She comes! the fair Corinna comes! 'mid thunders of acclaim,
That rush unto the lips of all at the murmur of her name.
Scatter sweet roses all around; fling perfumes to the air;
And strew her path with all that breathes of beautiful and fair.
Her car hath gained the Capitol—her foot is on the stair;
She stands a form of matchless grace, the queen of thousands there.
Bring forth the wreath that threw afresh a lustre round his name,
Whose genius burned, a vestal fire, with never-dying flame.
Whose vision pierced the mantling mists that circle round the tomb,
Where bitter groans resound for aye amid the starless gloom;
Who saw the cities of the blest, and with as fearless tread
Paced through the ebon halls of hell, the mansions of the dead.
The crown that might have cast a ray to light lone Tasso's gloom,
But only drooped, a funeral wreath, to wither on his tomb;
Ay, reach it down, that laurel crown, it never hath been given
To one more rich in beauty's grace, and all the gifts of Heaven.
Oh, it is grand, a nation's love! a people's benison,
The homage of ten thousand hearts flung at the feet of one;
The rapturous glow that fires the soul, and thrills through every frame,
At the mention of the worshipped one, the echo of her name.
Corinna at the Capitol! Oh, what a spell comes o'er me,
As I view the gorgeous pageantry that passeth now before me;
But I would I knew the meaning of the tears which like a stream
In pearly drops are shining through the rapture of her dream.
Though laurel wreaths surround her brow, and glory lights her name,
There is a chamber in her heart can ne'er be filled by fame;
Lonely, amid adoring crowds, she deems, as well she may,
The faithful love of one true heart were better worth than they.
And when the crowd is parted, and the festival is o'er,
The many voices silent, and the music heard no more;
She will think upon the triumph, the splendour that is gone,
As the shadow of a dream, or the echo of a tone!