THE BOON OF MEMORY.
“Many things answered me.”
—Manfred.
I go, I go!—and must mine image fade
From the green spots wherein my childhood play'd,
By my own streams?
Must my life part from each familiar place,
As a bird's song, that leaves the woods no trace
Of its lone themes?
Will the friend pass my dwelling, and forget
The welcomes there, the hours when we have met
In grief or glee?
All the sweet counsel, the communion high,
The kindly words of trust, in days gone by,
Pour'd full and free?
A boon, a talisman, O Memory! give,
To shrine my name in hearts where I would live
For evermore!
Bid the wind speak of me where I have dwelt,
Bid the stream's voice, of all my soul hath felt,
A thought restore!
In the rich rose, whose bloom I loved so well,
In the dim brooding violet of the dell,
Set deep that thought!
And let the sunset's melancholy glow,
And let the Spring's first whisper, faint and low,
With me be fraught!
And memory answer'd me:—“Wild wish and vain!
I have no hues the loveliest to detain
In the heart's core.
The place they held in bosoms all their own,
Soon with new shadows fill'd, new flowers o'ergrown,
Is theirs no more.”
Hast thou such power, O Love?—And Love replied,
“It is not mine! Pour out thy soul's full tide
Of hope and trust,
Prayer, tear, devotedness, that boon to gain—
'Tis but to write with the heart's fiery rain,
Wild words on dust!”
Song, is the gift with thee?—I ask a lay,
Soft, fervent, deep, that will not pass away
From the still breast;
Fill'd with a tone—oh! not for deathless fame,
But a sweet haunting murmur of my name,
Where it would rest.
And Song made answer—“It is not in me,
Though call'd immortal; though my gifts may be
All but divine.
A place of lonely brightness I can give:
A changeless one, where thou with Love wouldst live—
This is not mine!”
Death, Death! wilt thou the restless wish fulfil?
And Death, the Strong One, spoke:—“I can but still
Each vain regret.
What if forgotten?—All thy soul would crave,
Thou too, within the mantle of the grave,
Wilt soon forget.”
Then did my heart in lone faint sadness die,
As from all nature's voices one reply,
But one—was given.
“Earth has no heart, fond dreamer! with a tone
To send thee back the spirit of thine own—
Seek it in Heaven.”
