Queen Berengaria's Courtesy, and Other Poems By the Lady E. Stuart Wortley. In Three Vols |
 | I, II, III. |
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WEEP NOT BECAUSE I WEEP. |
 | Queen Berengaria's Courtesy, and Other Poems |  |
WEEP NOT BECAUSE I WEEP.
Weep not because I weep—full soon
Those tears shall tranquilly subside;
My will shall rule them, as the moon
Rules evermore the obedient tide!
Those tears shall tranquilly subside;
My will shall rule them, as the moon
Rules evermore the obedient tide!
And yet I could not choose but weep—
'Twas a sweet pleasure and a new:
Awhile my sorrows seemed to sleep,
And thoughts and feelings calmer grew.
'Twas a sweet pleasure and a new:
Awhile my sorrows seemed to sleep,
And thoughts and feelings calmer grew.
187
Yet who would not have said, that then
I bore the heaviest pangs of woe;
Weak judges—rash and vain, are men,
And little of each other know.
I bore the heaviest pangs of woe;
Weak judges—rash and vain, are men,
And little of each other know.
Where we our warmest pity give—
Perhaps it is deserved the least;
Vainly and hopelessly we strive
To pierce the secrets of the breast.
Perhaps it is deserved the least;
Vainly and hopelessly we strive
To pierce the secrets of the breast.
The governed mien, the tutored eye—
The lip, calm-smiling, or compressed;
The bosom, guiltless of a sigh—
May screen a spirit ill at rest.
The lip, calm-smiling, or compressed;
The bosom, guiltless of a sigh—
May screen a spirit ill at rest.
The forehead, cloudless and serene,
The expression gentle and resigned,
Yes!—all the studied peace of mien—
May little prove the peace of mind!
The expression gentle and resigned,
Yes!—all the studied peace of mien—
May little prove the peace of mind!
188
The o'ershadowed countenance of grief,
The troubled flush—the faultering sigh—
The lip that trembles like a leaf,
The burning brow—and streaming eye;
The troubled flush—the faultering sigh—
The lip that trembles like a leaf,
The burning brow—and streaming eye;
Grief's wildest, most heart-rending show,
That makes the pitying bosom bleed,
And own a kindred flood of woe—
May much deceive us and mislead!
That makes the pitying bosom bleed,
And own a kindred flood of woe—
May much deceive us and mislead!
We pity and we envy—wrong!
We guess and dream, and but mistake;
Strange mysteries unto life belong
Whose seal no hand shall ever break.—
We guess and dream, and but mistake;
Strange mysteries unto life belong
Whose seal no hand shall ever break.—
We little of each other know,
We doubt and dream—still much misled—
Round us are happiness and woe—
But ill their secret springs are read.
We doubt and dream—still much misled—
Round us are happiness and woe—
But ill their secret springs are read.
189
And it is well!—'tis doubtless well
Life's hour is brief, and dark, and rough—
Strange storms around us sink and swell;
We little know—but know enough!
Life's hour is brief, and dark, and rough—
Strange storms around us sink and swell;
We little know—but know enough!
We should mistrust each other more,
Perchance could we more closely mark—
Until the busy scene is o'er,
Around must thousand clouds brood dark.
Perchance could we more closely mark—
Until the busy scene is o'er,
Around must thousand clouds brood dark.
We little of each other know;
Each from himself would judge the rest;
And we confound their joy and woe,
Tried by a vain and hollow test—
Each from himself would judge the rest;
And we confound their joy and woe,
Tried by a vain and hollow test—
That which should make us mourn the most
May prove another's solace still—
And that, through whose loss we were lost
To them might bring but grief and ill!
May prove another's solace still—
And that, through whose loss we were lost
To them might bring but grief and ill!
190
Weep not because I weep—oh no!
The rather smile to see me blest;
Till these sweet tears were taught to flow—
How fearful was my soul's unrest.
The rather smile to see me blest;
Till these sweet tears were taught to flow—
How fearful was my soul's unrest.
But soon shall these fond tears be dried—
The indulgence shall not be prolonged;
High burns the courage, strong the pride
Of one whom all but thee have wronged!
The indulgence shall not be prolonged;
High burns the courage, strong the pride
Of one whom all but thee have wronged!
Weep not—my tears may softening flow,
And give me more of peace than pain;
But thine—but thine—too well I know
Were fire unto my heart and brain!
And give me more of peace than pain;
But thine—but thine—too well I know
Were fire unto my heart and brain!
| Queen Berengaria's Courtesy, and Other Poems | |