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IRISH MELODIES. 131
Oh what is Fancy's magic worth,
If all her art cannot call forth
One bliss like those we felt of old
From lips now mute, and eyes now cold !
No, no,—her spell is vain, —
As soon could she bring back again
Those eyes themselves from out the grave,
As wake again one bliss they gave. |
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I'VE A SECRET TO TELL THEE.
I've a secret to tell thee, but hush ! not here, —■
Oh! not where the world its vigil keeps : I'll seek, to whisper it in thine ear,
Some shore where the Spirit of Silence sleeps ; Where summer's wave unmurmuring dies,
Nor fay can hear the fountain's gush; "Where, if but a note her night-bird sighs,
The rose saith, chidingly, " Hush, sweet, hush! "
There, amid the deep silence of that hour,
When stars can be heard in ocean dip, Thyself shall, under some rosy bower,
Sit mute, with thy finger on thy lip : Like him, the boy*, who born among
The flowers that on the Nile-stream blush, Sits ever thus,—his only song
To earth and heaven, " Hush, all, hush !"
* The God of Silence, thus pictured by the Egyptians. |
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B. 2 |
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