And the bright waters-they too hear thy call, Spring, the awakener! thou hast burst their sleep! Amidst the hollows of the rocks their fall Makes melody, and in the forests deep, Where sudden sparkles and blue gleams betray And flowers-the fairy-peopled world of flowers! Silent they seem-yet each to thoughtful eye But what awak'st thou in the heart, O, Spring! The human heart, with all its dreams and sighs? Thou that giv'st back so many a buried thing, Restorer of forgotten harmonies! Fresh songs and scents break forth where'er thou art, What wak'st thou in the heart? Too much, oh! there too much!—we know not well Wherefore it should be thus, yet rous'd by thee, What fond strange yearnings, from the soul's deep cell, Looks of familiar love, that never more, Never on earth, our aching eyes shall meet, Past words of welcome to our household door, And vanish'd smiles, and sounds of parted feetSpring! midst the murmurs of thy flowering trees, Why, why reviv'st thou these? Vain longings for the dead!—why come they back With thy young birds, and leaves, and living blooms? Oh! is it not, that from thine earthly track Hope to thy world may look beyond the tombs ? Yes! gentle spring; no sorrow dims thine air, Breath'd by our lov'd ones there ! THE ILLUMINATED CITY. THE hills all glow'd with a festive light, For the royal city rejoic'd by night : There were lamps hung forth upon tower and tree, Banners were lifted and streaming free; Every tall pillar was wreath'd with fire, Like a shooting meteor was every spire; And the outline of many a dome on high I pass'd thro' the streets; there were throngs on throngs Like sounds of the deep were their mingled songs; There was music forth from each palace borneA peal of the cymbal, the harp, and horn; The forests heard it, the mountains rang, The hamlets woke to its haughty clang; Rich and victorious was every tone, Telling the land of her foes o'erthrown. Didst thou meet not a mourner for all the slain? Thousands lie dead on their battle-plain! Gallant and true were the hearts that fell Grief in the homes they have left must dwell; Grief o'er the aspect of childhood spread, And bowing the beauty of woman's head: Didst thou hear, midst the songs, not one tender moan, For the many brave to their slumbers gone? I saw not the face of a weeper there Too strong, perchance, was the bright lamp's glare! I heard not a wail midst the joyous crowd— The music of victory was all too loud! Mighty it roll'd on the winds afar, Shaking the streets like a conqueror's car; Thro' torches and streamers its flood swept by- Turn then away from life's pageants, turn, But lift the proud mantle which hides from thy view The things thou shouldst gaze on, the sad and true; Nor fear to survey what its folds conceal So must thy spirit be taught to feel! |