[SONNETS:]
INSCRIBED TO MY FRIEND FANNY.
BY HENRY W. ROCKWELL.
PROEM.
Even as Beatrice appeared to him
Who passed through scenes of unimagined woe,
Nor feared hell's gloomy sentry, nor the flow
Of dismal Acheron; so I, through dim
Uncertain paths like his—albeit my fame
Pales 'neath his own, a taper to the sun—
Have here been led, and this my work begun,
If ended, must be ended in thy name.
No idle faith is this, by whose clear light,
And the strong effort of Love's conquering will,
From out life's mingling mass of good and ill
I have ascended to the Infinite:
Beholding thee whose beauty, cold and pale,
Beams like the Cherubim within the veil.
SONNET I.
O thou! who dwell'st in memory ever blest,
(By whatsoever name in heaven thou'rt known,
Thyself on earth, the last and loveliest one,
An angel in my bosom art confessed:)
If thou inspire my song as thou know'st best,
And aid my fond endeavor now begun,
No fabled muse need I for guidance own
The fair inhabitant of my cold breast.
Yet whether this my song may stand the test,
Or challenge the full sure advance of time,
I little know; but if the hidden force
Of Love, and its strong faith, in which I rest,
Assist my heart to build the tuneful rhyme,
Thou only canst be named the primal source.