« PreviousContinue »
Is not the damning line Of guilt and grief engraven on me now? And the fierce passion which hath scathed thy brow,
Hath it not blasted mine?
No matter! I will turn
What it hath yet to learn.
Labour shall be my lot ;
A wreath I covet not.
And if I cannot make,
And blameless, for thy sake.
Thou may'st have comfort yet! Whate'er the source from which those waters glide, Thou hast found healing mercy in their tide ;
Be happy and forget!
Forget me—and farewell !
Will break thy memory's spell !
Indelibly, within, All I have lost is written ; and the theme Which Silence whispers to my thoughts and dreams
Is sorrow still—and sin!
THE CONFESSION OF DON CARLOS.
O TELL not me of broken vow-
Then wherefore dost thou bid me tell
And when my faithlessness is told,
Inez, the innocent and young, First snared my heart, and waked my song ; We both were harmless, and untaught To love as fashionables ought ; With all the modesty of youth, We talk'd of constancy and truth ; Grew fond of Music, and the Moon, And wander'd on the nights of June, To sit beneath the chestnut-tree, While the lonely stars shone mellowly, Shedding a pale and dancing beam On the wave of Guadalquivir’s stream. And aye we talk'd of faith and feelings, With no distrustings, no concealings; And aye we joy’d in stolen glances, And sigh’d, and blush’d, and read romances.
Our love was ardent and sincere,—
Fair Leonora's laughing eye Again awaked my song and sigh: A gay intriguing dame was she ; And fifty Dons of high degree, That came and went as they were bid, Dubb’d her the Beauty of Madrid. Alas! what constant pains I took To merit one approving look : I courted Valour—and the Muse, Wrote challenges—and billet-doux ; Paid for Sherbet and Serenade, Fenced with Pegru and Alvarade; Fought at the Bull-fights like a hero, Studied small-talk,—and the Bolero ;