The works of Mrs. Hemans With a memoir of her life, by her sister. In seven volumes |
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| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
 | VI. |
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THE TWO VOICES. |
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| VII. |
 | The works of Mrs. Hemans |  |
THE TWO VOICES.
Two solemn Voices, in a funeral strain,
Met as rich sunbeams and dark bursts of rain
Meet in the sky:
“Thou art gone hence!” one sang; “Our light is flown,
Our beautiful, that seem'd too much our own
Ever to die!
Met as rich sunbeams and dark bursts of rain
Meet in the sky:
“Thou art gone hence!” one sang; “Our light is flown,
Our beautiful, that seem'd too much our own
Ever to die!
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“Thou art gone hence!—our joyous hills among
Never again to pour thy soul in song,
When spring-flowers rise!
Never the friend's familiar step to meet
With loving laughter, and the welcome sweet
Of thy glad eyes.”
Never again to pour thy soul in song,
When spring-flowers rise!
Never the friend's familiar step to meet
With loving laughter, and the welcome sweet
Of thy glad eyes.”
“Thou art gone home, gone home!” then, high and clear,
Warbled that other Voice: “Thou hast no tear
Again to shed.
Never to fold the robe o'er secret pain,
Never, weigh'd down by Memory's clouds, again
To bow thy head.
Warbled that other Voice: “Thou hast no tear
Again to shed.
Never to fold the robe o'er secret pain,
Never, weigh'd down by Memory's clouds, again
To bow thy head.
“Thou art gone home! oh! early crown'd and blest!
Where could the love of that deep heart find rest
With aught below?
Thou must have seen rich dream by dream decay,
All the bright rose-leaves drop from life away—
Thrice bless'd to go!”
Where could the love of that deep heart find rest
With aught below?
Thou must have seen rich dream by dream decay,
All the bright rose-leaves drop from life away—
Thrice bless'd to go!”
Yet sigh'd again that breeze-like Voice of grief—
“Thou art gone hence! alas! that aught so brief,
So loved should be;
Thou tak'st our summer hence!—the flower, the tone
The music of our being, all in one,
Depart with thee!
“Thou art gone hence! alas! that aught so brief,
So loved should be;
Thou tak'st our summer hence!—the flower, the tone
The music of our being, all in one,
Depart with thee!
“Fair form, young spirit, morning vision fled!
Canst thou be of the dead, the awful dead?
The dark unknown?
Yes! to the dwelling where no footsteps fall,
Never again to light up hearth or hall,
Thy smile is gone!”
Canst thou be of the dead, the awful dead?
The dark unknown?
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Never again to light up hearth or hall,
Thy smile is gone!”
“Home, home!” once more the exulting Voice arose:
“Thou art gone home!—from that divine repose
Never to roam!
Never to say farewell, to weep in vain,
To read of change, in eyes beloved, again—
Thou art gone home!
“Thou art gone home!—from that divine repose
Never to roam!
Never to say farewell, to weep in vain,
To read of change, in eyes beloved, again—
Thou art gone home!
‘By the bright waters now thy lot is cast—
Joy for thee, happy friend! thy bark hath past
The rough sea's foam!
Now the long yearnings of thy soul are still'd,
Home! home!—thy peace is won, thy heart is fill'd.
Thou art gone home!”
Joy for thee, happy friend! thy bark hath past
The rough sea's foam!
Now the long yearnings of thy soul are still'd,
Home! home!—thy peace is won, thy heart is fill'd.
Thou art gone home!”
| The works of Mrs. Hemans | |