 | Poems |  |
110
[There's a dome in yon star, that is floating on high]
There's a dome in yon star, that is floating on high,And shedding its brilliance o'er the blue fields above,
Where the tear trickles not, nor is uttered the sigh,
But the thoughts are all gentle, and the dictates of love;
Where the wreath, that encircles the ivory brow,
Is culled from the flowers entwined round the trellice,
And the honied accents of affection, that flow,
Melt on the ear, like pure notes that are warbled from bliss;
Where the soul is untainted by passion, or guile,
And is pure as the dew that vermilions the lawn,
Where the mien of delight wears a cherubic smile,
Like the gilded Aurora, when she heralds the dawn;
Where diaphanous streams from the mild bosom well,
And are tinctured by smiles as they ripple along
The shore of the heart, where the clear currents swell
When sublimely is chaunted the mellifluent song;
Where the groves of perfume are amaranthine,
And the breeze, that fans the interminable fields,
The breath of the Being, whose bright glories shine
O'er the emerald lawn, that his veilless eye gilds;
111
And warble the strains of devotion and love,
Whose echo is caught in the musical dome,
And floats o'er the sapphire walks, gilded above,
Like pyramidal incense from gratitude's shrine;
Where bliss hymeneal is untainted, and pure,
And imparting through termless time blessings divine,
Like sunbeams that flash from the ruby-wreathed ewer.
| Poems | |