V. Away! away! the chords are mute, The bond is rent in twain ;— You cannot wake that silent lute, Love's toil I know is little cost, Love's perjury is light sin; But souls that lose what I have lost,— What have they left to win? Yea! thou art changed-all worshipped as thou art— Mourned as thou shalt be! Sickness of the heart Hath done its work on thee! Thy dim eyes tell a tale, A pitious tale, of vigils; and the trace Of bitter tears is on thy beauteous face, Beauteous, and yet so pale! Changed love! but not alone! I am not what they think me; though my cheek Wear but its last year's furrow, though I speak Thus in my natural tone. The temple of my youth Was strong in moral purpose: once I felt The glory of philosophy, and knelt In the pure shrine of truth. I went into the storm, And mocked the billows of the tossing sea; I said to Fate, "What wilt thou do to me? Vainly the heart is steeled In Wisdom's armour; let her burn her books! Upon his cloven shield. Virtue and Virtue's rest, How have they perished! Through my onward course The glory and the glow Of the world's loveliness have passed away; And Fate hath little to inflict, to-day, And nothing to bestow ! 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 To the straight path of duty; I have wrought, At last, my wayward spirit to be taught What it hath yet to learn. My kindred shall be joyful in my praise; And Fame shall twine for me, in after days, A wreath I covet not. And if I cannot make, Dearest thy hope my hope, thy trust my trust, Yet will I study to be good, and just, 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! |