III.

No more, no more, oh! never more

Will look or tone of mine

Bring clouds that ivory forehead o'er,
Or dim that dark eye's shine;
Look out, dear Lady, from your tower;
The wave rolls deep and vast:
Oh, would to God this bitter hour
Might be my last!

IV.

I think that you will love me still,
Though far our fates may be ;
And that your heart will fondly thrill
When strangers ask of me;

My praise will be your proudest theme
When these dark days are past:
If this be all an idle dream,

It is my last!

V.

And now let one kind look be mine,
And clasp this slender chain;
Fill up once more the cup of wine,

Put on my ring again;

And wreathe this wreath around your head,

(Alas, it withers fast!)

And whisper, when its flowers are dead,

It was the last!

VI.

Thus from your presence forth I go,

A lost and lonely man;
Reckless alike of weal or woe,

Heaven's benison or ban:

He who has known the tempest's worst
May bare him to the blast;

Blame not these tears; they are the first,—
Are they the last?

(APRIL 2, 1829.)

A FAREWELL.

λιποῦσα δ ̓ Εὐρώπης πέδον, Ἤπειρον ἤξεις ̓Ασίδ'. ἆρ ὑμῖν δοκεῖ

ὁ τῶν θεῶν τύραννος εἰς τὰ πάνθ' ὁμῶς

βίαιος εἶναι ;

Escи. Prom. Vinct.

THEY told me thou wilt pass again

Across the echoing wave;

And, though thou canst not break the chain, Thou wilt forget the slave.

Farewell, farewell!-thou wilt not know

My hopes or fears, my weal or woe,
My home-perhaps my grave!

Nor think nor dream of the sad heart
Whose only thought and dream thou art.

The goblet went untasted by

Which other lips caressed;

And joyless seemed the revelry,
And impotent the jest:

And why? for it was very long

Since thou didst prize my love or song,

My lot was all unblest :

I cannot now be more forlorn,

Nor bear aught that I have not borne.

We might not meet; for me no more
Arose that melting tone;

The eyes which colder crowds adore
Were veiled to me alone:

The coxcomb's prate, the ruffian's lies,
The censures of the sternly wise,
Between our hearts were thrown;
Deeper and wider barriers far,
Than any waves or deserts are.

But it was something still to know
Thy dawn and dusk were mine,
And that we felt the same breeze blow,
And saw the same star shine;
And still the shadowy hope was rife
That once in this waste weary life
My path might cross with thine,
And one brief gleam of beauty bless
My spirit's utter loneliness.

And oft in crowds I might rejoice

To hear thy uttered name, Though haply from an unknown voice

The welcome echo came:

How coldly would I shape reply,
With lingering lip, and listless eye,
That none might doubt or blame,

Or
guess that idle theme could be
A mine of after-thought to me.

Oh ne'er again!—thou wilt abide
Where brighter skies are found,

One whom thou lovest by thy side,
Many who love thee round;

And those sweet fairies, with their wiles
Of mimic frowns and happy smiles,

Around thy steps will bound:

I would not cloud such scene and lot
For all my aching breast hath not.

Yet, if thou wilt remember one
Who never can forget,
Whose lonely life is not so lone
As if we had not met,
Believe that in the frosty sky
Whereon is writ his destiny
Thy light is lingering yet,
A star before the darkened soul,
To guide, and gladden, and control.

Be mine the talk of men, though thou
Wilt never hear my praise;

Be mine the wreath, though for my brow
Thou wilt not twine the bays;
Be mine ambition's proudest scope,

Though fewer smiles than were my hope

Will meet my longing gaze,

Though in my triumph's sunniest thrill One welcome will be wanting still.