A boon, a talisman, O Memory! give, To shrine my name in hearts where I would live Bid the wind speak of me where I have dwelt, In the rich rose, whose bloom I loved so well, Set deep that thought! And let the sunset's melancholy glow, And let the Spring's first whisper, faint and low, With me be fraught! And memory answer'd me:- "Wild wish and vain! I have no hues the loveliest to detain In the heart's core. The place they held in bosoms all their own, Hast thou such power, O Love?-And love replied, Prayer, tear, devotedness, that boon to gain- Song, is the gift with thee?-I ask a lay, Fill'd with a tone-oh! not for deathless fame, And Song made answer "It is not in me, Though call'd immortal; though my gifts may be All but divine.. A place of lonely brightness I can give : A changeless one, where thou with Love wouldst live This is not mine!" Death, Death! wilt thou the restless wish fulfil? What if forgotten ?-All thy soul would crave, Then did my heart in lone faint sadness die, "Earth has no heart, fond dreamer! with a tone To send thee back the spirit of thine own. Seek it in Heaven." DARTMOOR. A PRIZE POEM. Come, bright Improvement! on the car of Time, May ne'er That true succession fail of English hearts, the charm Of pious sentiment, diffused afar, CAMPBELL. WORDSWORTH. (215) |