The works of Mrs. Hemans With a memoir of her life, by her sister. In seven volumes |
 | I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
 | VI. |
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THE WELCOME TO DEATH. |
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| VII. |
 | The works of Mrs. Hemans |  |
THE WELCOME TO DEATH.
Thou art welcome, O thou warning voice!
My soul hath pined for thee;
Thou art welcome as sweet sounds from shore
To wanderer on the sea.
I hear thee in the rustling woods,
In the sighing vernal airs;
Thou call'st me from the lonely earth,
With a deeper tone than theirs.
My soul hath pined for thee;
Thou art welcome as sweet sounds from shore
To wanderer on the sea.
I hear thee in the rustling woods,
In the sighing vernal airs;
Thou call'st me from the lonely earth,
With a deeper tone than theirs.
The lonely earth! Since kindred steps
From its green paths are fled,
A dimness and a hush have lain
O'er all its beauty spread.
The silence of the unanswering soul
Is on me and around;
My heart hath echoes but for thee,
Thou still, small, warning sound!
From its green paths are fled,
A dimness and a hush have lain
O'er all its beauty spread.
The silence of the unanswering soul
Is on me and around;
My heart hath echoes but for thee,
Thou still, small, warning sound!
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Voice after voice hath died away,
Once in my dwelling heard;
Sweet household-name by name hath changed
To grief's forbidden word!
From dreams of night on each I call,
Each of the far removed;
And waken to my own wild cry—
“Where are ye, my beloved?”
Once in my dwelling heard;
Sweet household-name by name hath changed
To grief's forbidden word!
From dreams of night on each I call,
Each of the far removed;
And waken to my own wild cry—
“Where are ye, my beloved?”
Ye left me! and earth's flowers were dim
With records of the past:
And stars pour'd down another light
Than o'er my youth they cast:
Birds will not sing as once they sung,
When ye were at my side,
And mournful tones are in the wind,
Which I heard not till ye died!
With records of the past:
And stars pour'd down another light
Than o'er my youth they cast:
Birds will not sing as once they sung,
When ye were at my side,
And mournful tones are in the wind,
Which I heard not till ye died!
Thou art welcome, O thou summoner!
Why should the last remain?
What eye can reach my heart of hearts,
Bearing in light again?
E'en could this be, too much of fear
O'er love would now be thrown—
Away, away! from time, from change,
Once more to meet my own!
Why should the last remain?
What eye can reach my heart of hearts,
Bearing in light again?
E'en could this be, too much of fear
O'er love would now be thrown—
Away, away! from time, from change,
Once more to meet my own!
| The works of Mrs. Hemans | |