 | [Poems by Whittier in] A Study of Whittier's Apprenticeship as a Poet |  |
THE BETROTHED BURNESE TO HER HEATHEN LOVER
Perchance, when life hath passed away,
My dust may claim from thee a sigh;
That one who loved thee should decay,
Though joy was in her dying eye;
That clay which once was spirit-lit,
Should mingle with its fellow-clod,
Then thou may'st oft remember it:—
Then when my soul is borne to God!
My dust may claim from thee a sigh;
That one who loved thee should decay,
Though joy was in her dying eye;
That clay which once was spirit-lit,
Should mingle with its fellow-clod,
Then thou may'st oft remember it:—
Then when my soul is borne to God!
Ah! I have loved thee, deep and long—
None but my heart its depth may tell!
There is a penury in my song,
To paint the indescribable!
The gathering thoughts—the many fears,
That shadowed o'er my fevered brow,
That touched my cheek with bitter tears,
And made me pale as I am now.
None but my heart its depth may tell!
There is a penury in my song,
To paint the indescribable!
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That shadowed o'er my fevered brow,
That touched my cheek with bitter tears,
And made me pale as I am now.
[OMITTED]
And wilt thou bow in homage still,
To darkness and idolatry?
Oh, let me kneel and change thy will—
Once I was blind—but now I see:—
Lo! upon Faith's unclouded eye,
The gleams of endless rest break in;
Beyond the mystery of the sky,
Where boundless Love's unstained by sin!
To darkness and idolatry?
Oh, let me kneel and change thy will—
Once I was blind—but now I see:—
Lo! upon Faith's unclouded eye,
The gleams of endless rest break in;
Beyond the mystery of the sky,
Where boundless Love's unstained by sin!
Let it be thus! I would not live
And lose the treasure I have won,
The earth-born hopes may ne'er revive,
To cheer the heart that feels thy scorn:—
And should the tide of life roll on,
In shadows and in misery,
My soul shall turn from phantom's gone,
And, my Redeemer, cling to thee!
And lose the treasure I have won,
The earth-born hopes may ne'er revive,
To cheer the heart that feels thy scorn:—
And should the tide of life roll on,
In shadows and in misery,
My soul shall turn from phantom's gone,
And, my Redeemer, cling to thee!
Stanzas 1, 2, 6, 7 Connecticut Mirror, November 12, 1831
| [Poems by Whittier in] A Study of Whittier's Apprenticeship as a Poet | |