57
A light that is not of our sphere,
Yet lovelier for being here;
Beneath whose presence springs
A beauty never marked before,
Yet, once known, vanishing no more.
How often, with the present sad,
And weary with the past,
A seeming respite have we had,
By but a chance look cast
Upon some word of thine that made
The sullenness forsake the shade,
Till shade itself was past;
For hope divine, serene and strong,
Perpetual lives within thy song.
Eternal as the hills thy name,
Eternal as thy strain;
So long as ministers of Fame,
Shall Love and Hope remain.
The crowded city in its streets,
The valley in its green retreats,
Alike thy words retain.
What need hast thou of sculptured stone?
Thy temple is thy Name alone.
Drawing-room Scrap Book, 1838.
Who but a gifted and generous-minded woman could have so touchingly and truly pourtrayed the life's history of a sister genius, as L. E. L. has done in the following beautiful lines to the justly appreciated memory of—
Felicia Hemans.
No more, no more, oh! never more returning
Will thy beloved presence gladden earth;
No more wilt thou with sad yet anxious yearning
Cling to those hopes which have no mortal birth.
Thou art gone from us, and with thee departed,
How many lovely things have vanished too;
Deep thoughts that at thy will to being started,
And feelings, teaching us our own were true.
