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Or haply, from a lone, dim shrine,
'Mid forests of the Apennine,
Whose breezy sounds of cave and dell
Or gleaming through a chestnut wood,
The sailor's hymn hath risen to thee,
And bless'd thy power to guide, to save, watcher of the wave!
Oh! might a voice, a whisper low,
Surely to thee hath woman come,
As a tired wanderer back to home!
Unveiling many a timid guest,
And treasured sorrow of her breast,
A buried love—a wasting care—
Oh! did those griefs win peace from prayer ?
And did the poet's fervid soul
To thee lay bare its inmost scroll?
Those thoughts, which pour'd their quenchless fire
And passion o'er th' Italian lyre,
Did they to still submission die,
And hath the crested helmet bow'd
Hush'd is the anthem-closed the vow
The votive garland wither'd now;
Yet holy still to me thou art,
Thou that hast soothed so many a heart!
And still must blessed influence flow
Still speak to suffering woman's love,
Of Hope, that hath its treasure there,
RECORDS OF THE SPRING OF 1834.
THESE Sonnets, written in the months of April, May, and June, were intended, together with the Records of the autumn of 1834, to form a continuation of the series, entitled " Sonnets Devotional and Memorial," which appeared in the Author's last published volume," Scenes and Hymns of Life."
A VERNAL THOUGHT.
O FESTAL Spring! 'midst thy victorious glow
And streams, that bound to meet thee from their chains,
For human hearts, and in the exulting flow
Of thy rich songs a melancholy tone,
Were we of mould all earthly; we alone,
Severed from thy great spell, and doomed to go
As here thy Flowers and Birds press on to bloom and sing.