THE VICTOR.
“De tout ce qui t’aimoit n’est-il plus rien qui t’aime?”
Lamartine.
Mighty ones, Love and Death!
Ye are the strong in this world of ours;
Ye meet at the banquets, ye dwell midst the flowers,
—Which hath the conqueror’s wreath?
Thou art the victor, Love!
Thou art the fearless, the crown’d, the free,
The strength of the battle is given to thee—
The spirit from above!
Thou hast look’d on Death, and smiled!
Thou hast borne up the reed-like and fragile form
Through the waves of the fight, through the rush of the storm,
On field, and flood, and wild!
No!—Thou art the victor, Death!
Thou comest, and where is that which spoke,
From the depths of the eye, when the spirit woke?
—Gone with the fleeting breath!
Thou comest—and what is left
Of all that loved us, to say if aught
Yet loves—yet answers the burning thought
Of the spirit lone and reft?
Silence is where thou art!
Silently there must kindred meet,
No smile to cheer, and no voice to greet,
No bounding of heart to heart!
Boast not thy victory, Death!
It is but as the cloud’s o’er the sunbeam’s power,
It is but as the winter’s o’er leaf and flower,
That slumber the snow beneath.
It is but as a tyrant’s reign
O’er the voice and the lip which he bids be still;
But the fiery thought and the lofty will
Are not for him to chain!
They shall soar his might above!
And thus with the root whence affection springs,
Though buried, it is not of mortal things—
Thou art the victor, Love!
LINES WRITTEN FOR THE ALBUM AT ROSANNA.[398]
Oh! lightly tread through these deep chestnut-bowers,
Where a sweet spirit once in beauty moved!
And touch with reverent hand these leaves and flowers—
Fair things, which well a gentle heart hath loved!
A gentle heart, of love and grief th’ abode,
Whence the bright stream of song in tear-drops flow’d.
And bid its memory sanctify the scene!
And let th’ ideal presence of the dead
Float round, and touch the woods with softer green,
And o’er the streams a charm, like moonlight, shed,
Through the soul’s depths in holy silence felt—
A spell to raise, to chasten, and to melt!
[398] A beautiful place in the county of Wicklow, formerly the abode of the authoress of “Psyche.”