 | Grouped thoughts and scattered fancies |  |
LXX.
THE BROKEN HEART.
Weave me, sweet minstrel, into gentlest song,The story that I bring thee, of a maid,
Who, blessing earth with beauty, did not long
Withhold from heaven the treasure that it pray'd;
She died, 'tis said, for love of one whose heart,
Wanton as winning, did from hers withdraw,
When that, persuaded of his faith by art,
She knew no other life, no other law;
And while all wondering, worship'd,—he, alone,
Mock'd at the holy truth that never err'd,
Save once, when by his baleful homage won,
Him, o'er all others, hapless, she prefer'd!
She died of heart-break,—though, what earth has riven,
If loving truly, is made whole in heaven.
| Grouped thoughts and scattered fancies | |