VI.
O’er each object of nature alike they unfold
A veil of deep mystery ever untold;
For the rose in its modest and calm peaceful rest,
Has infinite secrets enclosed in its breast.
VII.
Can it be that the spirit of genius yet lives,
And to nature this chain of enchantment thus gives;
That the souls of the dead, in this beautiful guise,
Beam out like the light of some love angel’s eyes?
VIII.
Ah, no!—’tis a glory through life’s mist that strays,
Like the dawning of morn through an autumn’s thick haze,
’Tis the light of a glory for ever to shine,
’Tis a something within us—a something divine.
Compages Ossium.
(Lines composed while looking into an opened grave from my study window.)
I.
IN sad reflection thee I scan,
Lone tenant of this cell;
Oh, could’st thou speak to mortal man,
What mysteries would’st thou tell!