flying-Fish, we could almost fancy that we are present at the moment of creation, and witness the birth of the first bird from the waves. |