University of Virginia Library

THE HEART'S GUESTS.

My Heart! thou art now a dreary aching void!
Far hence is all thou lovest—much is destroyed
And much for ever severed—yet away!
What weak wild words was I beguiled to say?
The heart it is a delicate thing indeed,
And when o'er vanished blessings made to bleed,
And emptied of all treasures of delight,
Doth it remain a lifeless void, where Night
And gloom and breathless Silence sternly rest?
Hath it no haunting visitants, no guest?
Such blank dull emptiness it ne'er may know.
Surely it is not—no! it is not so.—
Vacant remains the bird-forsaken nest,
The shell of its pearl-treasure dispossessed,
The vase whose incense-wealth is scattered far,
The channel whose glad streams exhausted are,
The hive whose honey stores are stolen away,
The mine whose hoards become the spoiler's prey;
And lonely too the Temple and forlorn,
Whence the idol-figures have been rudely torn,
But Oh! the Heart—the Heart—if emptied so
Of its dear treasures—of its trustful glow—
Of its enchanted hopes and smiling dreams—
Its darling fancies and its gentle schemes—
Too soon 'tis filled with shapes of sorrow then,
Phantoms of buried things that rise again,
And brooding bodings, too of future ill
That make its melancholy pulses thrill!—
And multiply Distraction—till 'tis bound
With countless griefs for which no name is found!
A thing too delicate is th' anxious Heart!—
And if stern Pain assault it with its dart,
And griefs torment it, and regrets pursue,
Still rising up in shapes for ever new,
If so 'tis emptied of all joy, nor buoyed
By one sweet hope, yet—Oh! no yawning void,
No vacant hollow shell doth it become,
But one dark, gloomy, spectre-haunted tomb!