Hand clasped in hand-eye bent on eye, Entranced, we stood as none have stood Spoke through the windows of the soul Of all love, beauty, bliss embrace, And wrote white vows on Heaven's white scroll Beneath this willow's weeping bough— And it is here!—but where art thou? And still my heart is full of youth, Its playgrounds ring with mirth of blisses; And still my soul is full of truth, And flings the world its roseate kisses; And still my step is lithe and light, And fleeter than the young gazelle's ; And still my eye with hope is brightThe tide of Hippocrene upswells Around my spirit's pale feet now- And I am here!—but where art thou? These vales are here-these mountains stand As they were standing on that eve; The nightingale-the zephyrs bland, Soft through the cypress branches grieve; The stars are sitting out in Heaven Around the dappled milky way, As they were seated on that even, Watching the slumbering god of Day— And earth smiles bright and blooming now As on that night—but where art thou? Like snowy doves thy vows descend With noiseless wings the vales of Weir; Thy breathing thoughts around me bend, Thy burning words entrance my ear ; And at the fount of memory That gushes down this hallowed shore, I drink until its source is dry, And still look up its lips for more, Beneath this willow's weeping bough, While echo answers-"Where art thou?' Oh, River! that dost roll along, Oh, Cypresses! majestic, grand, Whose tears descend in silent showers ! Oh tell me where in spirit-land, Adhémar, pensive, wanders now, I'll question thus no more, my love, Where Angels in the realms above Stand rapt before thy rapturous eyes; And plead with Heaven to ope the gates Of Paradise, until I see Thine image through the golden grates And grades of immortality ;— Thy spirit-feet are winding now! |