ON A LEAF FROM THE TOMB OF VIRGIL. AND was thy home, pale wither'd thing, Wert thou a nurseling of the Spring, Those suns in golden light, e'en now, Those winds are breathing soft, but thou Answering their whisper, there no more shalt wave. The flowers o'er Posilippo's brow, May cluster in their purple bloom, But on th' o'ershadowing ilex-bough, Thy breezy place is void, by Virgil's tomb. Thy place is void-oh! none on earth, This crowded earth, may so remain, Save that which souls of loftiest birth Leave when they part, their brighter home to gain. ON A LEAF FROM THE TOMB OF VIRGIL. Another leaf ere now hath sprung, On the green stem which once was thineWhen shall another strain be sung Like his whose dust hath made that spot a shrine? 45 FOR A DESIGN OF A BUTTERFLY RESTING ON A SKULL. CREATURE of air and light, To chase the south-wind through the glowing sky? With Silence and Decay, Fix'd on the wreck of cold Mortality? The thoughts once chamber'd there, Have gather'd up their treasures, and are gone- They that have burst the prison-house are flown? If thou wouldst trace their way Earth hath no voice to make the secret known. A BUTTERFLY RESTING ON A SKULL. 47 Who seeks the vanish'd bird By the forsaken nest and broken shell ?— Yet free and joyous in the woods to dwell. Take the bright wings of morn! Thy hope calls heaven-ward from yon ruin'd cell. THE LOST PLEIAD. "Like the lost Pleiad seen no more below." Byron. AND is there glory from the heavens departed? -Oh! void unmark'd!-thy sisters of the sky Still hold their place on high, Though from its rank thine orb so long hath started, Thou, that no more art seen of mortal eye. Hath the night lost a gem, the regal night? No desert seems to part those urns of light, They rise in joy, the starry myriads burning— To them the sailor's wakeful eye is turning Unchang'd they rise, they have not mourn'd for thee. |