Fading I lie, within my heart unchanged,
So glows the love of thee, that not for death
Seems that pure passion’s fervour—but ordain’d
To meet on brighter shores thy majesty unstain’d.
FLIGHT OF THE SPIRIT.
Whither, oh! whither wilt thou wing thy way?
What solemn region first upon thy sight
Shall break, unveil’d for terror or delight?
What hosts, magnificent in dread array,
My spirit! when thy prison-house of clay,