 | [Poems by Whittier in] A Study of Whittier's Apprenticeship as a Poet |  |
225
THE DESTINY
Ask not of me, thou dark-eyed one
What may the future be—
Look to thy heart—and ask of none
To read the stars for thee!
Look back upon the silentness
Of unreturning years—
The faded hours of early bliss—
Of passion and of tears.
What may the future be—
Look to thy heart—and ask of none
To read the stars for thee!
Look back upon the silentness
Of unreturning years—
The faded hours of early bliss—
Of passion and of tears.
Yet stay—the spell is over me—
And I must speak thy doom!
Like dark waves on a midnight sea
Behold thy future come!
Ay, bend thy brow as manhood may—
And scoffing as thou wilt—
I see thee on thy future way—
A haunted thing of guilt!
And I must speak thy doom!
Like dark waves on a midnight sea
Behold thy future come!
Ay, bend thy brow as manhood may—
And scoffing as thou wilt—
I see thee on thy future way—
A haunted thing of guilt!
Thou'rt hasting from thy native land—
With crime upon thy soul
Not such as lifts the midnight brand—
The dagger or the bowl!
No, thine hath been a guiltier part—
It hath a darker seal—
Thy pride hath crushed the human heart
As with an iron heel!
With crime upon thy soul
Not such as lifts the midnight brand—
The dagger or the bowl!
No, thine hath been a guiltier part—
It hath a darker seal—
Thy pride hath crushed the human heart
As with an iron heel!
Go to the classic shrines of old—
The tombs of mighty men—
Where desolation, grey and cold
Telleth of what has been.
Go dream beside the Parthenon—
Or by Grenada's walls—
Or linger where the desert sun
On Tadmor's ruins falls.
The tombs of mighty men—
Where desolation, grey and cold
Telleth of what has been.
226
Or by Grenada's walls—
Or linger where the desert sun
On Tadmor's ruins falls.
Yet there—thy dreams of power and gloom
One thought shall glide between—
Above the hero's crumbled tomb
The martyred one shall lean!
And, through the old, deserted pile,
That pale, still form shall glide
And dimly in the pillared aisle
Steal softly at thy side!
One thought shall glide between—
Above the hero's crumbled tomb
The martyred one shall lean!
And, through the old, deserted pile,
That pale, still form shall glide
And dimly in the pillared aisle
Steal softly at thy side!
Go mingle with the glad and gay,
And bow at pleasure's shrine—
And Beauty's fairest forms shall lay
Their gentle hands in thine,
Yet there—a spectre—ever nigh—
The injured one shall come
And underneath Love's melting eye
Shall turn thy smile to gloom!
And bow at pleasure's shrine—
And Beauty's fairest forms shall lay
Their gentle hands in thine,
Yet there—a spectre—ever nigh—
The injured one shall come
And underneath Love's melting eye
Shall turn thy smile to gloom!
Go now—the lingering curse is given
The spell is laid on thee—
The scorn of Earth—the wrath of Heaven
Is in thy destiny!
Or on the land, or on the sea,
In shadow or in sun—
That spectral form shall follow thee—
The broken-hearted one!
The spell is laid on thee—
The scorn of Earth—the wrath of Heaven
Is in thy destiny!
Or on the land, or on the sea,
In shadow or in sun—
That spectral form shall follow thee—
The broken-hearted one!
New England Weekly Review, August 23, 1830
| [Poems by Whittier in] A Study of Whittier's Apprenticeship as a Poet | |