 | The poetical writings of the late Willis Gaylord Clark |  |
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LOVE'S RIVAL.
“Trevylyan drew back, and, without another word, hurried away; he returned to the town; he sought, with methodical calmness, the owner of a piece of ground on which Gertrude had wished to be buried. He purchased it, and that very night he sought the priest of a neighboring church, and directed it should be consecrated according to the due rite and ceremonial.
“The priest, an aged and pious man, was struck by the request, and the air of him who made it.
“‘Shall it be done forthwith, sir?’ said he, hesitating. ‘Forthwith,’ answered Trevylyan, with a calm smile; ‘a bridegroom, you know, is naturally impatient.’”—
Pilgrims of the Rhine.
Oh, thou that lovest! do not deem thou hast no rival nigh,
To interrupt thy visions, or cloud thy golden sky;
And though Hope's syren voice beguile, believe not all her song,
Nor deem the joys enduring that to the lay belong.
Thou hast a rival, lover, however blest thou art,
How dear soe'er the object be, that kindles up thy heart;
There may be bloom upon her cheek, light on her forehead fair,
And balm upon her rich red lip, as sweet as roses are;
And kindness in her lustrous eyes on thee alone bestowed,
The stars that guide thy pilgrimage on life's uncertain road;
It may appear that all in all, thou art alone to her.
And yet, thou hast a rival, deluded worshipper!
To interrupt thy visions, or cloud thy golden sky;
And though Hope's syren voice beguile, believe not all her song,
Nor deem the joys enduring that to the lay belong.
Thou hast a rival, lover, however blest thou art,
How dear soe'er the object be, that kindles up thy heart;
There may be bloom upon her cheek, light on her forehead fair,
And balm upon her rich red lip, as sweet as roses are;
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The stars that guide thy pilgrimage on life's uncertain road;
It may appear that all in all, thou art alone to her.
And yet, thou hast a rival, deluded worshipper!
Yes, though the kisses from her lips, when they to thine are prest,
Are like the fragrant winds of Spring that wander from the West:
Though that voice is kindest to thine ear, and though that tender eye
Is brighter when thy step is heard, and when thy form is nigh;
Though every glance be full of love, yet fate will bid thee own
Thou hast a busy rival, thou idolizing one!
A rival, horrible and grim, yet wooing unconfined,
Whom tears nor prayers can overcome, nor exorcism bind.
Are like the fragrant winds of Spring that wander from the West:
Though that voice is kindest to thine ear, and though that tender eye
Is brighter when thy step is heard, and when thy form is nigh;
Though every glance be full of love, yet fate will bid thee own
Thou hast a busy rival, thou idolizing one!
A rival, horrible and grim, yet wooing unconfined,
Whom tears nor prayers can overcome, nor exorcism bind.
He walks a spectre by her side, impalpable as Night—
He wafts to her the fever-dream, and checks her young delight;
And though unseen by mortal eye, and clothed in vapors dim,
He yet will win her to his arms, to sleep in peace with him:
He will fold her, unresisting, to his lone and gloomy breast,
And curtains, dark as Midian's land, draw round her place of rest;
And torn from thy caressing arms, fond lover! she will be
Within a narrow mansion, enclosed away from thee.
He wafts to her the fever-dream, and checks her young delight;
And though unseen by mortal eye, and clothed in vapors dim,
He yet will win her to his arms, to sleep in peace with him:
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And curtains, dark as Midian's land, draw round her place of rest;
And torn from thy caressing arms, fond lover! she will be
Within a narrow mansion, enclosed away from thee.
Death is that rival, lover! and soon or late will rend
From thy embrace his victim, thy fond one, and thy friend!
And when he knocketh at thy door, thou canst not say him nay—
He will rob thee of thy treasure, and bear it hence away.
Then love, with fear and trembling, the idol of thy soul—
For life's bright cord is feeble, and frail its golden bowl:
And let the cloudless eye of faith the hour of rapture see,
When “raised in incorruption” ye both at last may be!
From thy embrace his victim, thy fond one, and thy friend!
And when he knocketh at thy door, thou canst not say him nay—
He will rob thee of thy treasure, and bear it hence away.
Then love, with fear and trembling, the idol of thy soul—
For life's bright cord is feeble, and frail its golden bowl:
And let the cloudless eye of faith the hour of rapture see,
When “raised in incorruption” ye both at last may be!
| The poetical writings of the late Willis Gaylord Clark | |