Beauties of the mind, a poetical sketch :: :: University of Virginia Library

“But for those obstinate questionings
Of sense and outward things,
Fallings from us, vanishings;
Blank misgivings of a creature
Moving about in worlds not realized,
High instincts, before which our mortal nature
Did tremble like a guilty thing surprised!
Wordsworth.

I

He had been superstitious from a child;
Haunted by fancies strangely beautiful—
Visions and thoughts magnificently wild—
Rend'ring earth's splendours valueless and dull:
The common air—sunless and vast and dim—
Opened a sphere of loveliness to him!

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II

A spiritual world!—of which the eyes
Imaged no portion—oft and oft he sought
By gazing on the glad green fields, the skies;
To lose the phantasies his brain had wrought:
Flashes of mind and madness!—but in vain—
They lived—'till loftier influence burst the chain!

III

He loved—and, oh! what language may the truth,
The full devotion of his soul impart?
She was the melody of his lone youth!—
The light—the poesy of his young heart!—
The ring-dove of the birds—rose of the flowers—
The music and the idol of his hours!

IV

Yet, to the gentle spirit of his love,
The richness of his voice was all unknown;
Perchance her lineage ranked high above,
The fallen power and station of his own:
And pride—for he had pride few might control—
Kept all untold the passion of his soul!

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V

A glance—a brief—a transient glance hath made
His young lips tremble with unuttered bliss;
She was the star 'neath whose pure light he strayed—
And, oh! what light's so exquisite as this?
His proudest aspirations after fame,
Sprang from one hope—that she might breathe his name!

VI

And lives he now?—remains the lady yet
The mirror of his musings?—and the light
Of his lone life—or have they never met?
Like streams that wander near but ne'er unite!
Still breathes unknown the sweetness of his word,
Or hath his long, deep love at last been heard?

VII

The moon is shining on the quiet leaves
Of the dim cypress, whose low drooping head—
(Like one who through the midnight bends and grieves!)—
Shadows a tomb!—his tomb!—the young—the dead:
The secret of his death, who may declare?—
Enough to know—he perished—and sleeps there!