 | [Poems by Hoffman in] Charles Fenno Hoffman |  |
HEART—AUGURY
(SUGGESTED BY A BROKEN APOLLO)
One moment, and the omen seemed
Too dread, too fearful to withstand,
That brow whence light and glory beamed,
Dashed to the earth by mine own hand!
Proud type of life, and light, and power,
How did it shattered lie!
Yet beautiful in that dark hour,
Gleamed up the godlike eye.
Too dread, too fearful to withstand,
That brow whence light and glory beamed,
Dashed to the earth by mine own hand!
Proud type of life, and light, and power,
How did it shattered lie!
Yet beautiful in that dark hour,
Gleamed up the godlike eye.
Oh, is it thus within the heart,
The voice of song must mute be lying?
Thus from its shattered cords depart
Each cadence, like the wind-harp's dying?—
Thus lowly bowed in grief to earth,
Their glory in the dust,
Must hearts forget their twin-like birth,
Forget their love and trust?
The voice of song must mute be lying?
Thus from its shattered cords depart
Each cadence, like the wind-harp's dying?—
Thus lowly bowed in grief to earth,
Their glory in the dust,
Must hearts forget their twin-like birth,
Forget their love and trust?
Oh never thus!—with grasp of power
A higher omen let us seize!
Command that Fate a brighter dower
Bring forth from fragments such as these;
Here, glorious in their mute decay,
Are emblems of the past,
Baseless and shadowless were they—
Too glittering to last!
A higher omen let us seize!
Command that Fate a brighter dower
Bring forth from fragments such as these;
Here, glorious in their mute decay,
Are emblems of the past,
Baseless and shadowless were they—
Too glittering to last!
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A type was this—what need of such,
When life and light within are breathing?
When love, by its own magic touch,
New glories round the brow is wreathing?
The semblance well may scattered lie,
When Truth herself is here!
Apollo's lute in ruin lie,
Lost to the outer ear.
When life and light within are breathing?
When love, by its own magic touch,
New glories round the brow is wreathing?
The semblance well may scattered lie,
When Truth herself is here!
Apollo's lute in ruin lie,
Lost to the outer ear.
When hymning melodies divine
Within the new-born soul are swelling,
Immortal garlands round it twine,
Immortal lays the chords are telling!
While thou dost list, well pleased to hear,
My beautiful! my true!
I would not that another ear
The song of rapture knew!
Within the new-born soul are swelling,
Immortal garlands round it twine,
Immortal lays the chords are telling!
While thou dost list, well pleased to hear,
My beautiful! my true!
I would not that another ear
The song of rapture knew!
| [Poems by Hoffman in] Charles Fenno Hoffman | |