286
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.
Something that mellows and that glorifies,
Breathes o'er it ever from the tender skies,
As o'er some blessed isle;
E'en like the soft and spiritual glow,
Kindling rich woods, whereon th' ethereal bow
Sleeps lovingly awhile.
The very whispers of the wind have there
A flute-like harmony, that seems to bear
Greeting from some bright shore,
Where none have said Farewell!—where no decay
Lends the faint crimson to the dying day;
Where the storm's might is o'er.
And there thou dreamest of Elysian rest,
In the deep sanctuary of one true breast
Hidden from earthly ill:
There wouldst thou watch the homeward step, whose sound
Wakening all nature to sweet echoes round,
Thine inmost soul can thrill.
