Blackwoods Edinburgh Magazine – Volume 55, No. 341, March, 1844

From thy ruins by the Tiber,
Look with tearless aspect mild,
Till each agonizing fibre
Like thine own is reconciled.

Augustinus, bright and torrid,
Isles of green in deserts horrid
Once thy home, thy likeness ever!
We with sword no less divine
Would the good and evil sever,
In a larger world than thine.

Soft Petrarca, sweet and subtle,
Weaving still, with silver shuttle,
Moony veils for human feeling—
Thine the radiance from above,
Half-transfiguring, half-concealing,
Wounds and tears of earthly love.

Saxon rude, of thundering stammer,
Iron heart, by sin's dread hammer
Ground to better dust than golden,
May thy prophecy be true.
Melt the stern, the weak embolden;
Teach what Luther never knew.

Pale Spinosa, nursed in fable,
Painted hopes and portent sable,
Then an opener wisdom finding,
Let thy round and wintry sun
Chase the lurid vapour, blinding
Souls that seek the Holy One.

Thou from green Helvetia roaming,
Meteor pale in misty gloaming,
With a breast too fiercely burning;
Generous, tuneful, frail Rousseau!
Would that all to truth returning,
Gave, like thee, a tear to woe!

Eye of clear and diamond sparkle,
Where the Baltic waters darkle,
Lonely German seer of Reason,
Great and calm as Atlas old;
Through our formless foggy season,
Short thine adamantine cold.

Shelley, born of faith and passion,
Nobler far than gain and fashion;
Daring eaglet arm'd with lightning,
Firing soon thy native nest,
Still the eternal blaze is brightening
Ocean where thy pinions rest.

Heroes, prophets, bards, and sages,
Gods and men of climes and ages,
Conquerors of lifelong sorrow,
Torment that ye made your throne,
Help, Oh! help in us the morrow,
Full of triumph like your own.

    J. S.

THE LUCKLESS LOVER

"If aught on earth assault may bide
Of ceaseless time and shifting tide,
Beloved! I swear to thee
It is the truth of hearts that love,
United in a world above
The moment's misty sea.

"Oh! sweeter than the light of dawn,
Than music in the woods withdrawn
From clamours of the crowd,
A new creation all our own,
Unvisited by scoff or groan,
Is faith in silence vow'd.

"Two hearts by reason nobly sad,
Nor rashly blind, nor lightly glad,
Possess they not a bliss
In their communion, felt and full,
Beyond all custom's deadly rule?
For life is only this.

"In sighs we met, in sighs and sobs,
Such grief as from the wretched robs
The hope to heaven allied:
Great calm was ours, a strength severe,
Though wet with many a scalding tear,
When soul to soul replied.

"Of thy dark eyes and gentle speech,
The memory has a power to teach
What know not many wise.
New stars may rise, the ancient fade,
But not for us, my own pale maid,
Be lost that pure surprise—