University of Virginia Library

'Would the green curtain of the grave
Were drawn around my last cold rest,
As softly as yon shadows wave
Around the far blue mountain's breast;
For length of life is length of woe,
And human love at best deceit;
All we have known—we still shall know,
All we have met—we still must meet:
And weary grows our desert way
While every light, save Hope's, hath fled,
And that is dim as winter's day
With vainly watching o'er the dead!
Here we must mingle with the low,
And half forget our spirits' power,
And feel our burning bosoms grow
Cold as their own with every hour;
And we must watch and weep and pray
To shun the death that would be kind,
And for the need of one poor day
Wreck all the glories of the mind!
None think as we have ever thought,
Chained vassals to their daily bread;
None know the feelings that have wrought
Such triumph o'er the heart and head!
They hear a voice—they see a form,
'T is all they think—and all they care—
They cannot catch the feelings warm,
The pride, the glory, the despair,
That pass, like evening lights, o'er all
The moments of a spirit's life,
Wrapping the heart within a pall
Whose dark folds tremble in the strife!
Dark—dark hath been, through many a scene,
My wayward lot of varied woe,
And settled gloom doth lour between
Hope and ought better here below;
For friends forsake and foes wax strong,
And e'en the rabble bow to me—
Hatred, disgrace, oppression, wrong,
Have sealed my utter destiny.
I feel not now as once I felt—
The thrilling throb, the unbending brow,
The unfaltering knee that never bent,
The heart, the soul, have left me now;
And I am doomed to wear away
The gifts once honoured by thy praise,
And far—how far!—from bliss astray,
To end unknown my cheerless days.

Well, be it so!—I would not be
One of the herd I loathe and scorn,
For all the wealth of land and sea,
Though 't were as glorious as the morn.
I would not deign to dwell in guile,
To damn my neighbour with a lie,
To sack and plunder with a smile,
And follow pious infamy,
Though Eos were a world of gems,
And I were monarch of the whole—
Though forest leaves were diadems,
And I God's image with a soul!—
I have an eye, a spirit still
For Nature in her sweetest moods;
The silvery stream, the sunny hill,
The majesty of solitudes;
The music of the waterfall,
The vesper hymn at daylight's close,
The ragged rocks that tower o'er all,
While the grass springs, the blue sky glows.
Mid these fair scenes I half forget
The wrongs, the woes, that I have borne,
And, though my brightest star hath set,
Stretched on the cliff, I cease to mourn.
There 's sweetness in the flowering grove,
There 's beauty in the waveless river,
And, while I gaze abroad, I love,
Adore, and bless the mighty Giver,
And feel my spirit borne away
Beyond the things of common note,
Forgetful of my dust and clay,
On which the herd of mortals dote.
In the old days of wisdom, when
A child was born, the father wept:
He knew his soul would turn again
Back to the fount where it had slept.
When years had ta'en away his strength,
And cares had clouded his bright brow,
And he had found that all, at length,
Verged into woe—an endless Now!
So they wailed o'er the birth of one
Whose death-hour would bring joy to all
Who loved him ere his race begun,
But loved him more beneath the pall!

Clara! my strain is closing now!
'T is the last sweep of breaking chords—
'T is the last pulse—the last dark flow
Of the wild heart's mysterious words!
I 've seen thee when thy heart was gay,
When sadness flitted o'er thy face,
In merry crowds by night and day,
And kneeling in the holy place;
And I have loved as few can love,
Without a hope, without a fear,
As the heart gushes forth above,
With the quick pulse and starting tear;
And now—(my spirit quails to think
I ne'er shall speak thy name again!)
I stand upon the utmost brink
That bounds the path of human pain.
The chain is forged—the doom is sealed—
The knell hath tolled—the hour is come!
A guiding light hath been revealed
Through the dark mazes of earth's gloom;
And I will follow on my way,
Like one whose task is finished here—
The unknown being of a day,
Whose highest rapture was a tear.
Clara! farewell! the time hath been
When I could sigh that lovely name,
But that hath passed—and every scene
That led me on to love and fame.
The woes I bear 't were vain to tell—
Hear all in—Love! farewell! farewell!