 | [Poems by Whittier in] A Study of Whittier's Apprenticeship as a Poet |  |
STANZAS
Forgive thee—ay—I do forgive thee,
And bless thee as we part,
And pray that years may never leave thee
My agony of heart.
I call no shadowy malison
Upon thy fair young brow,
But would thy life might ever run
As sunwardly as now.
And bless thee as we part,
And pray that years may never leave thee
My agony of heart.
I call no shadowy malison
Upon thy fair young brow,
But would thy life might ever run
As sunwardly as now.
I know that I have knelt too lowly
For smiles so oft withdrawn,—
That trusting love received too slowly
The lesson of thy scorn,—
That thou hast had thy triumph hour,
Unquestioned and complete,
When prompted by a spell of power,
I knelt me at thy feet.
For smiles so oft withdrawn,—
That trusting love received too slowly
The lesson of thy scorn,—
That thou hast had thy triumph hour,
Unquestioned and complete,
When prompted by a spell of power,
I knelt me at thy feet.
'Tis over now—the spell is broken—
The lingering charm hath fled,
And pass away like thought unspoken,
The vows which thou hast said;
I give thee back thy plighted word—
Its tone of love shall be
Like music by the slumbrous heard—
A dreamer's melody.
The lingering charm hath fled,
And pass away like thought unspoken,
The vows which thou hast said;
I give thee back thy plighted word—
Its tone of love shall be
Like music by the slumbrous heard—
A dreamer's melody.
Go now—the light of Hope is on thee,
Thy lover's claims are o'er—
A thousand smiles thy charms hath won thee
They'll win a thousand more;
For Beauty hath a charming spell,
Upon the human will,
Though false the heart it veils so well,
It hath its homage still.
Thy lover's claims are o'er—
A thousand smiles thy charms hath won thee
They'll win a thousand more;
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Upon the human will,
Though false the heart it veils so well,
It hath its homage still.
Go—blue-eyed girl!—the proud shall meet thee
And gladden in thy smile,
And flattery's pleasant lip shall greet thee,
With the bland words of guile.
Go, try the recklessness of Earth,
With that young heart of thine,
And lavish its unpractised mirth
On Pleasure's every shrine.
And gladden in thy smile,
And flattery's pleasant lip shall greet thee,
With the bland words of guile.
Go, try the recklessness of Earth,
With that young heart of thine,
And lavish its unpractised mirth
On Pleasure's every shrine.
Thy pleasant path may yet be shaded,—
A shadow cross thy sun—
The rosy wreath that Love has braided
Fall from thee one by one.
And yet thou hast my earnest prayer
For blessings on thy way,
That flowers may spring and blossom there
Which know not of decay.
A shadow cross thy sun—
The rosy wreath that Love has braided
Fall from thee one by one.
And yet thou hast my earnest prayer
For blessings on thy way,
That flowers may spring and blossom there
Which know not of decay.
The oak whereon the falling thunder
Hath passed, may yet remain,
The cliff by lightning torn asunder,
May dare the storm again;—
And I can bear myself so well,
In manhood's sterner part
That neither brow nor lip shall tell
The ruin of the heart.
Hath passed, may yet remain,
The cliff by lightning torn asunder,
May dare the storm again;—
And I can bear myself so well,
In manhood's sterner part
That neither brow nor lip shall tell
The ruin of the heart.
Haverhill Iris, September 13, 1833 (From New England Weekly Review)
| [Poems by Whittier in] A Study of Whittier's Apprenticeship as a Poet | |