In a full heart of music!-Let my lays Through the resounding mountains waft thy praise, And with that theme the wood's green cloisters fill, And make their quivering leafy dimness thrill To the rich breeze of song! Oh! let me wake The deep religion which hath dwelt from yore, Silently brooding by lone cliff and lake, And let me summon all the voices dwelling Forgive, O Father! if presumptuous thought Too daringly in aspiration rise ! Let not thy child all vainly have been taught By weakness, and by wanderings, and by sighs Of sad confession !-lowly be my heart, And on its penitential altar spread The offerings worthless, till thy grace impart The fire from Heaven, whose touch alone can shed Life, radiance, virtue !-let that vital spark Pierce my whole being, wilder'd else and dark! Thine are all holy things-O make me Thine, Bearing thy gifts of wisdom on its flight, Immortality endow'd for liberty and light. TO THE MEMORY OF THE DEAD. FORGET them not :-though now their name Though by the hearth its utterance claim Though for their sake this earth no more And shadows, never mark'd before, And though their image dim the sky, Nor, where their love and life went by, They have a breathing influence there, Sad-yet it sanctifies the air, The stream-the ground Then, though the wind an alter'd tone Though every flower, of something gone, Oh! fly it not!-no fruitless grief There, where they dwelt. Still trace the path which knew their tread, Still tend their garden-bower, Still commune with the holy dead In each lone hour! The holy dead!-oh! bless'd we are, That we may call them so, And to their image look afar, Through all our woe! Bless'd, that the things they loved on earth, As relics we may hold, That wake sweet thoughts of parted worth, By springs untold! Bless'd, that a deep and chastening power Thus o'er our souls is given, If but to bird, or song, or flower, Yet all for Heaven! MOZART'S REQUIEM. A REQUIEM!-and for whom? For valor fallen--a broken rose or sword? With pomp of stately grief, Banner, and torch, and waving plume deplored? Not so, it is not so! That warning voice I know, From other worlds a strange mysterious tone; A solemn funeral air It call'd me to prepare, And my heart answer'd secretly-my own! One more then, one more strain, Mighty the troubled spirit to enthral! Of passion and of power Full into that deep lay-the last of all! The last!—and I must go From this bright world below, This realm of sunshine, ringing with sweet sound! Must leave its festal skies, With all their melodies, That ever in my breast glad echoes found! Yet have I known it long; Too restless and too strong [flame; Within this clay hath been the o'ermastering Swift thoughts, that came and went, Like torrents o'er me sent, Have shaken, as a reed, my thrilling frame. Like perfumes on the wind, Which none may stay or bind, The beautiful comes floating through my soul; I strive with yearnings vain, The spirit to detain Of the deep harmonies that past me roll! • Therefore disturbing dreams And founts of music that o'erflow my breast; 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. Once more then, one more strain, A rich, and deep, and passionate farewell! With fear, hope, trembling fraught, Into the notes that o'er my dust shall swell |