But thy strong Hours indignant work'd their wills, And beat me down and marr'd and wasted me, And tho' they could not end me, left me maim'd To dwell in presence of immortal youth, Immortal age beside immortal youth, And all I was, in ashes. Can thy love, Thy beauty, make amends, tho' even now, Close over us, the silver star, thy guide, Shines in those tremulous eyes that fill with tears To hear me? Let me go: take back thy gift: Why should a man desire in any way COMRADES, leave me here a little, while as yet 'tis early morn: 'Tis the place, and all around it, as of old, the curlews call, Locksley Hall, that in the distance overlooks the sandy tracts, Many a night from yonder ivied casement, ere I went to rest, Many a night I saw the Pleiads, rising thro' the mellow shade, Here about the beach I wander'd, nourishing a youth sublime When the centuries behind me like a fruitful land reposed; When I dipt into the future far as human eye could see; Saw the Vision of the world, and all the wonder that would be. — In the Spring a fuller crimson comes upon the robin's breast; In the Spring a livelier iris changes on the burnish'd dove; In the Spring a young man's fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love. Then her cheek was pale and thinner than should be for one so young, And her eyes on all my motions with a mute observance hung. And I said, 'My cousin Amy, speak, and speak the truth to me, On her pallid cheek and forehead came a color and a light, And she turn'd- her bosom shaken with a sudden storm of sighs - Saying, 'I have hid my feelings, fearing they should do me wrong; Love took up the glass of Time, and turn'd it in his glowing hands; Love took up the harp of Life, and smote on all the chords with might; Smote the chord of Self, that, trembling, pass'd in music out of sight. Many a morning on the moorland did we hear the copses ring, Many an evening by the waters did we watch the stately ships, O my cousin, shallow-hearted! O my Amy, mine no more! Is it well to wish thee happy?-having known me- to decline Yet it shall be: thou shalt lower to his level day by day, As the husband is, the wife is: thou art mated with a clown, He will hold thee, when his passion shall have spent its novel force, What is this? his eyes are heavy: think not they are glazed with wine. Go to him: it is thy duty: kiss him: take his hand in thine. It may be my lord is weary, that his brain is overwrought: He will answer to the purpose, easy things to understand - Better thou and I were lying, hidden from the heart's disgrace, Cursed be the social wants that sin against the strength of youth! Cursed be the sickly forms that err from honest Nature's rule! Well-'tis well that I should bluster! - Hadst thou less unworthy provedWould to God for I had loved thee more than ever wife was loved. Am I mad, that I should cherish that which bears but bitter fruit? Never, tho' my mortal summers to such length of years should come I remember one that perish'd: sweetly did she speak and move: Can I think of her as dead, and love her for the love she bore? Comfort? comfort scorn'd of devils! this is truth the poet sings, Drug thy memories, lest thou learn it, lest thy heart be put to proof, Like a dog, he hunts in dreams, and thou art staring at the wall, And an eye shall vex thee, looking ancient kindness on thy pain. Nay, but Nature brings thee solace; for a tender voice will cry. H Baby lips will laugh me down: my latest rival brings thee rest. O, the child too clothes the father with a dearness not his due. O, I see thee old and formal, fitted to thy petty part, With a little hoard of maxims preaching down a daughter's heart. 'They were dangerous guides the feelings - - she herself was not exempt – Truly, she herself had suffer'd' - Perish in thy self-contempt! Overlive it lower yet be happy! wherefore should I care? I myself must mix with action, lest I wither by despair. What is that which I should turn to, lighting upon days like these? Every gate is throng'd with suitors, all the markets overflow. I have but an angry fancy: what is that which I should do? I had been content to perish, falling on the foeman's ground, When the ranks are roll'd in vapour, and the winds are laid with sound. But the jingling of the guinea helps the hurt that Honour feels, Yearning for the large excitement that the coming years would yield, And at night along the dusky highway near and nearer drawn, And his spirit leaps within him to be gone before him then, Men, my brothers, men the workers, ever reaping something new: For I dipt into the future, far as human eye could see, Saw the Vision of the world, and all the wonder that would be; Saw the heavens fill with commerce, argosies of magic sails, Heard the heavens fill with shouting, and there rain'd a ghastly dew |