University of Virginia Library

These were the last—last words from thee
When midnight on life's sunshine fell,
And love's immortal deity
Wailed on the breeze a wild farewell;
And, as I trace them, still I hear
The elysian music of thy voice,
And see the scene where hope and fear
Bade mingled hearts despair—rejoice—
Exult—despond—on sunbeams fly,
Or sink in sorrow's darken'd sea—
Prone on the earth—throned in the sky—
Victims and slaves of destiny!

Where art thou now?—where art thou now?
Not where the broken heart should rest,
Not where it scorns despair's wild vow,
Bosomed on heaven's unchanging breast,
Beyond the woes and wants and fears,
The meteor passions of lost earth,
The wreck and ruin of long years
Dark from their first and fatal birth;
But tried by time, beset by woe,
Yet doomed to crush its least revealing,
Lest he, thy tyrant lord, should throw
Torture o'er quick and wounded feeling;
Guarded, without a ray to guide
Thy mind beyond its hopeless hell,
The spectacle of mammon pride,
That glares within thy lone heart's cell,
'Till, oh! thy pale and awful brow
Reveals to all thy mournful story—
Such is thy fate, sweet Clara! now!
Such the last midnight of thy glory!

It was not thus when first we met—
Free as the air, fair as the sky,
And soft as flowers by spring dews wet,
All heaven seemed floating in thine eye,
All earth grew lovelier 'neath thy tread,
And poetry—the soul of heaven—
Crowned with the charm of ages fled,
Went forth with thee at starry even.
And thou wouldst summon round thee, then,
The shades of prophets once adored,
And people every mount and glen
With life—from mind's vast ocean poured;
And thou the priestess, by my side,
Didst walk, meantime, unconscious on,
As God's own stars through stormclouds glide,
And murmur love,—and art thou gone?

From many and dark adversities,
By felon foes and fools oppress'd,
Memory to thee on love's wings flies,
And on thine image sinks to rest;
Like the lone dove, that found no home
In the vast world of waters wild,
I cease in weariness to roam,
And find earth's heaven where thou hast smiled.
Hast smiled! oh, thou wilt smile no more,
No more thy voice harp on the breeze,
For love and love's last hope are o'er—
All—all thy full heart's psalteries!
Brief be my course, if 't is but bright!
I said, even when we were most blest,
And now, the phantom of a night,
I would lie down and be at rest
With all Time's blighted hopes and hearts—
The martyrs of a giant doom,
Where mind from mind no longer parts,
And heart weds heart—their shrine, the tomb!
'T was written! and we could not change
The evil fortune of our love,
And through misfortunes dire and strange
It hath been our's apart to rove,
Fulfilling fate and proud despair,
Ay, desolation's matchless pride—
And living mid the things that were—
Are we not blest, my bosom's bride?
Are we not blest, that fiends have done
The deadliest deed that fiends can do;
And that for us, no future sun
Hope's vain to-morrow can renew?
The troubled trance of fear hath gone,
The fever of the sleepless spirit—
Are we not blest—most blest—lost one!
No mightier grief we can inherit!

'T was early June—(how memory clings
To the one charm of glowing youth,
And o'er all time a glory flings
From one quick hour of love and truth!)
When first, by Housatonic's stream,
And 'mid the woods of Ripton's hills,
We met—was 't not a heavenly dream?
We loved! oh, first affection fills
Earth, skies and stars—and soareth up
To Him, whose holiest name is love,
And drinketh at the kindling cup
By seraphs given in bowers above!
We met—we loved—and we forgot
That hate and danger and despair
Watched o'er our young unguarded lot,
Like Python in his festering lair;
That tortur'd vows pale lips had pass'd,
That persecution had pursued
The heart, that loves thee to the last,
E'en to remotest solitude—
And that we never could be one,
Till lust of gold had ceased to reign,
Till, by the waste of years undone,
We clasped—and died in age and pain!

This we forgot while far away
From hordes of slaves, who delve and grovel,
And deem'd us far more blest than they,
Though doomed to share a forest hovel;
And with a playful earnestness,
A melancholy mirth, that hid
The thoughts it could not all suppress,
And raised, as 't were, the coffin-lid
From hope's pale face to gaze farewell,
Thou badst me sing a cottage song,
Mid the dark ledges of the dell,
And thou wouldst sound the notes along
The wildwood glades when I had gone,
And cheer the gloom by thoughts of me!
Thus dream'd we once, beloved one!
No more such hours in days to be!
No more in gentle phantasies,
Imagination's robe of light,
We wrap our souls and breathe the breeze
Whose music spirits love at night!
Reason and custom, duties cold,
Harsh interests and fashions claim
Two burning hearts in sorrow old—
Two minds, that loved the flight of fame;
And we must sleep to dream of love,
And wake to mask our hearts from men,
And smile in bitter grief to prove
Earth is elysium—when, oh, when
In this cold world shall love be crown'd?
When shall the soul, that basks in bliss,
To holier worlds, from earth's dark mound,
Rise to love's throne, denied in this?
O Clara! Clara! wert thou blest,
No song of grief from me should swell,
For in this young but troubled breast
An image fair as thine doth dwell.
But thou art lost—and I must feel
The fearful fate that shadows thee,
And oft in secret places kneel
And pray for thy deep misery.
Assassin husband! felon son!
A MOTHER'S bribe, thy victim bride!
Lo, sacrilege and ruin done!
Go! triumph in thy demon pride!