Within that bark, where flowed the golden light O’er velvet cushions, ’mid th’ enameled flowers, Flowed, mingling with those beams, the tresses bright From a fair brow of girlhood, where the hours Of earthly life had not o’erhung the bliss Of heaven’s existence with the clouds of this. Her hand, scarce resting from the strings it swept, Lay on a harp whose chords yet felt its thrill, And fain had breathed the strains that in them slept; And her half-parted lips were tremulous still, As on them lingered, fluttering to depart, Th’ unuttered burden of a gushing heart, The voiceful murmur of the waves below— The airs of balm that whispered through the leaves— The trill of fountains in their dazzling flow— The soul-born song the bright-winged wild bird weaves, The various tones of teeming nature, rife With the warm bliss of heaven-imparted life. Glimpses of cities through far vistas seen— Flashes of light from garden, bower and shrine— All forms and sounds of loveliness had been To eye and ear as messengers divine; And, to each glorious sight, and joyous tone, Answered a breathing melody of her own. But now her voice was hushed, and all unheard The many tones that roused it; for a strain Of richer song her spirit’s depths had stirred; As if some angel harp that there had lain, Untouched as yet, were thrilled in every chord, And o’er her soul its wealth of music poured. We all have felt such wakenings; in our hearts’ Deep treasure cells is many a gift from Heaven, To the commissioned spirit, ere it starts Upon earth’s pilgrimage, by seraph’s given, To cheer life’s shadows, and illume its shrine. With fadeless tokens of our birth divine. Sealed and forgot they lie, till some blest gleam, Or sacred note steal down those seals to break— As roses, kissed to life by day’s fond beam, Thrilled with the sense of their own beauty wake; Or hidden streams burst forth from earth’s dark caves, Wild at the brightness of their own sweet waves— So gush they o’er the soul; at gems so rare We startle, wondering at their loveliness, But, of our heritage still unaware, We wist not whence those sights and sounds of bliss; And lightly recking of their priceless worth, Let the seals close, and bind our thoughts to earth. O, we might watch, for aye, the fountains bright Of Paradise; or list the moving strains Of Eden’s harps; or revel in the light Of gems that glisten on celestial plains, Did we but bend more anxious ear and eye, And learn to ope the heart-cells where they lie.