Queen Berengaria's Courtesy, and Other Poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

I wept and wailed,
Strange fears assailed,
A thousand hosts of torturing fears—
But thoughts of thee
Soon rose to be
Suns—making rainbows of my tears!—

Those thoughts of light
Brought strength—brought might—
Brought Hope, the Archangel of the Soul,
That soon subdued
With fearless mood,
The foes that sought to o'erthrow the whole!

286

Deep thoughts of thee
Shall ever be
My pride, and glory, and defence—
When they're enshrined
Within my mind—
They chase Pain's legioned powers from thence.

More—more I owe
Than life below,
To thee, my thought's bright starry goal
I may not droop—
On me smiles Hope—
The mailed Archangel of the Soul!

To thee alone,
Beloved One,
The blessings that I reap, I owe,
I owe to thee,
Felicity—
That I ne'er dreamed of yet below.

287

To thee I owe,
I deeply know,
My very Soul's unwithered powers—
These had sunk down—
Destroyed—o'erthrown
Beneath Grief's weight of weary hours.

These had been lost
Had Hope ne'er crossed
My mind's dark gloom—to bring relief,
With its deep light,
With kindling might—
Oh! who can bear unmingled Grief!

The unmingled Grief,
Without relief,
The unlightened load, the unsoftened strife,
Must soon indeed
To ruin lead—
The Soul pierced deep through its own life!

288

It dies—not one
Dark death alone—
But many a stern and shadowy death,
When once pierced through,
With aim too true,
Its own deep life—within the sheath!

When once the wound
Its depths hath found,
It dies as much as Soul can die—
Since still revives,
Still lingering lives—
The pilgrim of Eternity!—

If one bright Hope
With Grief to cope,
Within that conscious Soul remain,
From its hushed deep
That Hope doth keep
Away the threatening powers of Pain!

289

Around they stand
With flaming brand—
Sting, scourge, and instrument of ill,
They stand around!—
Those depths profound—
They dare not pierce—unwounded still!

That Hope is shrined
In the inmost mind,
Unmoved by strife and restless din—
That, that remains,
And proudly reigns
The Soul's own farthest shrine within!

That Hope is fixed,
Unmerged—unmixed,
Within the Spirit's centre still—
The Hope lives there,
The Grief—the Care,
Ruffle the surface at their will!

290

The Care—the Pain—
E'en there remain—
That Hope inhabits evermore
The Spirit's shrine—
The Mind's veiled mine—
The bosom's secret cell and core!

Fixed in the Soul,
Throughout the whole,
A keen and fervent glow it sheds!—
Till every thought
Its light hath caught,
And each an added brightness spreads!

The Pain—the Care—
Their shadows there
Fling dark with a certain bound,
While they e'en win
From light within
A colouring tender and profound!—

291

Should once that Hope
Take flight or droop—
Dark is the change—and deep and dread—
The Griefs crowd in,
And straight begin
Their savage anarchies to spread!

Oh! Hope, if thou
Dost quail—dost bow—
Ruin comes rushing as a cloud
O'er all our life—
Till wrath and strife
Bend us as frailest reeds are bowed!

Where thou art not,
Our human lot
Is heavy and is harsh to bear—
Then ev'ry grief
Without relief
Becomes a dark distinct Despair!

292

Ev'n lesser woes
That Nature knows
Can plunge the Soul in worse eclipse
Than Griefs more stern,
That yet can learn
A lovely lesson from thy lips!

Far lesser pains
Can bind in chains
Of adamantine clasp and link,
Where thou smil'st not
To cheer our lot,
And raise the heart that else must sink!

A kindred thing
With wand and wing
Thou to the Soul's depths spring'st at once,
The Soul receives,
And clings and cleaves
To that sweet guest and yields response!

293

Pure kindred things,
Each cleaves and clings
Unto the other fondly well,
And while they so
Together grow,
Vainly shall Fate's dark tempests swell!

One Hope alone
This Soul hath known,
And many a deadly grief and care,
That Hope hath long
From fated wrong
My life preserved—and from Despair!

One Hope—but one,
And that alone—
Hath bid Life's parched hot desert bloom
Fair as the Rose
Warm Summer knows—
And brightened all the frowning gloom!

294

I wept—I wailed—
Doubts, fears assailed,
Unnumbered doubts—unnumbered fears,
Till thoughts of thee
Arose to be
Suns making rainbows of my tears.

To thee then—thee—
I still must be
Indebted more than words can show—
The Hope thou'st given
Spreads arched like Heaven
O'er all my world of waste and woe!

My griefs—my fears—
Thy smile endears—
I scarcely shrink from them away;
Like serpents charmed,
Subdued, disarmed,
My sorrows own my soft Hope's sway.

295

Thanks for this peace
That shall not cease,
Thanks for this triumph—for this trust;
I may not sink,
I may not shrink,
I spurn this Earth of clay and dust!

Hope, Hope, makes bright
With Heavenly Light
The crowned spirits of my thought—
They win and wear,
From her all fair,
A hue divine—from far realms caught.

Hope, Hope, doth cast
Quick splendours fast,
Which from her native climes are brought;
For evermore
Full brightly o'er
The immortal spirits of my thought!

296

For, Oh! how fair
Those shapes of air,
The Beings from the deep Soul born!—
That cheer our day,
That soothe our way,
Without which, we were left forlorn!

These touched by Hope—
A smiling troop,
All love and loveliness appear,
And brightly thus
Make populous
Our World—an Angel-haunted Sphere!

And all this done
By one alone—
One single lone—sole-springing Hope!
Oh! give me more;
Let joy run o'er!—
The Mind's vast gates of glory ope!

297

Let me but feel
All woes to heal,
All griefs to banish and suppress—
That thou lov'st too
With love as true—
As deep in its Divine excess.

I wept and wailed—
Dull fears assailed—
A thousand hosts of trembling fears;
Till thoughts of thee
Rose bright—to be
Suns making rainbows of my tears!

Those thoughts shall shine
Yet more divine
With light empyreal and august,
If I may dream
Thy sweet thoughts beam
With answering triumph—mutual trust!

298

'Twas bliss, 'twas joy,
Too deep to cloy,
Thus loving thee with perfect love;
But, Oh! the excess
Of happiness—
The joys of answered Love to prove!

Let these be mine—
Ah! deign incline
Thine ear to my impassioned prayer—
Increase the debt
Profoundly yet,
And all the wealth thou giv'st—but share!

So, only so,
The debt I owe
Can be mysteriously effaced;
This thou must pay
(Some thrice-blessed day)
Thyself—and with no love misplaced!

299

Thou too shalt love—
Thou too shalt prove
The feeling that alone can raise
From Earth—from doom—
From grief and gloom,
And win us from Care's thorny ways.

Then thoughts of thee
Shall brightly be
Unto this Soul, in their rich might,
Supremely still—
Unmixed with ill,
Like opening Heavens of Living Light!