Page:Fugitive Poetry 1600-1878.djvu/308
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ON A SLEEPING GUILD.
Hast thou been wafted to elysian bowers
In some blest star, where thou hast pre-existed;
Inhaled the ecstatic fragrancy of flowers
About the golden harps of seraphs twisted;
Or heard the nightingales of paradise
Hymn choral songs and joyous harmonies?
In some blest star, where thou hast pre-existed;
Inhaled the ecstatic fragrancy of flowers
About the golden harps of seraphs twisted;
Or heard the nightingales of paradise
Hymn choral songs and joyous harmonies?
Perchance all breathing life is but an essence
Of the great Fountain Spirit in the sky,
And hast thou dreamed of that transcendent Presence
Whence thou hast fallen—a dewdrop from on high—
Destined to lose, as thou shalt mix with earth,
Those bright recallings of thy heavenly birth.
Of the great Fountain Spirit in the sky,
And hast thou dreamed of that transcendent Presence
Whence thou hast fallen—a dewdrop from on high—
Destined to lose, as thou shalt mix with earth,
Those bright recallings of thy heavenly birth.
We deem thy mortal memory but begun;
But hast thou no remembrance of the past,
No lingering twilight of a former sun
Which o'er thy slumbering faculties hath cast
Shadows of unimaginable things
Too high, or deep, for human fathomings?
But hast thou no remembrance of the past,
No lingering twilight of a former sun
Which o'er thy slumbering faculties hath cast
Shadows of unimaginable things
Too high, or deep, for human fathomings?
Perhaps, while reason's earliest fount is heightening,
Athwart thine eyes celestial sights are given,
As skies that open to let out the lightning
Display a transitory glimpse of heaven;
And thou art wrapt in visions all too bright
For aught but seraphim, or infant's sight.
Athwart thine eyes celestial sights are given,
As skies that open to let out the lightning
Display a transitory glimpse of heaven;
And thou art wrapt in visions all too bright
For aught but seraphim, or infant's sight.
Emblem of heavenly purity and bliss!
Mysterious type, which none can understand!
Let me with reverence then approach to kiss
Limbs lately touched by the Creator's hand.
So awful art thou, that I feel more prone
To ask thy blessing than bestow mine own.
Mysterious type, which none can understand!
Let me with reverence then approach to kiss
Limbs lately touched by the Creator's hand.
So awful art thou, that I feel more prone
To ask thy blessing than bestow mine own.
On a Sleeping Child.
Oh! 'tis a touching thing to make one weep;
A tender infant with its curtained eye,
Breathing as it would neither live nor die,
With that unmoving countenance of sleep,
As if its silent dream, serene and deep,
Had lined its slumbers with a still blue sky,
So that the passive cheeks unconscious lie,
With no more life than roses, just to keep
A tender infant with its curtained eye,
Breathing as it would neither live nor die,
With that unmoving countenance of sleep,
As if its silent dream, serene and deep,
Had lined its slumbers with a still blue sky,
So that the passive cheeks unconscious lie,
With no more life than roses, just to keep