* * * * *
I found her not--the chamber seemed
Like some divinely haunted place
Where fairy forms had lately beamed,
And left behind their odorous trace!
It felt as if her lips had shed
A sigh around her, ere she fled,
Which hung, as on a melting lute,
When all the silver chords are mute,
There lingers still a trembling breath
After the note's luxurious death,
A shade of song, a spirit air
Of melodies which had been there.
I saw the veil, which, all the day,
Had floated o'er her cheek of rose;
I saw the couch, where late she lay
In languor of divine repose;
And I could trace the hallowed print
Her limbs had left, as pure and warm,
As if 'twere done in rapture's mint,
And Love himself had stamped the form.
Oh my sweet mistress, where wert thou?
In pity fly not thus from me;
Thou art my life, my essence now,
And my soul dies of wanting thee.
[1] In the "Histoire Naturelle des Antilles," there is an account of some
curious shells, found at Curacoa, on the back of which were lines, filled
with musical characters so distinct and perfect, that the writer assures
us a very charming trio was sung from one of them. The author adds, a poet
might imagine that these shells were used by the syrens at their concerts.
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