XXVII. FROM THE SAME. No mortal object did these eyes behold And hope of endless peace in me grew bold: Heaven-born, the Soul a heaven-ward course must hold; Beyond the visible world She soars to seek (For what delights the sense is false and weak) Ideal Form, the universal mould. The wise man, I affirm, can find no rest In that which perishes: nor will he lend XXVIII. FROM THE SAME. TO THE SUPREME BEING. THE prayers I make will then be sweet indeed That of its native self can nothing feed: XXIX. SURPRISED by joy impatient as the Wind - I turned to share the transport Oh! with whom But Thee, deep buried in the silent Tomb, That spot which no vicissitude can find? Love, faithful love, recalled thee to my mind But how could I forget thee? Through what power, Even for the least division of an hour, Have I been so beguiled as to be blind Το my most grievous loss? That thought's return Was the worst pang that sorrow ever bore, Save one, one only, when I stood forlorn, Knowing my heart's best treasure was no more; Could to my sight that heavenly face restore. XXX. METHOUGHT I saw the footsteps of a throne But all the steps and ground about were strown Sick, hale, old, young, who cried before that cloud, With her face up to heaven; that seemed to have XXXI. "WEAK is the will of Man, his judgment blind; "Remembrance persecutes, and Hope betrays; Heavy is woe; and joy, for human-kind, "A mournful thing, so transient is the blaze!" 'Tis hers to pluck the amaranthine Flower |