The poems posthumous and collected of Thomas Lovell Beddoes | ||
XLV. “Love is wiser than Ambition.”
Amala.O give not up the promise of your time
For me: for what? an evanescent woman,
A rose-leaf scarce unfolded ere it falls. Your days
Should be a wood of laurels evergreen:
Seek glory!
Athulf.
Glory! To be sung to tuneless harps!
A picture, and a name; to live for death!
Seek glory? Never. The world's gossip Fame
Is busy in the market-place, the change,
At court or wrangling senate, noting down
Him of the fattest purse, the fabulous crest,
125
If Glory goes among the bristling spears,
Which war is mowing down; or walks the wave,
When Fate weighs kingdoms in their battle-fleets;
Or watches the still student at his work,
Reading the laws of nature in the heavens,
Or earth's minutest creature; she may find me:
If not, I am contented with oblivion,
As all the other millions. My sweet fair,
One little word of confidence and love,
From lips beloved, thrilleth more my heart
Than brightest trumpet-touch of statued Fame.
My bird of Paradise, tell me some news
Of your own home.
Amala.
My home should be your heart:
What shall I tell of that?
Athulf.
Can you not see?
Surely the love that burns before thy image,
As sunny as a burning diamond,
Must shed its light without.
D. I. B.
The poems posthumous and collected of Thomas Lovell Beddoes | ||