Perchance, when long, long years are o'er
I care not how they flow
Some note of me to that far shore
Across the deep may go;
And thou wilt read, and turn to hide
The conscious blush of woman's pride;
For thou alone wilt know
What spell inspired the silent toil
Of mid-day sun and midnight oil.
And this is little, to atone
For much of grief and wrong;
For doubts within the bosom sown,
Cares checked and cherished long.
But it is past! thy bliss or pain
I shall not mar or make again;
And, Lady, this poor song
Is echoing, like a stranger's knell,
Sad, but unheeded!-so farewell!
BLAME not the Minstrel's wayward will:
His soul has slumbered all too long;
He has no pulse for passion's thrill,
No lute for passion's song.
O frown not, though he turns away
Unloved, unloving, even from thee,
And mars with idle jests the lay
Where Beauty's praise should be.
If he should bid the golden string
Be vocal to a loftier theme,
Sad Memory from her cell would bring
The fond forbidden dream;
The dream of her, whose broken chain
Than new forged bonds is far more dear; Whose name he may not speak again,
And shudders but to hear.
And if he breathes Love's hopes and fears
In many a soulless idol's shrine,
The falsehoods fit for vulgar ears
Were never fit for thine.
Take back, take back the book to-night :
Thou art too brightly-nobly fair,
For hearts so worn as his to write
Their worthless worship there.
"L'on n'aime bien qu'une seule fois: c'est la première. Les amours qui suivent sont moins involontaires!"-La Bruyère.
How shall he woo her?-Let him stand
Beside her as she sings;
And watch that fine and fairy hand
Flit o'er the quivering strings:
And let him tell her he has heard,
Though sweet the music flow,
A voice whose every whispered word
Was sweeter, long ago.
How shall he woo her?-Let him gaze
In sad and silent trance
On those blue eyes whose liquid rays
Look love in every glance :
And let him tell her, eyes more bright,
Though bright her own may beam,
Will fling a deeper spell to-night
Upon him in his dream.
How shall he woo her ?--Let him try
The charms of olden time,
And swear by earth and sea and sky,
And rave in prose and rhyme :
And let him tell her, when he bent
His knee in other years,
He was not half so eloquent,-
He could not speak for tears!
How shall he woo her ?-Let him bow
Before the shrine in prayer;
And bid the priest pronounce the vow
That hallows passion there:
And let him tell her when she parts
From his unchidden kiss,
That memory to many hearts
Is dearer far than bliss.
Away, away! the chords are mute,
The bond is rent in twain;
You cannot wake that silent lute,
Nor clasp those links again;
Love's toil, I know, is little cost,
Love's perjury is light sin;
But souls that lose what his hath lost,--
Oh, what have they to win?
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