Black with the rude collision, inly torn, By clouds surrounded, and on whirlwinds borne, Driven o'er the lowering atmosphere that nurst Thoughts which have turned to thunder-scorch-and burst. But far from us and from our mimic scene Such things should be—if such have ever been ; Ye orators! whom yet our councils yield, TO THYRZA. I. ITHOUT a stone to mark the spot, And say, what Truth night well have said, By all, save one, perchance forgot, Ah, wherefore art thou lowly laid? By many a shore and many a sea Divided, yet beloved in vain; The past, the future fled to thee To bid us meet-no-ne'er again! Could this have been-a word, a look That softly said, « We part in peace, Had taught my bosom how to brook, " With fainter sighs, thy soul's release. And didst thou not, since Death for thee Prepared a light and pangless dart, Once long for him thou ne'er shalt see, » Who held, and holds thee in his heart? 'Twas thine to reck of human woe, Ours too the glance none saw beside; That Love each warmer wish forbore; But sweet to me from none but thine; But never bent beneath till now! If rest alone be in the tomb, I would not wish thee here again ; But if in worlds more blest than this Thy virtues seek a fitter sphere, Impart some portion of thy bliss, To wean me from mine anguish here. Teach me too early taught by thee! To bear, forgiving and forgiv'n : On earth thy love was such to me; It fain would form my hope in heav'n! TO THE SAME. II. 1. AWAY, away, ye notes of woe! I dare not trust those sounds again. 2. The voice that made those sounds more sweet Is hushed, and all their charms are fled; And now their softest notes repeat A dirge, an anthem o'er the dead! Yes, Thyrza! yes, they breathe of thee, Beloved dust! since dust thou art; And all that once was harmony Is worse than discord to my heart! 3. 'Tis silent all!--but on my ear A voice that now might well be still, 4. Sweet Thyrza! waking as in sleep, Then turned from earth its tender beam. Must pass, when heav'n is veiled in wrath, Will long lament the vanished ray That scattered gladness o'er his path. ONE struggle more, and I am free From pangs that rend my heart in twain; One last long sigh to love and thee, It suits me well to mingle now With things that never pleased before: Though every joy is fled below, What future grief can touch me more? 28 Then bring me wine, the banquet bring; It was not thus in days more dear, It never would have been, but thou Hast fled, and left me lonely here; Thou'rt nothing, all are nothing now.. none. |