220 MAIDEN SPEECH OF THE ÆOLIAN HARP. MAIDEN SPEECH OF THE ÆOLIAN HARP. SOFT and softlier hold me, friends! Unbind and give me to the air. Keep your lips or finger-tips For flute or spinet's dancing chips; I ask more or not so much: Give me to the atmosphere, Where is the wind, my brother, where? Lift the sash, lay me within, Lend me your ears, and I begin. For gentle harp to gentle hearts The secret of the world imparts; And not to-day and not to-morrow Can drain its wealth of hope and sorrow; Unlocks new sense and loftier cheer. I've come to live with you, sweet friends, And charm the anguish of the worst. CUPIDO. THE solid, solid universe Is pervious to Love; With bandaged eyes he never errs, His blinding light He flingeth white On God's and Satan's brood, And reconciles By mystic wiles The evil and the good. THE PAST. THE debt is paid, The verdict said, The Furies laid, The plague is stayed, All fortunes made; Turn the key and bolt the door, Sweet is death forevermore. Nor haughty hope, nor swart chagrin, Nor murdering hate, can enter in. All is now secure and fast; Not the gods can shake the Past; Bolted down forevermore. None can re-enter there, No thief so politic, No Satan with a royal trick Steal in by window, chink, or hole, To bind or unbind, add what lacked, THE LAST FAREWELL. LINES WRITTEN BY THE AUTHOR'S BROTHER, EDWARD BLISS EMERSON, WHILST SAILING OUT OF BOSTON HARBOR, BOUND FOR THE ISLAND OF PORTO RICO, IN 1832. FAREWELL, ye lofty spires That cheered the holy light! That broke the gloom of night! Too soon by ocean tost From hearth and home away, Farewell the busy town, The wealthy and the wise, Her unremembering prow Far away, far away. Farewell, my mother fond, The winged vessel flies, Farewell, my brothers true, But though aye one in heart, Together sad or gay, Rude ocean doth us part; We separate to-day, Far away, far away. Farewell I breathe again IN MEMORIAM. EDWARD BLISS EMERSON. I MOURN upon this battle-field, Whither the angry farmers came, In sloven dress and broken rank, Their deed of blood All mankind praise; Even the serene Reason says, The wise and simple have one glance The grand return Of eve and morn, The year's fresh bloom, The silver cloud, Might grace the dust that is most proud. Yet not of these I muse In this ancestral place, But of a kindred face That never joy or hope shall here diffuse. Ah, brother of the brief but blazing star! What hast thou to do with these |