University of Virginia Library

SUSPIRIA.

I. WORDSWORTH'S HOME.

The fairest bowers in this enchanted land,
To me are darken'd by a fate severe,
And most yon terraced bower of Rydal-mere,
That long-loved mount, where oft some pilgrim band,
Won by the genius of the place, will stand
Lingering, as now, in many a distant year.
Alas! the Delphic “laurels never sere,”
Undying trophies of their planter's hand,
To Him were blighted, though they yet be green,
For me were wither'd, when no more was seen
The light that fed her aged father's heart,
And shed the tenderest glory on his fame.
The living forms of his creative art
For us are shadowy,—Dora but a name.

II. HER HOME.

Oh for a glance into the world above!
Enfranchised trembler, thou art surely there!
Not mine the gloom fanatic to despair
Of grace for thee: but, reft of thy pure love,
So dread a conflict in my soul I prove,
So lost I feel in solitary care,
So frail, forlorn, and worthless, that I dare
Aspire to no such height, unless the dove
Of peace, descending, teach my hope to soar.
Fond heart! thy wounds were heal'd, thy sins forgiven;
I saw thee die; I know that thou art blest.
Thou, dying sufferer, wert wing'd for heaven;
And when thy spirit mounted to its rest
My guardian angel fled, to come no more.

III. “JESUS WEPT.” (St. John xi. 35.)

Christ, Thou hast wept! Forgive the tears I shed;
I know Thou wilt upraise her. But I fear
This captious questioner within. The tear
That falls so oft upon her grave is bred
Of doubt and horror. When her Spirit fled
'Twas sanctified in Thee: but I am here,
On this bleak earth, a lorn probationer,
Struggling against myself—She is not dead,
But sleepeth:—shall I ever see her more,
Or see her as she was, the soul, the life,
Of my life's being? I shall sleep and wake,
But will the waking unto me restore,
Or find me doom'd for ever to forsake,
The glorified immortal, once my Wife?

IV. A REQUEST.

Two graves, in Grasmere Vale, yew-shaded both,
My all of life, if life be love, comprise.
In one the mother of my children lies,
Fate's blameless victim in her bloom of youth:
The other holds the constancy and truth
That never fail'd me under darker skies,
When subtle wrongs perplex'd me. Her whose eyes
Saw light through every wildering maze uncouth.
Between those graves a space remains for me:
O lay me there, wherever I may be
When met by Death's pale angel; so in peace
My dust near theirs may slumber, till the day
Of final retribution or release
For mortal life's reanimated clay.