 | The heir of the world, and lesser poems |  |
229
THE MAIDEN'S FAREWELL.
Oh, could'st thou feel as I have felt,
Or weep alone as I have wept,
Or kneel where I have often knelt,
Thou wouldst not scorn the love I've kept.
Or weep alone as I have wept,
Or kneel where I have often knelt,
Thou wouldst not scorn the love I've kept.
Couldst thou but see my alter'd brow
And tearful eye, when all alone
My heart bleeds o'er thy broken vow,
Thou wouldst not do as thou hast done.
And tearful eye, when all alone
My heart bleeds o'er thy broken vow,
Thou wouldst not do as thou hast done.
Pale are the lips thou lov'dst to kiss,
The eyes are dim that once were bright,
And sorrow takes the place of bliss—
Oh, can this give thy heart delight?
The eyes are dim that once were bright,
And sorrow takes the place of bliss—
Oh, can this give thy heart delight?
The long lone night I watch and weep,
When dreams of joy are thine to prove;
And pray for thee when others sleep—
Where couldst thou find more faithful love?
When dreams of joy are thine to prove;
And pray for thee when others sleep—
Where couldst thou find more faithful love?
To sigh o'er hopes for ever gone,
And feel my sorrows worse than vain,
To love, unlov'd, a faithless one,
Who taught me bliss to make it pain;
And feel my sorrows worse than vain,
To love, unlov'd, a faithless one,
Who taught me bliss to make it pain;
To think past hours of rapture o'er,
And turn to hours of secret wo—
This is the fate of Truth—and more—
How couldst thou wring my bosom so?
And turn to hours of secret wo—
This is the fate of Truth—and more—
How couldst thou wring my bosom so?
230
I thought that love, like heaven, was kind,
And soft and sweet as spring's first flowers,
And that the ties which young hearts bind
Were bright hopes born of holy hours.
And soft and sweet as spring's first flowers,
And that the ties which young hearts bind
Were bright hopes born of holy hours.
I thought that thou—'tis over now—
I may not think of what I thought;
My blighted love—thy broken vow
A fearful work in me hath wrought.
I may not think of what I thought;
My blighted love—thy broken vow
A fearful work in me hath wrought.
But fare thee well—the world is wide—
The paths of pleasure spread before thee—
The charm of power—the spell of pride,
If not the smile of heaven, is o'er thee.
The paths of pleasure spread before thee—
The charm of power—the spell of pride,
If not the smile of heaven, is o'er thee.
Go, woo and wed some happier maid,
And I will weep and pray the while,
That she may not in sorrow fade,
But kindle virtue by her smile.
And I will weep and pray the while,
That she may not in sorrow fade,
But kindle virtue by her smile.
Yet couldst thou feel as I have felt,
And love as I have lov'd, but one;
Thy soul would bow, thy heart would melt—
Thou wouldst not do as thou hast done.
And love as I have lov'd, but one;
Thy soul would bow, thy heart would melt—
Thou wouldst not do as thou hast done.
| The heir of the world, and lesser poems | |