 | The poetical writings of Fitz-Greene Halleck, with extracts from those of Joseph Rodman Drake |  |
217
TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH OF GENERAL LALLEMAND.
Sweet maid! whose life the frost of destiny
Withered while yet its first spring-leaves were green;
Pure, sainted being! from thy home on high,
Look with thine eyes of love, upon the scene
Where, for one little hour, thy spirit moved,
A visitant—to love, and to be loved,
And where thy song of youth to virtue gave
The music of its praises—the green bowers
Of home and friendship wreathed with fadeless flowers,
And made the laurel dearer to the brave.
Withered while yet its first spring-leaves were green;
Pure, sainted being! from thy home on high,
Look with thine eyes of love, upon the scene
Where, for one little hour, thy spirit moved,
A visitant—to love, and to be loved,
And where thy song of youth to virtue gave
The music of its praises—the green bowers
Of home and friendship wreathed with fadeless flowers,
And made the laurel dearer to the brave.
Still do the hearts that loved thee, beat for thee
Warmly, as when they beat beside thy bier.
And still to them, of earthly things most dear
And sacred, is thy pledge of memory—
A father's gift, whose every cherished word
Bids the sweet echo of thy song be heard;
And fain would bid their sorrows cease to be.
Would it could soothe a mother's griefs but they
Are graven deep, and will not pass away!
Blest spirit! long as at the name alone
Of their Eliza, tears are seen to start,
And sighs are breathed, whose birthplace is the heart.
Look on thy friends from thine ethereal throne,
With smiles that greeted them in happier days;
And pardon one to thee, and thine unknown,
Whose Stranger hand strews flowers upon thy tomb,
For he hath heard the music of thy lays,
And who can listen to its tones, nor raise
His thoughts to thee, and thine Eternal home?
Warmly, as when they beat beside thy bier.
And still to them, of earthly things most dear
And sacred, is thy pledge of memory—
A father's gift, whose every cherished word
Bids the sweet echo of thy song be heard;
And fain would bid their sorrows cease to be.
Would it could soothe a mother's griefs but they
Are graven deep, and will not pass away!
218
Of their Eliza, tears are seen to start,
And sighs are breathed, whose birthplace is the heart.
Look on thy friends from thine ethereal throne,
With smiles that greeted them in happier days;
And pardon one to thee, and thine unknown,
Whose Stranger hand strews flowers upon thy tomb,
For he hath heard the music of thy lays,
And who can listen to its tones, nor raise
His thoughts to thee, and thine Eternal home?
| The poetical writings of Fitz-Greene Halleck, with extracts from those of Joseph Rodman Drake | |