When I am pass'd away. Thou art the mould Wherein I pour the fervent thoughts, th' untold, The self-consuming! Speak to him of me, Thou, the deserted by the lonely sea, With the soft sadness of thine earnest eye, Speak to him, lorn one! deeply, mournfully, Of all my love and grief! Oh! could I throw And thrilling voice of song! when he came nigh, Thro' his pierc'd bosom-on its tones to bear My life's deep feeling, as the southern air Wafts the faint myrtle's breath,-to rise, to swell, To sink away in accents of farewell, Winning but one, one gush of tears, whose flow Surely my parted spirit yet might know, If love be strong as death! III. Now fair thou art, Thou form, whose life is of my burning heart! I cannot make thee! Oh! I might have given I might have kindled, with the fire of heaven, An eye to be my star, a voice to bring Hope o'er my path, like sounds that breathe of spring, These are denied me- -dreamt of still in vain,— Therefore my brief aspirings from the chain, Are ever but as some wild fitful song, Rising triumphantly, to die ere long In dirge-like echoes. IV. Yet the world will see Little of this, my parting work, in thee, Thou shalt have fame! Oh, mockery! give the reed From storms a shelter,-give the drooping vine Something round which its tendrils may entwine,—— Give the parch'd flower a rain-drop, and the meed Of love's kind words to woman! Worthless fame! That in his bosom wins not for my name Th' abiding-place it ask'd! Yet how my heart, In its own fairy world of song and art, Once beat for praise !--Are those high longings o'er? That which I have been can I be no more ? Never, oh! never more; tho' still thy sky Be blue as then, my glorious Italy! And tho' the music, whose rich breathings fill Never, oh! never more! Where'er I move, Is on me and around! Too well they know, Sear'd on the heart-I go. 'Twill soon be past. Sunshine, and song, and bright Italian heaven, And thou, oh! thou, on whom my spirit cast Unvalued wealth,--who know'st not what was given In that devotedness,-the sad, and deep, And unrepaid farewell! If I could weep Once, only once, belov'd one! on thy breast, Pouring my heart forth ere I sink to rest! But that were happiness, and unto me Earth's gift is fame. Yet I was form'd to be So richly blest! With thee to watch the sky, Speaking not, feeling but that thou wert nigh; With thee to listen, while the tones of song Swept ev'n as part of our sweet air along, To listen silently ;-with thee to gaze On forms, the deified of olden days, This had been joy enough ;—and hour by hour, A glory for thy brow!-Dreams, dreams!the fire Sad thoughts of me :-I leave it, with a sound, A spell o'er memory, mournfully profound, I leave it, on my country's air to dwell,→→ Say proudly yet--"'Twas her's who lov'd me well !” |