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Julia Alpinula

With The Captive of Stamboul and Other Poems. By J. H. Wiffen
  

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LINES Written on a blank leaf of the “Pleasures of Hope.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


208

LINES Written on a blank leaf of the “Pleasures of Hope.”

Of power the fond and feeling heart to bless
With tenderest joy and sweetest pensiveness,
In Love's warm soul to wake a deeper glow,
Or kindlier steal a flushing smile from Woe,—
Here Campbell lives; his record of renown
No fleeting pomp,—a pageant, or a crown!
With time's swift tide, they sparkle, charm, and pass;
Ionic marble and Corinthian brass
Melt into dust; towers, kingdoms, empires fall,
As circling ages unto ages call;

209

But all unfelt the withering chill of time,
In the fresh flower of a perpetual prime—
Here Campbell lives;—here hath his hand designed
The fervid transcript of his generous mind.
Like that mysterious crystal which inspires
Serener pureness from the wrath of fires;
The tender charm of his familiar page,
Which soothed with softest dreams our earlier age,
But breathes, resigned to Art's severe controul,
Diviner transport, and a purer soul.
When his bold strings, with noblest frenzy fraught,
Unchecked by terror, reach the heaven of thought,
Seems not his minstrel-spirit to have won
The fiery car and mantle of the sun;
Wide o'er the burning galaxy to sweep,
Span earth's proud planet, and divide the deep,
Its springs unlock, and wake with potent spell
The angel pity, slumbering in her cell?—
Soft as her sigh, the swelling tones subside,
Mournful and low, yet warbling as they glide,
Soothe the still ear, the' arrested soul enchain,
Till bliss is moulded in the mint of pain!
O thou! whose path fair Fancy strews with flowers.
One lovely tissue of romantic hours,—

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Whose classic home indulgent Heaven has graced
With each blest handmaid in the court of taste!
Oft o'er the' enchanting scenes thine art has plann'd
Supremely lovely, or divinely grand,
Shall Beauty linger, each rude care asleep,
Alone with thee to glow or wildly weep;
Till thou, enshrin'd within her breast, shalt be
The guardian priest of her futurity,
Responsive to her voice, bright dreams to weave
At opening sunrise and at falling eve.