And thou too art in bonds! Yet droop thou not, O my beloved! there is one hopeless lot,
But one, and that not ours.
There sits the grief that mantles up its head, Loathing the laughter and proud pomp of light, When darkness, from the vainly doting sight Covers its beautiful! If thou wert gone
To the grave's bosom, with thy radiant brow— If thy deep-thrilling voice, with that low tone
Of earnest tenderness, which now, even now, Seems floating through my soul, were music taken For ever from this world-oh! thus forsaken
Could I bear on? Thou livest, thou livest, thou'rt mine! With this glad thought I make my heart a shrine,
And by the lamp which quenchless there shall burn, Sit a lone watcher for the day's return.
And lo! the joy that cometh with the morning, Brightly victorious o'er the hours of care! I have not watched in vain, serenely scorning The wild and busy whispers of despair! Thou hast sent tidings, as of heaven—I wait The hour, the sign, for blessed flight to thee. Oh! for the skylark's wing that seeks its mate As a star shoots!—but on the breezy sea We shall meet soon. To think of such an hour! Will not my heart, o'erburdened by its bliss, Faint and give way within me, as a flower Borne down and perishing by noontide's kiss? Yet shall I fear that lot-the perfect rest, The full deep joy of dying on thy breast,
After long suffering won? So rich a close Too seldom crowns with peace affection's woes.
Sunset! I tell each moment. From the skies The last red splendour floats along my wall, Like a king's banner! Now it melts, it dies! I see one star-I hear 'twas not the call,
Th' expected voice; my quick heart throbbed too soon. I must keep vigil till yon rising moon
Shower down less golden light. Beneath her beam Through my lone lattice poured, I sit and dream Of summer lands afar, where holy love,
Under the vine or in the citron grove,
May breathe from terror.
Now the night grows deep,
And silent as its clouds, and full of sleep.
I hear my veins beat. Hark! a bell's slow chime!
My heart strikes with it.
!—or but a rising breeze?
Hark! haste!-I come to meet thee on the seas!
Now never more, oh! never, in the worth Of its pure cause, let sorrowing love on earth Trust fondly-never more! The hope is crushed That lit my life, the voice within me hushed That spoke sweet oracles; and I return To lay my youth, as in a burial urn, Where sunshine may not find it. All is lost! No tempest met our barks—no billow tossed; Yet were they severed, even as we must be, That so have loved, so striven our hearts to free
From their close coiling fate! In vain-in vain! The dark links meet, and clasp themselves again, And press out life. Upon the deck I stood, And a white sail came gliding o'er the flood, Like some proud bird of ocean; then mine eye Strained out, one moment earlier to descry The form it ached for, and the bark's career Seemed slow to that fond yearning: it drew near, Fraught with our foes! What boots it to recall The strife, the tears? Once more a prison wall Shuts the green hills and woodlands from my sight, And joyous glance of waters to the light, And thee, my Seymour!-thee!
Thou, thou hast rent the heavy chain that bound thee! And this shall be my strength-the joy to think
That thou may'st wander with heaven's breath around
And all the laughing sky! This thought shall yet Shine o'er my heart a radiant amulet,
Guarding it from despair. Thy bonds are broken; ' And unto me, I know, thy true love's token Shall one day be deliverance, though the years Lie dim between, o'erhung with mists of tears.
My friend! my friend! where art thou? Day by day, Gliding like some dark mournful stream away, My silent youth flows from me. Spring, the while, Comes and rains beauty on the kindling boughs Round hall and hamlet; summer with her smile
Fills the green forest; young hearts breathe their vows;
Brothers long parted meet; fair children rise
Round the glad board; hope laughs from loving eyes :
All this is in the world!-these joys lie sown, The dew of every path! On one alone
Their freshness may not fall-the stricken deer Dying of thirst with all the waters near.
Ye are from dingle and fresh glade, ye flowers! By some kind hand to cheer my dungeon sent; O'er you the oak shed down the summer showers, And the lark's nest was where your bright cups bent, Quivering to breeze and raindrop, like the sheen Of twilight stars. On you heaven's eye hath been Through the leaves pouring its dark sultry blue Into your glowing hearts; the bee to you Hath murmured, and the rill. My soul grows faint With passionate yearning, as its quick dreams paint Your haunts by dell and stream-the green, the free, The full of all sweet sound-the shut from me!
There went a swift bird singing past my cell- O Love and Freedom! ye are lovely things! With you the peasant on the hills may dwell, And by the streams. But I-the blood of kings, A proud unmingling river, through my veins Flows in lone brightness, and its gifts are chains! Kings !—I had silent visions of deep bliss, Leaving their thrones far distant; and for this I am cast under their triumphal car,
An insect to be crushed! Oh! heaven is far- Earth pitiless!
Dost thou forget me, Seymour? I am proved So long, so sternly! Seymour, my beloved!
There are such tales of holy marvels done By strong affection, of deliverance won
Through its prevailing power! Are these things told Till the young weep with rapture, and the old Wonder, yet dare not doubt; and thou! oh, thou! Dost thou forget me in my hope's decay?— Thou canst not! Through the silent night, even now, I, that need prayer so much, awake and pray Still first for thee. O gentle, gentle friend! How shall I bear this anguish to the end?
Aid!-comes there yet no aid? The voice of blood Passes heaven's gate, even ere the crimson flood Sinks through the greensward! Is there not a cry From the wrung heart, of power, through agony, To pierce the clouds? Hear, Mercy !-hear me! None That bleed and weep beneath the smiling sun
Have heavier cause! Yet hear!-my soul grows dark!- Who hears the last shriek from the sinking bark On the mid seas, and with the storm alone, And bearing to the abyss, unseen, unknown,
Its freight of human hearts? Th' o'ermastering wave! Who shall tell how it rushed-and none to save!
Thou hast forsaken me! I feel, I know, There would be rescue if this were not so. Thou'rt at the chase, thou'rt at the festive board, Thou'rt where the red wine free and high is poured, Thou'rt where the dancers meet! A magic glass Is set within my soul, and proud shapes pass, Flushing it o'er with pomp from bower and hall: I see one shadow, stateliest there of all-
Thine! What dost thou amidst the bright and fair, Whispering light words, and mocking my despair?
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