THE REQUIEM OF GENIUS.
“Les poetes dont l'imagination tient à la puissance d'aimer et de
souffrir, ne sont ils pas les bannis d'une autre region?”
Madame de Staël—De L' Allemagne.
No tears for thee!—though light be from us gone
With thy soul's radiance, bright, yet restless one!
No tears for thee!
They that have loved an exile, must not mourn
To see him parting for his native bourne
O'er the dark sea.
All the high music of thy spirit here,
Breathed but the language of another sphere,
Unecho'd round;
And strange, though sweet, as 'midst our weeping skies
Some half-remember'd strain of paradise
Might sadly sound.
Hast thou been answer'd? thou, that from the night
And from the voices of the tempest's might,
And from the past,
Wert seeking still some oracle's reply,
To pour the secrets of man's destiny
Forth on the blast!
Hast thou been answer'd?—thou, that through the gloom,
And shadow, and stern silence of the tomb,
A cry did'st send,
So passionate and deep? to pierce, to move,
To win back token of unburied love
From buried friend!
And hast thou found where living waters burst?
Thou that did'st pine amidst us, in the thirst
Of fever-dreams!
Are the true fountains thine for evermore?
Oh! lured so long by shining mists, that wore
The light of streams!
Speak! it is well with thee?—We call, as thou,
With thy lit eye, deep voice, and kindled brow,
Wert wont to call
On the departed! Art thou bless'd and free?
—Alas! the lips earth covers, even to thee,
Were silent all!
Yet shall our hope rise fann'd by quenchless faith,
As a flame, foster'd by some warm wind's breath,
In light upsprings:
Freed soul of song! yes, thou hast found the sought;
Borne to thy home of beauty and of thought,
On morning's wings.
And we will dream it is thy joy we hear,
When life's young music, ringing far and clear,
O'erflows the sky:—
No tears for thee! the lingering gloom is ours—
Thou art for converse with all glorious powers,
Never to die!
