Dramatic Scenes With Other Poems, Now First Printed. By Barry Cornwall [i.e. Bryan Waller Procter]. Illustrated |
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OLD LOVE. |
 | Dramatic Scenes |  |
OLD LOVE.
You left me: I left you: (trampled down).
Were we not wrenched, we two, apart,
When your father's rage and your mother's frown
Sent a sting and a spasm to either heart?
Were we not wrenched, we two, apart,
When your father's rage and your mother's frown
Sent a sting and a spasm to either heart?
You married, to pamper a father's pride;
I sank to the furrow and ploughed the soil:
You were slandered and praised thro' the country wide;
I, quietly scorned, was forced to toil.
I sank to the furrow and ploughed the soil:
You were slandered and praised thro' the country wide;
I, quietly scorned, was forced to toil.
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You floated, a cork on the topmost wave;
I fell, a stone on the rocks below:
You were driven about, too near your grave,
While I heard from my cavern the tempests blow.
I fell, a stone on the rocks below:
You were driven about, too near your grave,
While I heard from my cavern the tempests blow.
But the tempest fell. It has left you—life:
It has freed you at last from a master stern.
No need to re-plunge in the stormy strife,
Or again the hard lesson of life to learn.
It has freed you at last from a master stern.
No need to re-plunge in the stormy strife,
Or again the hard lesson of life to learn.
I am here who have loved you for twenty years.
You are poor: I am wealthy—in gold and land;
You have suffered your sorrow; I had my tears:
Peace cometh. I offer my horny hand,
You are poor: I am wealthy—in gold and land;
You have suffered your sorrow; I had my tears:
Peace cometh. I offer my horny hand,
My heart, and my fortune; all that's mine!
Life still has its evening;—but I have done:
If you love me, it is but to make a sign:
If not,—ah! you tremble, and—you make none!
Life still has its evening;—but I have done:
If you love me, it is but to make a sign:
If not,—ah! you tremble, and—you make none!
No sign,—but a smile, like the spasm that ran
Thro' my bosom, now stingeth my heart with pain:
'Tis a pang!—but I rise up a wiser man,
And I turn to my brother, the plough, again.
Thro' my bosom, now stingeth my heart with pain:
'Tis a pang!—but I rise up a wiser man,
And I turn to my brother, the plough, again.
| Dramatic Scenes | |