Oн, ask me not how long thy gentle love Hath dwelt on me;
I only know 'tis long enough to prove Thy constancy.
I cannot pause to number months, or days, I know alone,
If to be faithful be Love's highest praise, Thou wearest the crown.
Oh, thou hast loved me long enough to show Thou canst not range;
And long enough to bid experience know How others change.
Oh, long enough for the upbraiding thought, That ne'er till now,
I prized thy love's rich treasure as I ought, My all below.
Yes, I have seen full many a dream depart With faithless speed;
And some, who should have gently used my heart, Have made it bleed.
And I have rued Affection's broken vow, And felt the chill
Of Friendship's altered eye-but, dearest, thou Art faithful still.
Is she not beautiful, although so pale? The first May flowers are not more colourless Than her white cheek; yet I recall the time When she was called the rose-bud of our village. There was a blush, half modesty, half health, Upon her cheek fresh as the summer morn With which she rose. A cloud of chestnut curls Like twilight darkened o'er her blue-veined brow; And through their hazel curtains eyes whose light Was like the violets when April skies
Have given their own pure colour to the leaves, Shone sweet and silent as the twilight star. And she was happy; innocence and hope Make the young heart a paradise for love. And she loved and was loved. The youth was one That dwelt upon the waters. He had been Where sweeps the blue Atlantic a wide world— Had seen the sun light up the flowers like gems In the bright Indian isles-had breathed the air When sweet with cinnamon and gum and spice, But he said that no air brought health or balm Like that on his own hills, when it had swept O'er orchards in their bloom, or hedges where Blossomed the hawthorn and the honeysuckle ;- That, but one voyage more and he would come To his dear Ellen and her cottage home- Dwell there in love and peace. And then he kissed Her tears away, talked of the pleasant years Which they should pass together—of the pride
He would take in his constancy; Oh hope Is very eloquent! and as the hours Passed by their fireside in calm cheerfulness, Ellen forgot to weep.
Of parting came; 'twas the first month of spring. Like a green fan spread the horse-chestnut leaves, A shower of yellow bloom was on the elm, The daisies shone like silver, and the boughs Were covered with their blossoms, and the sky Was like an augury of hope, so clear
So beautifully blue. Love! oh young Love! Why hast thou not security? Thou art Like a bright river on whose course the weeds Are thick and heavy; briars are on its banks, And jagged stones and rocks are mid its waves. Conscious of its own beauty, it will rush Over its many obstacles, and pant For some green valley as its quiet home. Either it rushes with a desperate leap Over its barriers, foaming passionate, But prisoned still; or winding languidly Becomes dark, like oblivion, or else wastes Itself away. This is Love's history!
They parted one spring evening; the green sea Had scarce a curl upon its wave; the ship Rode like a Queen of Ocean.-Ellen wept, But not disconsolate, for she had hope; She knew not then the bitterness of tears.
But night closed in, and with the night there came Tempest upon the wind; the ocean light Glared like a funeral pile; all else was black And terrible as death. We heard a sound Come from the ocean-one lone signal gun, Asking for help in vain-followed by shrieks,
Borne by the ravening gale; then deepest silence: Some gallant souls had perished. With the first Dim light of morn we sought the beach; and there Lay fragments of a ship, and human shapes Ghastly and gashed. But the worst sight of all A sight of living misery met our gaze; Seated upon a rock, drenched by the rain, Her hair torn by the wind, there Ellen sat, Pale, motionless. How could love guide her there? A corpse lay by her, in her arms its head Found a fond pillow; and o'er it she watched As the young mother watches her first child. It was her lover.
On ! it is sweet, amid the waste of years,
To meet with one-be he till then unknown
That cometh from the land where first our feet have gone.
When friends are lost, hopes wither, and our tears Freeze in their fountains-but a voice breaks
Hearts warm, hopes bloom, and eyes weep love anew !
It is a soft spring rain that doth awaken The flowers of Paradise in grief to know
The friends of youth more blessed, or dream that it is so.
What though sure knowledge strive with hope and break
The illusive mirror? it betrayeth not
Is it not sweet though sad to prove them unforgot?
"Wear this for me."-As YOU LIKE IT, Act. i., Sc. 2.
OH! wear this simple chain for me, That, when long years have passed away, Each severed link may offer thee
An emblem of my own decay. Yet, no! an hour may see that chain United by the hand of art;
But what can ever join again,
The rent links of a broken heart!
Recall the hours when Love's fond kiss Gave transport to our cloudless youth; Which lingered fondly-like my bliss- Then fled for ever-like thy truth.
The cold world's frown-the proud man's scorn— To be by all forgot-reviled-
Oh! these and more I could have borne,
Had'st thou but loved-had'st thou but smiled.
My love has been "too deep for tears," And sighs have told it 'twas confessed By ruined health and blighted years, By fallen hopes and vanished rest— Yet wear this simple chain for me, And keep it as a parting token Of one, whose youthful love to thee, Unlike his heart, remained unbroken.
« ПредишнаНапред » |