 | The vision of Cortes, Cain, and other poems |  |
145
FAREWELL TO IDA.
I.
Farewell, Farewell! the mournful tie,That bound so long, is broke at last;
And nought is left me but to die—
Or live, and bear alone, the blast.
And either fate 'twere death to gain,
Since from this exile never free:—
Ah! death itself, were less than pain,
Since life has torn me thus from thee!
II.
The words of comfort, they bestow—How worse than idle to my ear!
Since I must feel, where'er I go,
That I have more to hope, than fear!
The worst is known, and all the rest,
Go where I will, I may not fly—
For life assures my lonely breast,
That all that's left me, is to die.
146
III.
The truth too well assur'd—once known—I might confide in winds and waves;
And dream that Hope's not wholly gone,
And peace, not only in our graves.
This idle word, even this, dear love,
'Twere less than kind, should reach thy heart—
Alas! our tears can only prove,
We meet, and have but met, to part.
| The vision of Cortes, Cain, and other poems | |