34
LINESON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG GERMAN AUTHOR.
Pure spirit! who on wings of love descended,
Amidst the bright and beautiful on earth,
Yet with a bearing conscious of thy birth,
Of youthful dignity, and ever blended
The poet's heirdom of high thought, with all
Thy sad though radiant youth—how soon did life
Call from thy bleeding bosom the young strife,
And heavy clouds of sorrow o'er thee fall.—
Yet would' st thou not recall
That gift,which brought to thee
Such peace and purity,
Though grief with spectre shapes thy fancy did appal;
Still through the deepening gloom
One angel-form did come,
Beckoning unto thee, with her smile divine;
And thy young glowing heart
With freshening hopes did start,
Amidst the bright and beautiful on earth,
Yet with a bearing conscious of thy birth,
Of youthful dignity, and ever blended
The poet's heirdom of high thought, with all
Thy sad though radiant youth—how soon did life
Call from thy bleeding bosom the young strife,
And heavy clouds of sorrow o'er thee fall.—
Yet would' st thou not recall
That gift,which brought to thee
Such peace and purity,
Though grief with spectre shapes thy fancy did appal;
Still through the deepening gloom
One angel-form did come,
Beckoning unto thee, with her smile divine;
And thy young glowing heart
With freshening hopes did start,
