 | Poems and Translations |  |
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LUCIA TO EDGARDO.
Yes, I have loved thee, O thou First and Only!
Who ever from my heart these humbled words hast drawn.
And what has been my life? A desert lonely,—
A black and starless night, that knew no other dawn
Than death,—a hopeless, agonizing lot:
For what meant joy and life where thou wert not?
Edgardo!
Who ever from my heart these humbled words hast drawn.
And what has been my life? A desert lonely,—
A black and starless night, that knew no other dawn
Than death,—a hopeless, agonizing lot:
For what meant joy and life where thou wert not?
Edgardo!
How oft, in dreams, my last heart-rending scene with thee
I view again. The waxen tapers' mellow light,
Brightening all that hall of fatal revelry;
The bridal maidens round me in their robes of white;
And my stern father sacrificing me
To long-forgotten feuds of family.
I view again. The waxen tapers' mellow light,
Brightening all that hall of fatal revelry;
The bridal maidens round me in their robes of white;
And my stern father sacrificing me
To long-forgotten feuds of family.
And I, so pale and trembling all, a death-like bride,
Amidst the scene of such fell mockery to me;
When lo! the crimson curtain slowly waved aside,
And cold, reproachful, O Edgardo, I saw thee;
Thy love to hate distorted on thy face,
Where scorn of tenderness had ta'en the place.
Amidst the scene of such fell mockery to me;
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And cold, reproachful, O Edgardo, I saw thee;
Thy love to hate distorted on thy face,
Where scorn of tenderness had ta'en the place.
Nor would'st thou e'en regard the passionate despair
Felt in my heart of hearts, and written on my face;
But with thy storm of hate lashed her, once thought so fair;
And pitilessly saw the form, once deemed all grace,
Quiver and fall, all death-like, at thy feet;
My bridal-robe, my rent heart's winding-sheet.
Felt in my heart of hearts, and written on my face;
But with thy storm of hate lashed her, once thought so fair;
And pitilessly saw the form, once deemed all grace,
Quiver and fall, all death-like, at thy feet;
My bridal-robe, my rent heart's winding-sheet.
And then I knew no more; and when I woke again,
O thou, my love, hadst gone forever, evermore,
And I awoke to agony and tears and pain;
And dark Despair her mantle spread my whole life o'er;
And all my days had changed, and hope was dead;
And all the joy of years to come had fled.
O thou, my love, hadst gone forever, evermore,
And I awoke to agony and tears and pain;
And dark Despair her mantle spread my whole life o'er;
And all my days had changed, and hope was dead;
And all the joy of years to come had fled.
And now, again, I feel a sudden thrill of joy;
For I am dying, love, and I shall meet thee soon.
I would that I could see once more on earth thy form,
But no! the sun dies, too; and with the rising moon
I shall have passed to other, brighter spheres,
And other lips will tell thee of my tears.
For I am dying, love, and I shall meet thee soon.
I would that I could see once more on earth thy form,
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I shall have passed to other, brighter spheres,
And other lips will tell thee of my tears.
They tell me, O my love, I oft have raved of thee,
And wandered, all regardless of their tears and pain,
With mad appeals to thee, and looks of vacancy,
And senseless words of love, and crazed and wildered brain;
And, in my frenzy, I would cry to thee,
And beg thee to return, on bended knee.
And wandered, all regardless of their tears and pain,
With mad appeals to thee, and looks of vacancy,
And senseless words of love, and crazed and wildered brain;
And, in my frenzy, I would cry to thee,
And beg thee to return, on bended knee.
I might have better borne through life thy awful hate,
Edgardo, than I bore thy silence and thy scorn.
Oh, scorn me not, but love me, love me, though so late;
I, dying, rise, and wild, beseech thee to return,
And I shall, with my woe, thy stern heart move.
Return, and love me with the old fond love!
Edgardo, than I bore thy silence and thy scorn.
Oh, scorn me not, but love me, love me, though so late;
I, dying, rise, and wild, beseech thee to return,
And I shall, with my woe, thy stern heart move.
Return, and love me with the old fond love!
Once more I rave!—Now all delirium is past,
And I, Edgardo, will not ask again thy love;
And though I would caress and love thee to the last,
I would not with my grief thy heart, my loved one, move.
I would not now reproach thee with my fate,
Though I have been so sad and desolate.
And I, Edgardo, will not ask again thy love;
And though I would caress and love thee to the last,
I would not with my grief thy heart, my loved one, move.
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Though I have been so sad and desolate.
And now, I will not send thee e'en a lock of hair
To cluster round thy heart-strings and recall my woe;
For thou, too, wilt forgive, when all my dread despair,
And tears and grief and love, Edgardo, thou dost know.
I will not leave to thee such mem'ries vain,—
Bequeath thy heart such fearful, needless pain.
To cluster round thy heart-strings and recall my woe;
For thou, too, wilt forgive, when all my dread despair,
And tears and grief and love, Edgardo, thou dost know.
I will not leave to thee such mem'ries vain,—
Bequeath thy heart such fearful, needless pain.
No, I will send to thee no more, save one last friend,
Beside me now, to tell thee all my misery,
And let thee know my faith, e'en to the dark, sad end,
And how I still could love through all mine agony.
So, with the sunlight on me, as I lie,
I can forgive thee, love, forgive and die,
Edgardo.
Beside me now, to tell thee all my misery,
And let thee know my faith, e'en to the dark, sad end,
And how I still could love through all mine agony.
So, with the sunlight on me, as I lie,
I can forgive thee, love, forgive and die,
Edgardo.
July 15th, 1864.
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