 | Areytos or songs and ballads of the South |  |
TO-MORROW!—OH, TO-MORROW!
I.
To-morrow!—oh, to-morrow!—With that fearful word, my heart
Grows to agony, from sorrow—
With the morrow we must part
The pleasant dream which made
Of our doom forgetful long,
Hath deliver'd us, betray'd us,
And the madness follows wrong.
96
II.
Oh! deeply, for the error,Must our thoughtless hearts atone,
When, from tenderness, in terror,
We start up to feel alone!
With the stays that bound us shiver'd,
With the hope that warm'd us fled,
Our summer vessels sever'd,
And the horrid storm o'er head!
III.
Ah! how blind, how deaf, each bosom,To the warning voice that told
How the beauty of Love's blossom,
Should not shield it from the cold;
How, in Passion's generous error,
Never heeding human bound,
Love should rear her fruits in terror,
And no plea for mercy found.
IV.
But in vain the cruel-heartedWould our true affection shake:
We may perish, not be parted—
May be sunder'd, not forsake!
The one solace still is left us,
In all other things undone:
They have not of Love bereft us,
And they can not—we are one!
| Areytos or songs and ballads of the South | |