 | The forest minstrel |  |
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THE SPIRIT OF POESY.
A seraph of the highest heaven,
Who dared to touch forbidden fire,
An exile from her home was driven,
Bereft of all, except her lyre.
Who dared to touch forbidden fire,
An exile from her home was driven,
Bereft of all, except her lyre.
Amongst the spheres she wander'd long,
And sought to join the hymns they pour,
But wept to find her lyre unstrung,
And chording with such strains no more.
And sought to join the hymns they pour,
But wept to find her lyre unstrung,
And chording with such strains no more.
Yet dearly cherish'd was that lyre,
For though its loftiest chords were riven,
And strangely bright its fitful fire,
'Twas all she now retain'd of heaven.
For though its loftiest chords were riven,
And strangely bright its fitful fire,
'Twas all she now retain'd of heaven.
Thus all through space the lost one roved,
With half seraphic changeful strain,
And eyes raised tow'rd that home of love,
To which she might not turn again.
With half seraphic changeful strain,
And eyes raised tow'rd that home of love,
To which she might not turn again.
Her bitter tears fell on the strings,
And quench'd in part their fervent fire;
Then sweetly plaintive murmurings
Came trembling from the angel lyre.
And quench'd in part their fervent fire;
Then sweetly plaintive murmurings
Came trembling from the angel lyre.
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Weary and sad she came to earth,
And pleased the seraph was to find,
Amongst the souls of lower birth,
Some traces of the seraph mind;
And pleased the seraph was to find,
Amongst the souls of lower birth,
Some traces of the seraph mind;
Some spirits wrapp'd in mortal clay,
That seem'd close kindred to her lyre,
Who madden'd at her fitful lay,
And kindled with her ardent fire.
That seem'd close kindred to her lyre,
Who madden'd at her fitful lay,
And kindled with her ardent fire.
O'er these she spread her flashing wings,
And catching the ecstatic flame,
Wild, ardent, inconsistent things,
Her restless votaries they became.
And catching the ecstatic flame,
Wild, ardent, inconsistent things,
Her restless votaries they became.
Enchain'd to earth by pow'rful ties,
Round its frail loves they fondly twined,
And wailed that holy sympathy
Dwells not in man's imperfect mind.
Round its frail loves they fondly twined,
And wailed that holy sympathy
Dwells not in man's imperfect mind.
Unfit for heaven, unfit for earth,
The wand'ring spirit's tuneful train
Have ever scorned their mortal birth,
And sought immortal bliss in vain.
The wand'ring spirit's tuneful train
Have ever scorned their mortal birth,
And sought immortal bliss in vain.
Wo! that this spirit ever came
To spread her mania o'er our mind;
That her impassion'd, fitful flame
Should e'er have touch'd the human kind.
To spread her mania o'er our mind;
That her impassion'd, fitful flame
Should e'er have touch'd the human kind.
That we, who are enchain'd to earth,
Should hope to clasp celestial love,
And madly ask of mortal birth
The bliss that only lives above.
Should hope to clasp celestial love,
And madly ask of mortal birth
The bliss that only lives above.
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Should feel our kindred with the fire
That thrills the pure seraphic train,
And hope to tune an earth-strung lyre
In chorus with that perfect strain.
That thrills the pure seraphic train,
And hope to tune an earth-strung lyre
In chorus with that perfect strain.
Then disappointed, sad, and lone,
Heart-wrung, and weeping o'er the strings,
Pour forth in broken, sobbing tone,
Our deep, despairing murmurings.
Heart-wrung, and weeping o'er the strings,
Pour forth in broken, sobbing tone,
Our deep, despairing murmurings.
Wo! that the seraph exile came
With flashing wing and madd'ning glance;—
Ah, wo! that Poesy's meteor flame
Should wrap a mortal in its trance.
With flashing wing and madd'ning glance;—
Ah, wo! that Poesy's meteor flame
Should wrap a mortal in its trance.
| The forest minstrel | |