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Felicia Hemans in Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine Volume 24 1828/The Two Voices

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For other versions of this work, see The Two Voices (Felicia Hemans).

Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, Volume 24, Page 497


THE TWO VOICES.

Death and its twofold aspect:—Wintery, one,
Cold, sullen, blank, from Hope and Joy shut out:
The other, which the ray divine hath touch'd,
Replete with vivid promise, bright as spring.
Wordsworth.

Two solemn voices, in a funeral strain,
Met, as rich sunbeams and dark bursts of rain
Meet in the sky:
"Thou art gone hence!", one sang:—"Our light is flown,
Our Beautiful, that seem'd too much our own,
Ever to die!

"Thou art gone hence! Our joyous hills among
Never again to pour thy soul in song,
When spring-flowers rise!
Never the friend's familiar step to meet,
With loving laughter, and the welcome sweet
Of thy glad eyes."

"Thou art gone home, gone home!" Then high and clear
Warbled that other voice, "Thou hast no tears
Again to shed
Never to fold the robe o'er secret pain,—
Never, weigh'd down by memory's clouds again,
To bow thy head.

"Thou art gone home!—Oh! early crown'd and blest!
Where could the love of that deep heart find rest
With aught below?
Thou must have seen rich dream by dream decay,
All the bright rose-leaves drop from life away—
Thrice blest to go!"

Yet sigh'd again that breeze-like voice of grief—
"Thou art gone hence! Alas! that aught so brief,
So loved should be!
Thou tak'st our summer hence!—the flower, the tone,
The music of our being, all in one
Depart with thee!

"Fair form, young spirit, morning-vision fled!
Can'st thou be of the dead, the awful dead?
The dark unknown?
Yes! to the dwelling where no footsteps fall,
Never again to light up hearth or hall,
Thy smile is gone!"

"Home, home!" once more th' exulting voice arose:
"Thou art gone home! from that divine repose
Never to roam!
Never to say farewell,—to weep in vain,—
To read of change in eyes beloved again;
Thou art gone home!

"By the bright waters now thy lot is cast;
Joy for thee, happy Friend!—thy bark hath past
The rough sea's foam.
Now the long yearnings of thy soul are still'd:
Home, home! thy peace is won, thy heart is fill'd,
Thou art gone home!"
F. H.