THE wisest soul, by anguish torn, Will soon unlearn the lore it knew; And when the shrining casket's worn The gem within will tarnish too. But love's an essence of the soul, Which sinks not with this chain of clay; Which throbs beyond the chill control Of withering pain or pale decay. And surely, when the touch of Death Dissolves the spirit's mortal ties, Love still attends the soaring breath, And makes it purer for the skies! O Rosa! when, to seek its sphere, My soul shall leave this orb of men, That love it found so blissful here Shall be its best of blisses then! And, as in fabled dreams of old, Some airy genius, child of time, Presided o'er each star that roll'd, And track'd it through its path sublime; So thou, fair planet, not unled, Shalt through thy mortal orbit stray; Thy lover's shade, divinely wed, Shall linger round thy wandering way. Let other spirits range the sky, And brighten in the solar gem; I'll bask beneath that lucid eye, Nor envy worlds of suns to them! And, oh! if airy shapes may steal To mingle with a mortal frame, Then, then, my love! -- but drop the veil; Hide, hide from Heaven the unholy flame No! when that heart shall cease to beat, And when that breath at length is free; Then, Rosa, soul to soul we'll meet, And mingle to eternity! |