O'er the transport-tumult driven,
Doth the music gliding swim;
From the strings, as from their heaven,
Burst the new-born Seraphim.
As when from Chaos' giant arms set free,
'Mid the Creation-storm, exultingly
Sprang sparkling thro' the dark the Orbs of Light—
So streams the rich tone in melodious might.
Soft-gliding now, as when o'er pebbles glancing,
The silver wave goes dancing;
Now with majestic swell, and strong,
As thunder peals in organ-tones along;
And now with stormy gush,
As down the rock, in foam, the whirling torrents rush.
To a whisper now
Melts it amorously,
Like the breeze through the bough
Of the aspen tree;
Heavily now, and with a mournful breath,
Like midnight's wind along those wastes of death,
Where Awe the wail of ghosts lamenting hears,
And slow Cocytus trails the stream whose waves are tears.
Speak, maiden, speak!—Oh, art thou one of those
Spirits more lofty than our region knows?
Should we in thine the mother-language seek
Souls in Elysium speak?
FLOWERS.
Children of Suns restored to youth,
In purfled fields ye dwell,
Rear'd to delight and joy—in sooth
Kind Nature loves ye well!
Broider'd with light the robes ye wear,
And liberal Flora decks ye fair
In gorgeous-colour'd pride.
Yet woe—Spring's harmless infants—woe!
Mourn, for ye wither while ye glow—
Mourn for the soul denied!
The sky-lark and the nightbird sing
To you their hymns of love;
And Sylphs that wanton on the wing,
Embrace your blooms above.
Woven for Love's soft pillow were
The chalice crowns ye flushing bear,
By the Idalian Queen.
Yet weep, soft children of the Spring,
The feelings love alone can bring
To you denied have been!
But me in vain my Fanny's [15] eyes
Her mother hath forbidden;
For in the buds I gather, lies
Love's symbol-language hidden.
Mute heralds of voluptuous pain,
I touch ye—life—speech—heart—ye gain,
And soul denied before.
And silently your leaves enclose,
The mightiest God in arch repose,
Soft-cradled in the core.
[Footnote 15: Literally "Nanny.">[
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