The heart is burst!—the heart that stood in steel To woman’s earnest tears, and bade her feel The curse of virgin solitude,—a veil; And saw the gladsome features growing pale Unmoved: ’tis rent like some eternal tower The sea hath shaken, and its stately power Lies lonely, fallen, scatter’d on the shore; ’Tis rent like some great mountain, that before The Deluge stood in glory and in might, But now is lightning-riven, and the night Is clambering up its sides, and chasms lie strewn, Like coffins, here and there: ’tis rent! the throne Where passions, in their awful anarchy, Stood sceptred! There was heard an inward sigh, That took the being, on its troubled wings, Far to the land of deep imaginings! All three are dead! that desolate green isle Is only peopled by the passing smile Of sun and moon, that surely have a sense, They look so radiant with intelligence,— So like the soul’s own element,—so fair! The features of a God lie veiled there! And mariners that have been toiling far Upon the deep, and lost the polar star, Have visited that island, and have seen That lover’s grave: and many there have been That sat upon the grey and crumbling stone, And started as they saw a skeleton Amid the long sad moss, that fondly grew Through the white wasted ribs: but never knew Of those who slept below, or of the tale Of that brain-stricken man, that felt the pale And wandering moonlight steal his soul away,— Poor Julio, and the Ladye Agathè! * * * * * We found them,—children of toil and tears, Their birth of beauty shaded; We left them in their early years Fallen and faded. We found them, flowers of summer hue, Their golden cups were lighted, With sparkles of the pearly dew— We left them blighted! We found them,—like those fairy flowers And the light of morn lay holy Over their sad and sainted bowers— We left them lonely. We found them,—like twin stars, alone, In brightness and in feeling; We left them,—and the curse was on Their beauty stealing. They rest in quiet, where they are: Their life time is the story Of some fair flower—some silver star, Faded in glory! * * * * * TO A SPIRIT. BY JAMES ALDRICH. Not the effulgent light Of that bright realm where live the blest departed, Nor the grave’s gloom, Oh! loved one, and true hearted, Can hide thee from thy sight. Thy sweet angelic smile Beams on my sleep. I see thee, hear thy voice, Thou say’st unto my fettered soul, “Rejoice! Wait but a little while.”