Fare thee well!-thus disunited,
Torn from every nearer tie-
Sear'd in heart-and lone-and blighted,
More than this, I scarce can die.
A Sketch from Private Life.
Honest-Honest Iago!
If thou be st a devil, I cannot kill thee.-Shakespeare. Born in the garret, in the kitchen bred, Promoted thence to deck her mistress' head; Next for some gracious service unexpress'd, And from its wages only to be guess'd— Raised from the toilet to the table,-where Her wondering betters wait behind her chair. With eye unmoved, and forehead unabash'd, She dines from off the plate she lately wash'd. Quick with the tale, and ready with the lieThe genial confidante, and general spy
Who could ye gods! her next employment guess--
An only infant's earliest governess!
She taught the child to read, and taught so well,
That she herself, by teaching, learn'd to spell.
An adept next in penmanship she grows,
As many a nameless slander deftly shows:
What she had made the pupil of her art,
None know-but that high Soul secured the heart,
And panted for the truth it could not hear,
With longing breast and undeluded ear.
Foil'd was perversion by that youthful mind, Which flattery fool'd not-baseness could not blind, Deceit infect not-near contagion soil
Indulgence weaken-nor example spoil
Nor master'd science tempt her to look down
On humbler talents with a pitying frown-
Nor genius swell-nor beauty render vain-
Nor envy ruffle to retaliate pain-
Nor fortune change-pride raise-nor passion bow,
Nor virtue teach austerity-till now.
Serenely purest of her sex that live,
But wanting one sweet weakness-to forgive,
Too shock'd at faults her soul can never know,
She deems that all could be like her below:
Foe to all vice, yet hardly virtue's friend,
For virtue pardons those she would amend,
But to the theme :-now laid aside too long,
The baleful burthen of this honest song-
Though all her former functions are no more,
She rules the circle which she served before.
If mothers-none know why-before her quake;
If daughters dread her for the mother's sake;
If early habits-those false links, which bind
At times the loftiest to the meanest mind-
Have given her power too deeply to instil
The angry essence of her deadly will;
If like a snake she steal within your walls,
Till the black slime betray her as she crawls;
If like a viper to the heart she wind,
And leave the venom there she did not find;-
What marvel that this hag of hatred works
Eternal evil latent as she iurks,
To make a Pandemonium where she dwells,
And reign the Hecate of domestic hells?
Skill'd by a touch to deepen scandal's tints
With all the kind mendacity of hints.
While mingling truth with falsehood-sneers with
A thread of candour with a web of wiles;
A plain, blunt show of briefly-spoken seeming,
To hide her bloodless heart's soul-harden'd schem-
ing;
A lip of lies-a face form'd to conceal ;
And, without feeling, mock at all who feel:
With a vile mask the Gorgon would disown;
A cheek of parchment-and an eye of stone.
Mark, how the channels of her yellow blood
Ooze to her skin, and stagnate there to mud,
Cased like the centipede in saffron mail,
Or darker greenness of the scorpion's scale
(For drawn from reptiles only may we trace
Congenial colours in that soul or face)-
Look on her features! and behold her mind
As in a mirror of itself defined:
Look on the picture! deem it not o'ercharged-
There is no trait which might not be enlarged:-
Yet true to" Nature's journeymen," who made
This monster when their mistress left off trade,-
This female dog-star of her little sky,
Where all beneath her influence droop or die.
Oh! wretch without a tear-without a thought Save joy above the ruin thou hast wroughtThe time shall come, nor long remote, when thou Shalt feel far more than thou inflictest now; Feel for thy vile, self-loving self in vain, And turn thee howling in unpitied pain. May the strong curse of crush'd affections light Back on thy bosom with reflected blight! And make thee in thy leprosy of mind As loathsome to thyself as to mankind! Till all thy self-thoughts curdle into hate, Black-as thy will for others would create: Till thy hard heart be calcined into dust, And thy soul welter in its hideous crust. Oh, may thy grave be sleepless as the bed,
The widow'd conch of fire, which thou hast spread 1 Then, when thou fain wouldst weary Heaven with prayer,
Look on thine earthly victims-and despair!
Down to the dust!-and, as thou rott'st away,
Even worms shall perish on thy poisonous clay.
But for the love I bore, and still must bear,
To her thy malice from all ties would tear-
Thy name-thy numan name- to every eye
The climax of all scorn, should hang on high,
Exalted o'er thy less abhorr'd compeers-
And festering in the infamy of years.
When we two parted
In silence and tears,
Half broken-hearted,
To sever for years,
Pale grew thy cheek and cold-
Colder thy kiss;
Truly that hour foretold
Sorrow to this.
The dew of the morning
Sunk chill on my brow-
It felt like the warning
Of what I feel now.
Thy vows are all broken,
And light is thy fame,
I hear thy name spoken,
And share in its shame.
They name thee before me-
A knell to mine ear;
A shudder comes o'er me-
Why wert thou so dear?
They know not I knew thee,
Who knew thee too well:
Long, long shall I rue thee,
Too deeply to tell.
In secret we met
In silence I grieve,
That thy heart could forget,
Thy spirit deceive.
If I should meet thee,
After long years,
How should I greet thee'
With silence and tears.
Farewell! if ever fondest prayer
For other's weal avail'd on high,
Mine will not all be lost in air,
But waft thy name beyond the sky.
'Twas vain to speak, to weep, to sigh:
Oh! more than tears of blood can tell,
When wrung from guilt's expiring eye,
Are in that word-Farewell!-Farewell!
These lips are mute, these eyes are dry;
But in my breast, and in my brain,
Awake the pangs that pass not by,
The thought that ne'er shall sleep again.
My soul nor deigns nor dares complain,
Though grief and passion there rebel;
I only knew we loved in vain-
I only feel-Farewell!-Farewell!
When late I saw thy favourite child,
I thought my jealous heart would break;
But when th' unconscious infant smiled,
I kiss'd it for its mother's sake.
I kiss'd it and repress'd my sighs,
Its father in its face to see;
But then it had its mother's eyes-
And they were all to love and me.
Fair one, adieu! I must away;
Since thou art bless'd, I'll not repine
But near thee I can never stay,-
My heart again would soon be thine.
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