Poems of James Clarence Mangan (Many hitherto uncollected): Centenary edition: Edited, with preface and notes by D. J. O'Donoghue: Introduction by John Mitchel |
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TO LAURA. |
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 | Poems of James Clarence Mangan |  |
TO LAURA.
“ADDIO LA VITA DELLA VITA!”
The life of life is gone and over;
I live, to feel I live in vain,
And worlds were worthless to recover
That dazzling dream of mine again.
I live, to feel I live in vain,
And worlds were worthless to recover
That dazzling dream of mine again.
The idol I adored is broken,
And I may weep its overthrow;
Thy lips at length my doom have spoken,
And all that now remains is woe.
And I may weep its overthrow;
Thy lips at length my doom have spoken,
And all that now remains is woe.
And is it thus indeed we sever?
And hast thou then forgotten all?
And canst thou cast me off for ever,
To mourn my dark and hopeless thrall?
And hast thou then forgotten all?
And canst thou cast me off for ever,
To mourn my dark and hopeless thrall?
Oh, Perfidy! in friend or foe,
In stranger, lover, husband, wife,
Thou art the blackest drop of woe
That bubbles in the Cup of Life!
In stranger, lover, husband, wife,
Thou art the blackest drop of woe
That bubbles in the Cup of Life!
But most and worst in Woman's breast,
Triumphant in thy blasting power,
Thou reignest like a demon-guest
Enthroned in some celestial bower!
Triumphant in thy blasting power,
Thou reignest like a demon-guest
Enthroned in some celestial bower!
132
Oh! cold and cruel she who, while
She lavishes all wiles to win
Her lover o'er, can smile and smile,
Yet be all dark and false within!
She lavishes all wiles to win
Her lover o'er, can smile and smile,
Yet be all dark and false within!
Who, when his glances on another
Too idly and too long have dwelt,
Can sigh, as though she strove to smother
The grief her bosom never felt!
Too idly and too long have dwelt,
Can sigh, as though she strove to smother
The grief her bosom never felt!
Who, versed in every witching art
That even the warmest love would dare,
First having gained her victim's heart,
Then turns him over to despair!
That even the warmest love would dare,
First having gained her victim's heart,
Then turns him over to despair!
Alas! and can this treachery be?
The worm that winds in slime along
Is less contemptible than she
Who revels in such heartless wrong!
The worm that winds in slime along
Is less contemptible than she
Who revels in such heartless wrong!
Go, thou, exulting in thy guilt,
And weave thy wanton web anew!
Go, false as fair, and, if thou wilt,
Again betray the Fond and True!
And weave thy wanton web anew!
Go, false as fair, and, if thou wilt,
Again betray the Fond and True!
Yet learn that this, my last farewell,
Is less in anger than in sorrow;
Mine is the tale that myriads tell
Who loathe to-day, and dread to-morrow.
Is less in anger than in sorrow;
Mine is the tale that myriads tell
Who loathe to-day, and dread to-morrow.
Me, Laura, me thou never knewest,
Nor sawest that if my speech was cold,
The love is deepest oft and truest
That burns within the breast untold.
Nor sawest that if my speech was cold,
The love is deepest oft and truest
That burns within the breast untold.
My soul was formed for Love and Grief—
These both were blended at my birth,
But lifeless as a shrivelled leaf
Lie now my dearest hopes on earth.
These both were blended at my birth,
But lifeless as a shrivelled leaf
Lie now my dearest hopes on earth.
133
I sigh—where none my sighs return,
I love, but am not loved again;
Till life be past this heart must burn,
With none to soothe or share its pain.
I love, but am not loved again;
Till life be past this heart must burn,
With none to soothe or share its pain.
Adieu! In Pleasure's giddy whirl
Soon wilt thou have forgotten me,
But where, oh, too-dissembling girl,
Shall I from thy dear image flee?
Soon wilt thou have forgotten me,
But where, oh, too-dissembling girl,
Shall I from thy dear image flee?
Adieu! for thee the heavens are bright;
Bright flowers along thy pathway lie;
The bolts that strike, the winds that blight,
Will pass thy Bower of Beauty by;
Bright flowers along thy pathway lie;
The bolts that strike, the winds that blight,
Will pass thy Bower of Beauty by;
But when shall rest be mine? Alas!
When first the winter winds shall wave
The pale wild-flowers and long dark grass
Above mine unremembered grave.
When first the winter winds shall wave
The pale wild-flowers and long dark grass
Above mine unremembered grave.
| Poems of James Clarence Mangan | |