Soon may this fluttering spark of vital flame HALLOWED GROUND. WHAT'S hallow'd ground? Has earth a clod Its Maker meant not should be trod By man, the image of his God Erect and free, To bow the knee? That's hallow'd ground-where, mourn'd and miss'd, The lips repose our love has kiss'd :— But where's their memory's mansion? Is't Yon churchyard's bowers? No! in ourselves their souls exist, A part of ours. A kiss can consecrate the ground Where mated hearts are mutual bound: The spot where love's first links were wound, That ne'er are riven, Is hallow'd down to earth's profound, up to Heaven! And For time makes all but true love old; Until the heart itself be cold In Lethe's pool. What hallows ground where heroes sleep? Or Genii twine beneath the deep But strew his ashes to the wind Whose sword or voice has served mankind— And is he dead, whose glorious mind Lifts thine on high ?— To live in hearts we leave behind, Is not to die. Is't death to fall for Freedom's right? What can alone ennoble fight? A noble cause! Give that! and welcome War to brace The charging cheer, Though Death's pale horse lead on the chase, Shall still be dear. And place our trophies where men kneel O God above! Transfer it from the sword's appeal To Peace and Love. Peace, Love! the cherubim, that join The heart alone can make divine Religion's spot. To incantations dost thou trust, That men can bless one pile of dust The ticking wood-worm mocks thee, man! Thy faith, that bigots dare not ban- Its Its roof star-pictured Nature's ceiling, The harmonious spheres Make music, though unheard their pealing By mortal ears. Fair stars! are not your beings pure ? Can sin, can death, your worlds obscure? Else why so swell the thoughts at your Aspect above? Ye must be Heavens that make us sure Of heavenly love! And in your harmony sublime I read the doom of distant time; That man's regenerate soul from crime And reason on his mortal clime Immortal dawn. What's hallow'd ground? 'Tis what gives birth And your high priesthood shall make earth SONG. WITHDRAW not yet those lips and fingers, And death seems in the word-Farewell. Time, whilst I gaze upon thy sweetness, |