TYPE of the antique Rome! Rich reliquary Here, where the mimic Eagle A midnight vigil holds the swarty at g trees rined. ve gone. t night, ve) since. h the years. ave. e ght, And purified in their electric fire, And sanctified in their elysian fire. They fill my soul with Beauty (which is Hope), HYMN. AT morn- at noon -at twilight dim Darkly my Present and my Past, With sweet hopes of thee and thine! ΤΟ Nor long ago, the writer of these lines, A thought arose within the human brain Than even the seraph harper, Israfel, (Who has "the sweetest voice of all God's creatures") Alas, I cannot feel; for 't is not feeling, This standing motionless upon the golden Threshold of the wide-open gate of dreams, To where the prospect terminates—thee only. TO MY MOTHER. * BECAUSE I feel that, in the Heavens above, And fill my heart of hearts, where Death installed you My mother-my own mother, who died early, Are mother to the one I loved so dearly, And thus are dearer than the mother I knew By that infinity with which my wife Was dearer to my soul than its soul-life. * Addressed to a lady who well deserved that name from PoeMARIA CLEMM, his mother-in-law. See WILLIS'S " Hurry-Graphs." -ED. |