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Like perfumes on the wind,

Which none may stay or bind,
The beautiful comes floating thro' my soul ;

I strive with yearnings vain,

The spirit to detain
Of the deep harmonies that past me roll!

Therefore disturbing dreams

Trouble the secret streams

And founts of music that o'erflow my breast;

Something far more divine

Than may on earth be mine, Haunts my worn heart, and will not let me rest.

Shall I then fear the tone
That breathes from worlds unknown?

Surely these feverish aspirations there

Shall grasp their full desire,

And this unsettled fire,

Burn calmly, brightly, in immortal air.

One more then, one more strain,

To earthly joy and pain A rich, and deep, and passionate farewell !

I pour each fervent thought

With fear, hope, trembling, fraught, Into the notes that o'er my dust shall swell. THE IMAGE IN LAVA.*

Thou thing of years departed!


gone by, Since here the mournful seal was set

By love and agony !

Temple and tower have moulder'd,

Empires from earth have pass’d, And woman's heart hath left a trace

Those glories to outlast !

* The impression of a woman's form, with an infant clasped to the bosom, found at the uncovering of Herculaneum.

And childhood's fragile image

Thus fearfully enshrin'd, Survives the proud memorials rear'd

By conquerors of mankind.

Babe! wert thou brightly slumbering

Upon thy mother's breast, When suddenly the fiery tomb

Shut round each gentle guest ?

A strange dark fate o’ertook you,

Fair babe and loving heart!
One moment of a thousand pangs

Yet better than to part!

Haply of that fond bosom,

On ashes here impress’d,
Thou wert the only treasure, child !

Whereon a hope might rest.

Perchance all vainly lavish'd,

Its other love had been,

And where it trusted, nought remain'd

But thorns on which to lean.

Far better then to perish,

Thy form within its clasp, Than live and lose thee, precious one!

From that impassion'd grasp.

Oh! I could pass all relics

Left by the pomps of old,
To gaze on this rude monument,

Cast in affection's mould.

Love, human love! what art thou?

Thy print upon the dust

Outlives the cities of renown

Wherein the mighty trust!

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