By Mrs. Cornwell Baron Wilson.
Originally published in Bentley's Miscellany (Richard Bentley) vol.3 (1838).
Tell me, ye brightly-burning orbs of night,
Now shining down on our terrestrial sphere,
If to your realms the spirit takes its fight
When it throws off its mortal covering here?—
Does it take wing and to the skies aspire,
And breathe forth songs in heaven to some melodious lyre?
Tell me, fair Moon, that sail'st in æther's space,
Art <>thou some world, peopled with creatures free,
Where sunder'd spirits shall meet face to face,
Lifting the veil of immortality?—
Shall we there know, ev'n as on earth we're known,
And shall Affection clasp hearts made again its own?
Tell me, ye clouds, that o'er the azure heaven
Float like the streamers of some bridal vest,
When by the breeze of midnight ye are driven,—
Say, do ye canopy some place of rest,
Some peaceful bourn to which the spirit flies
To join the lost of earth and re-unite its ties?
Ye cannot answer! and it is not meet
Such mysteries should be solv'd us. Why should man,
With blinded gaze and travel-wearied feet,
Attempt to penetrate what angels scan
With heavenly eyes but dimly?—let him bend,
Adoring what nor sense nor sight can comprehend!