« AnteriorContinuar »
The waves as they arose, and prouder still
Well! thou art happy, and I feel
That I should thus be happy too;
Warmly, as it was wont to do.
Some pangs to view his happier lot.
Would hate him, if he loved thee not !
I thought my jealous heart would break;
I kiss'd it, for its mother's sake.
Its father in its face to see ;
And they were all to love and me.
While thou art blest, I'll not repine ;
But near thee I can never stay;..
My heart would soon again be thine. I deem'd that time, I deem'd that pride
Had quench'd at length my boyish flame; Nor knew, till seated by thy side,
My heart in all, save hope, the same. Yet was I calm: I knew the time
My breast would thrill before thy look; But now to tremble were a crime
We met and not a nerve was shook. I saw thee gaze upon my face,
Yet meet with no confusion there : One only feeling couldst thou trace;
The sullen calmness of despair. Away! away! my early dream
Remembrance never must awake: Oh! where is Lethe's fabled stream ?
My foolish heart be still, or break.
Such as our Turkish neighbourhood
Hath mingled with our Polish blood,
Large, dark, and swimming in the stream,
Transparent with the sun therein,
And heaven beholds her face within.
I loved her then-I love her still;
In fierce extremesmin good and ill.
POEMS TO THE MEMORY OF THYRZA.
I. Without a stone to mark the spot,
And say, what Truth might 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 ? Oh! who like him had watch'd thee here?
Or sadly mark'd thy glazing eye, In that dread hour ere death appear,
When silent Sorrow fears to sigh, Till all was past? But when no more
'Twas thine to reck of human woe, Affection's heart-drops, gushing o'er,
Had flow'd as fast—as now they flow. Shall they not flow, when many a day
In these, to me, deserted towers, Ere call’d but for a time away,
Affection's mingling tears were ours ? Ours too the glance none saw beside ;
The smile none else might understand ; The whisper'd thought of hearts allied,
The pressure of the thrilling hand ; The kiss so guiltless and refined
That Love each warmer wish forbore; Those eyes proclaim'd so pure a mind,
Even passion blush'd to plead for more. The tone that taught me to rejoice,
When prone, unlike thee, to repine ; The song, celestial from thy voice,
But sweet to me from none but thine ; The pledge we wore_I wear it still,
But where is thine ?-ah! where art thou ? Oft have I borne the weight of ill,
But never bent beneath till now! Well hast thou left in life's best bloom
The cup of woe for me to drain. 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.
To bear, forgiving and forgiven :
Be silent, thou once soothing strain, Or I must flee from hence ; for, oh!
I dare not trust those sounds again. To me they speak of brighter days
But lull the chords ; for now, alas ! I must not think, I may not gaze
On what I am--on what I was. The voice that made those sounds more sweet
Is hush'd, 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 ! 'Tis silent all ! but on my ear
The well-remember'd echoes thrill; I hear a voice I would not hear,
A voice that now might well be still, Yet oft my doubting soul 'twill shake:
Even slumber owns its gentle tone, Till consciousness will vainly wake
To listen, though the dream be flown. Sweet Thyrza ! waking as in sleep,
Thou art but now a lovely dream;