 | Poems |  |
93
A HUMAN VOICE.
Was't a bird sang those few triumphant notes?
Still lovingly in the air the echo floats.
Was't a bird's glorious singing, fresh from shores
Where flowers breathe incense from their starry cores!
Incense, and rainbowed sunshine, till the breeze
Wafts but unwillingly ev'n notes like these,
Lingering around a spot so blest, so bright,
Though tempted on through vistas of warm light?
Still lovingly in the air the echo floats.
Was't a bird's glorious singing, fresh from shores
Where flowers breathe incense from their starry cores!
Incense, and rainbowed sunshine, till the breeze
Wafts but unwillingly ev'n notes like these,
Lingering around a spot so blest, so bright,
Though tempted on through vistas of warm light?
O, 'twas no bird! the soul that quickened there—
Thoughts, feelings, passions, with their touch of care—
Poured thrilling by! The high, immortal mind
Seemed ev'n in those few fleeting sounds enshrined,
Mighty and burning! and each varying tone
Had a prevailing meaning of its own.
Life's spiritual sympathies were stirred—
A kindred nature there was felt and heard;
The soul acknowledged pure and primitive ties,
Too long obscured by clouding mysteries.
My being all seemed lost in listening deep,
While, breathing soft as hope or rosiest sleep,
That voice o'erwhelmed me, sending through my soul
Soft lightnings of emotions, till it stole
All bitterness from my dreams, now calm and sweet,
Like flowers refreshed from noontide's burdening heat—
The Happy, in their sweet dreams, scarce more blest,
—Though crowned with consciousness the full-fraught breast!—
Whose hopes are stars!—not treacherous lures which glow
To make the unwatchful work their proper wo—
Whose dreams are lovely prophecies of good!
Not sibyl-leaves, perchance misunderstood
Till fearfully fulfilled!—whose pulses thrill
With joy, when wakening to be happier still—
Who smile as on distemperatures and mists,
On visions that the wretch who scarce exists,
Yet feels life as a load, would prize and bless,
Even as a brief and costly happiness!
Oh! breezelike voice!—soft as Spring's breathings deep,
Calling all glorious blooms from wintry sleep!
Once more o'erpower me with unchecked delight,
Freeing my spirit from its freezing blight.
Thoughts, feelings, passions, with their touch of care—
Poured thrilling by! The high, immortal mind
Seemed ev'n in those few fleeting sounds enshrined,
94
Had a prevailing meaning of its own.
Life's spiritual sympathies were stirred—
A kindred nature there was felt and heard;
The soul acknowledged pure and primitive ties,
Too long obscured by clouding mysteries.
My being all seemed lost in listening deep,
While, breathing soft as hope or rosiest sleep,
That voice o'erwhelmed me, sending through my soul
Soft lightnings of emotions, till it stole
All bitterness from my dreams, now calm and sweet,
Like flowers refreshed from noontide's burdening heat—
The Happy, in their sweet dreams, scarce more blest,
—Though crowned with consciousness the full-fraught breast!—
Whose hopes are stars!—not treacherous lures which glow
To make the unwatchful work their proper wo—
95
Not sibyl-leaves, perchance misunderstood
Till fearfully fulfilled!—whose pulses thrill
With joy, when wakening to be happier still—
Who smile as on distemperatures and mists,
On visions that the wretch who scarce exists,
Yet feels life as a load, would prize and bless,
Even as a brief and costly happiness!
Oh! breezelike voice!—soft as Spring's breathings deep,
Calling all glorious blooms from wintry sleep!
Once more o'erpower me with unchecked delight,
Freeing my spirit from its freezing blight.
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