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Thy lost, maternal heart to re-infuse! Scattering this far-fetched moisture from my
wings, Upon the act a blessing I implore, Of which the rivers in their secret springs, 2 5 The rivers stained so oft with human gore, Are conscious;—may the like return no
more! May Discord—for a Seraph's care Shall be attended with a bolder prayer— 29 May she, who once disturbed the seats of bliss
These mortal spheres above, Be chained for ever to the black abyss! And thou, 0 rescued Earth, by peace and
love, And merciful desires, thy sanctity approve!"
The Spirit ended his mysterious rite, 35 And the pure vision closed in darkness infinite.
WRITTEN ON A BLANK LEAF IN A COPY OF
To public notice, with reluctance strong,
Foreboding not how soon he must depart; Unweeting that to him the joy was given Which good men take with them from earth to heaven.
(ADDRESSED TO SIR G. H. B. UPON THE DEATH OF HIS SISTER-IN-LAW.)
0 For a dirge! But why complain?
Ask rather a triumphal strain
When Termor's race is run;
A garland of immortal boughs
To twine around the Christian's brows, 5
Whose glorious work is done.
We pay a high and holy debt;
No tears of passionate regret
Shall stain this votive lay;
111-worthy, Beaumont! were the grief 10
That flings itself on wild relief
When Saints have passed away.
Sad doom, at Sorrow's shrine to kneel,
For ever covetous to feel,
And impotent to bear! 15
Such once was hers—to think and think
On severed love, and only sink
From anguish to despair!
But nature to its inmost part
Faith had refined; and to her heart 20
A peaceful cradle given:
Calm as the dew-drop's, free to rest
Was ever Spirit that could bend 25
So graciously ?—that could descend,
Another's need to suit,
So promptly from her lofty throne ?—
In works of love, in these alone,
How restless, how minute! 30
Pale was her hue; yet mortal cheek
Ne'er kindled with a livelier streak
When aught had suffered wrong,—
When aught that breathes had felt a wound;
Such look the Oppressor might confound, 35
However proud and strong.
But hushed be every thought that springs
From out the bitterness of things;
Her quiet is secure;
~No thorns can pierce her tender feet, 40
Whose life was, like the violet, sweet,
As climbing jasmine, pure—
As snowdrop on an infant's grave,
Or lily heaving with the wave
That feeds it and defends; 45
As Yesper, ere the star hath kissed
The mountain top, or breathed the mist
That from the vale ascends.
Thou takest not away, 0 Death!
Thou strikest—absence perisheth, 50
Indifference is no more;
The future brightens on our sight;
For on the past hath fallen a light
That tempts us to adore.
IN THE GROUNDS OF COLEORTON HALL, THE SEAT OF THE LATE SIR G. H. BEAUMONT, BART.
In these grounds stands the Parish Church, wherein is a mural monument bearing an Inscription which, in deference to the earnest request of the deceased, is confined to name, dates, and these words:— "Enter not into judgment with thy servant, O Lord!"
With copious eulogy in prose or rhyme
Brightening a converse never known to swerve
Those rare accomplishments, and varied powers,
Intensely studied with a painter's eye,
A poet's heart; and, for congenial view,
mien, More than theatric force to Shakspeare's
scene;— If thou hast heard me—if thy Spirit know Aught of these bowers and whence their
pleasures flow; 35
If things in our remembrance held so dear, And thoughts and projects fondly cherished
here, To thy exalted nature only seem Time's vanities, light fragments of earth's
dream— Eebuke us not!—The mandate is obeyed 40 That said, "Let praise be mute where I am
Too long abashed thy Name is like a rose