Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE MAGIC GLASS, by FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: The dead! The glorious dead! -- and shall they rise? Last Line: "records of joy and woe." Alternate Author Name(s): Browne, Felicia Dorothea Subject(s): Death; Dead, The | ||||||||
"THE Dead! the glorious Dead! -- And shall they rise? Shall they look on thee with their proud bright eyes? Thou askest a fearful spell! Yet say, from shrine or dim sepulchral hall, What kingly vision shall obey my call? The deep grave knows it well! "Wouldst thou behold earth's conquerors! shall they pass Before thee, flushing all the Magic Glass With triumph's long array? Speak! and those dwellers of the marble urn, Robed for the feast of victory, shall return, As on their proudest day. "Or wouldst thou look upon the lords of song? -- O'er the dark mirror that immortal throng Shall waft a solemn gleam! Passing, with lighted eyes and radiant brows, Under the foliage of green laurel-boughs, But silent as a dream." "Not these, O mighty master! -- Though their lays Be unto man's free heart, and tears, and praise, Hallowed for evermore! And not the buried conquerors! Let them sleep, And let the flowery earth her Sabbaths keep In joy, from shore to shore! "But, if the narrow house may so be moved, Call the bright shadows of the most beloved, Back from their couch of rest! That I may learn if their meek eyes be filled With peace, if human love hath ever stilled The yearning human breast." "Away, fond youth! -- An idle quest is thine; These have no trophy, no memorial shrine; I know not of their place! 'Midst the dim valleys, with a secret flow, Their lives, like shepherd reed-notes, faint and low, Have passed, and left no trace. "Haply, begirt with shadowy woods and hills, And the wild sounds of melancholy rills, Their covering turf may bloom; But ne'er hath Fame made relics of its flowers, -- Never hath pilgrim sought their household bowers, Or poet hailed their tomb." "Adieu, then, master of the midnight spell! Some voice, perchance, by those lone graves may tell That which I pine to know! I haste to seek, from woods and valleys deep, Where the beloved are laid in lowly sleep, Records of joy and woe." | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A FRIEND KILLED IN THE WAR by ANTHONY HECHT FOR JAMES MERRILL: AN ADIEU by ANTHONY HECHT TARANTULA: OR THE DANCE OF DEATH by ANTHONY HECHT CHAMPS D?ÇÖHONNEUR by ERNEST HEMINGWAY NOTE TO REALITY by TONY HOAGLAND A DIRGE (1) by FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS |
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