Julia Alpinula With The Captive of Stamboul and Other Poems. By J. H. Wiffen |
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| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| XVI. |
| XVII. |
| XVIII. |
| XIX. |
| XX. |
| XXI. |
| XXII. |
| XXIII. |
| XXIV. |
| XXV. |
| XXVI. |
| XXVII. |
| XXVIII. |
| XXIX. |
| XXX. |
| XXXI. |
| XXXII. |
| XXXIII. |
| XXXIV. |
| XXXV. |
| XXXVI. |
| XXXVII. |
| XXXVIII. |
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 | Julia Alpinula |  |
XVII.
Yes,—these shall all be theirs, and hers the careTo save the ripest fruits for him to share,
Or whate'er else stern Manuel may impart
To feed with life her agony of heart,
To smile away the clouds which intervene
To make his present what the past had been;
And he, too, in such visions, feeleth more
Of promised comfort than in years before.
Yes! though a thousand tender ties allied
The young, the plighted bridegroom to his bride,
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To tend her as a florist tends a flower,
Note each bright sparkle of her eye, each tress
Whose motion was a living loveliness,
Treasure each object that had felt her touch,
And ever in her absence think of such,
Yet, never, in her bridal hours, she seemed
So beautiful as now, when o'er her streamed
Her hair from recent sorrow loosely thrown
On the fair breast that throbbed for him alone—
Now,—when her many sufferings all approved
How she resented, and how fondly loved.
The blooms of virgin passion past away,
Time gives to Woman deeper claims than they,—
That new existence flushing round the heart,
The friendship, pure, which acts a sister's part.
No act of hers but breathes a secret charm,
Desires all innocent, affections warm;
The white transparent candour of the brow,
No false appearance, no dissembled vow,
But open faith, unconscious of a crime,
Emotions mild, and harmonized by time;
A concord ripened into love sincere,
Kind without doubt, and tender without tear;—
The electric threads which by new instincts tied,
Age does but strengthen, pain can not divide:
170
So fond in good, so doubly fond in ill,
That only at our glance of scorn or hate,
Scorched they recoil, and leave us to our fate!
| Julia Alpinula | |