TO MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT GODWIN.

I.

MINE eyes were dim with tears unshed;
Yes, I was firm thus wert not thou;
My baffled looks did fear yet dread

To meet thy looks- I could not know
How anxiously they sought to shine
With soothing pity upon mine.

II.

To sit and curb the soul's mute rage
Which preys upon itself alone;

To curse the life which is the cage

Of fettered grief that dares not groan,

Hiding from many a careless eye

The scorned load of agony.

III.

Whilst thou alone, then not regarded,

The

thou alone should be,

To spend years thus, and be rewarded,

As thou, sweet love, requited me

When none were near Oh! I did wake

From torture for that moment's sake.

The burning wheels inflame

The steep descent of Heaven's untrodden way.

Fast and far the chariot flew :

The mighty globes that rolled

Around the gate of the Eternal Fane
Lessened by slow degrees, and soon appeared
Such tiny twinklers as the planet orbs

That ministering on the solar power

With borrowed light pursued their narrower way.
Earth floated then below:

The chariot paused a moment ;
The Spirit then descended :
And from the earth departing

The shadows with swift wings

Speeded like thought upon the light of Heaven.

The Body and the Soul united then,

A gentle start convulsed Ianthe's frame :
Her veiny eyelids quietly unclosed;

Moveless awhile the dark blue orbs remained:

She looked around in wonder and beheld

Henry, who kneeled in silence by her couch, Watching her sleep with looks of speechless love, And the bright beaming stars

That through the casement shone.

TO MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT GODWIN.

I.

MINE eyes were dim with tears unshed;
Yes, I was firm thus wert not thou ;·
My baffled looks did fear yet dread

To meet thy looks I could not know
How anxiously they sought to shine
With soothing pity upon mine.

II.

To sit and curb the soul's mute rage
Which preys upon itself alone;

To curse the life which is the cage

Of fettered grief that dares not groan,

Hiding from many a careless eye

The scorned load of agony.

III.

Whilst thou alone, then not regarded,

The

thou alone should be,

To spend years thus, and be rewarded,

As thou, sweet love, requited me

When none were near - Oh! I did wake

From torture for that moment's sake.

62

Therefore, O Spirit! fearlessly bear on :

Though storms may break the primrose on its stalk,
Though frosts may blight the freshness of its bloom,
Yet spring's awakening breath will woo the earth,
To feed with kindliest dews its favorite flower,
That blooms in mossy banks and darksome glens,
Lighting the green wood with its sunny smile.

Fear not then, Spirit, death's disrobing hand,
So welcome when the tyrant is awake,
So welcome when the bigot's hell-torch flares;
'Tis but the voyage of a darksome hour,
The transient gulph-dream of a startling sleep.
For what thou art shall perish utterly,
But what is thine may never cease to be;
Death is no foe to virtue: earth has seen
Love's brightest roses on the scaffold bloom,
Mingling with freedom's fadeless laurels there,
And presaging the truth of visioned bliss.

Are there not hopes within thee, which this scene
Of linked and gradual being has confirmed?
Hopes that not vainly thou, and living fires
Of mind, as radiant and as pure as thou
Have shone upon the paths of men—return
Surpassing Spirit, to that world, where thou
Art destined an eternal war to wage

With tyranny and falsehood, and uproot
The germs of misery from the human heart.
Thine is the hand whose piety would soothe
The thorny pillow of unhappy crime,
Whose impotence an easy pardon gains,
Watching its wanderings as a friend's disease:
Thine is the brow whose mildness would defy
Its fiercest rage, and brave its sternest will,
When fenced by power and master of the world.
Thou art sincere and good; of resolute mind,
Free from heart-withering custom's cold control,
Of passion lofty, pure and unsubdued.

Earth's pride and meanness could not vanquish thee,
And therefore art thou worthy of the boon

Which thou hast now received: virtue shall keep
Thy footsteps in the path that thou hast trod,
And many days of beaming hope shall bless
Thy spotless life of sweet and sacred love.
Go, happy one, and give that bosom joy

Whose sleepless spirit waits to catch
Light, life and rapture from thy smile.

The Dæmon called its wingèd ministers. Speechless with bliss the Spirit mounts the car, That rolled beside the crystal battlement,

Bending her beamy eyes in thankfulness.