That seem’d imprison’d in the Parian cell,
  Seeking in vain release and utterance;
  For evermore, with upward beaming glance,
Framing the words its lips could never tell.

The vision pass’d; but still with unseen power,
  It stirr’d within his heart by night and day;
  And swift to hew the prison walls away,
The Sculptor toil’d, love-strengthen’d, from that hour.

He wrought with patience, and at length, amazed,
  Beheld the mystic form all perfect stand,
  Released in beauty by his artist hand,
He scarce knew how, and wonder’d as he gazed.

It was a lovely form whose lifted arms
  Yearn’d towards heaven with all its radiant frame,
  As though the soul within on wings of flame
Up from the earth would waft its angel charms;

But still one touch retain’d it to the ground;
  So that the love that beam’d up from its eyes
  Flow’d evermore towards the distant skies,
And yet to earth the shape remain’d spell-bound.

The dream fell on him one calm summer night;
  And thus in that fair form still heavenward turning
  Eternal aspiration, endless yearning,
Stood now the Thought before his gladden’d sight.

THE END.

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By the same Author.

EIDOLON, AND OTHER POEMS.