Must the wild lay my faithful harp can sing,
Be like the hymns which mortals, kneeling,
hear;
To solemn harmonies attuned the string,
As, music show’ring from his viewless wing,
On heavenly airs some angel hovered near.
THE PORTRAIT OF A CHILD.
("Oui, ce front, ce sourire.")
[Bk. V. xxii., November, 1825.]
That brow, that smile, that cheek so fair,
Beseem my child, who weeps and plays:
A heavenly spirit guards her ways,
From whom she stole that mixture rare.
Through all her features shining mild,
The poet sees an angel there,
The father sees a child.
And by their flame so pure and bright,
We see how lately those sweet eyes
Have wandered down from Paradise,
And still are lingering in its light.
All earthly things are but a shade
Through which she looks at things above,
And sees the holy Mother-maid,
Athwart her mother’s glance of love.
She seems celestial songs to hear,
And virgin souls are whispering near.
Till by her radiant smile deceived,
I say, “Young angel,
lately given,
When was thy martyrdom achieved?
And what name lost thou bear
in heaven?”
Dublin University Magazine.
THE GRANDMOTHER
("Dors-tu? mere de notre mere.")
[III., 1823.]
“To die—to sleep.”—SHAKESPEARE.
Still asleep! We have been since the noon thus
alone.
Oh, the hours we have ceased
to number!
Wake, grandmother!—speechless say why thou
art grown.
Then, thy lips are so cold!—the Madonna
of stone
Is like thee in thy holy slumber.
We have watched thee in sleep, we have watched thee
at prayer,
But what can now betide thee?
Like thy hours of repose all thy orisons were,
And thy lips would still murmur a blessing whene’er
Thy children stood beside
thee.
Now thine eye is unclosed, and thy forehead is bent
O’er the hearth, where
ashes smoulder;
And behold, the watch-lamp will be speedily spent.
Art thou vexed? have we done aught amiss? Oh,
relent!
But—parent, thy
hands grow colder!
Say, with ours wilt thou let us rekindle in thine
The glow that has departed?
Wilt thou sing us some song of the days of lang syne?
Wilt thou tell us some tale, from those volumes divine,
Of the brave and noble-hearted?
Of the dragon who, crouching in forest green glen,
Lies in wait for the unwary—
Of the maid who was freed by her knight from the den
Of the ogre, whose club was uplifted, but then
Turned aside by the wand of
a fairy?
Wilt thou teach us spell-words that protect from all
harm,
And thoughts of evil banish?
What goblins the sign of the cross may disarm?
What saint it is good to invoke? and what charm
Can make the demon vanish?
