Queen Berengaria's Courtesy, and Other Poems By the Lady E. Stuart Wortley. In Three Vols |
 | I, II, III. |
 |
|
I SAW THY TEARS. |
 | Queen Berengaria's Courtesy, and Other Poems |  |
I SAW THY TEARS.
I saw thy tears—entranced in grief—
Alas!—I shuddering saw—
Stern Sorrow! comes there no relief?
Art thou Life's mighty law?—
Alas!—I shuddering saw—
Stern Sorrow! comes there no relief?
Art thou Life's mighty law?—
227
Ever from grief to grief have I
Gone darkly journeying on—
From misery unto misery—
Unfriended and alone.
Gone darkly journeying on—
From misery unto misery—
Unfriended and alone.
Methought I each dim pathway knew
Of Sorrow's Worlds of Waste—
Had traversed these, and travelled through
Her whole domain at last.
Of Sorrow's Worlds of Waste—
Had traversed these, and travelled through
Her whole domain at last.
Stage after stage—with faultering tread,
Leagues after leagues, whose length
Seemed but increasing as I sped,
With ever-lessening strength!—
Leagues after leagues, whose length
Seemed but increasing as I sped,
With ever-lessening strength!—
These heavily and hopelessly
I laboured, weeping, through—
Till, Sorrow,—well I thought that I
Thine every pathway knew.
I laboured, weeping, through—
Till, Sorrow,—well I thought that I
Thine every pathway knew.
228
Not so! the while I trembling fared,
Thus darkly journeying on,
Thy worst, last suffering I was spared
Unfriended and alone!
Thus darkly journeying on,
Thy worst, last suffering I was spared
Unfriended and alone!
The shadow of my heavy doom
So mournful and so drear—
Not then encircled with its gloom—
One than myself more dear.
So mournful and so drear—
Not then encircled with its gloom—
One than myself more dear.
Another Mine—rich, rich in woe,
Hath it been mine to find—
To teach another's tears to flow—
'Twas a fresh pang refined!
Hath it been mine to find—
To teach another's tears to flow—
'Twas a fresh pang refined!
Compared with this—this new despair
Which words may ne'er express—
The Misery of my former care
Looks e'en like Happiness!
Which words may ne'er express—
The Misery of my former care
Looks e'en like Happiness!
229
I saw thy tears—at once I felt
In that stern hour and brief,
While all my soul seemed bowed, to melt,
I was a child in grief!
In that stern hour and brief,
While all my soul seemed bowed, to melt,
I was a child in grief!
I felt, despite of ev'ry ill
That I had long deplored,
I was but a beginner still
In Sorrow's Ways, abhorred!
That I had long deplored,
I was but a beginner still
In Sorrow's Ways, abhorred!
Amazed, aghast with grief I stood,
My Soul within me died;
By this last, sternest stroke subdued,
All hope seemed then denied—
My Soul within me died;
By this last, sternest stroke subdued,
All hope seemed then denied—
Mine other sorrows I had met.
Or striven to meet with pride—
But here, unmixed and deep regret
Rose strong—and nought beside!
Or striven to meet with pride—
But here, unmixed and deep regret
Rose strong—and nought beside!
230
I saw thy tears—and sought in vain
To check their streaming flow—
What should I of the soothing strain
Of consolation know?
To check their streaming flow—
What should I of the soothing strain
Of consolation know?
Had I attempted to console—
I had increased thy care—
Feelings too mighty to controul
Had forced their fierce way there.—
I had increased thy care—
Feelings too mighty to controul
Had forced their fierce way there.—
The darkness of my Spirit then
Should gloom through vain disguise,
And thou wouldst weep yet more again
For one who heart-crushed dies!
Should gloom through vain disguise,
And thou wouldst weep yet more again
For one who heart-crushed dies!
I dare not speak, lest I should show
Those griefs I would not speak!—
Lest with reflection of my woe
Thy gentler heart should break!
Those griefs I would not speak!—
Lest with reflection of my woe
Thy gentler heart should break!
231
For me—for me—thy tears have flowed,
And for my blighted years;
And for the treasures thou'st bestowed,
I pay thee back—with tears!
And for my blighted years;
And for the treasures thou'st bestowed,
I pay thee back—with tears!
Forgive me, and forget my grief;
Thine own glad smiles recall,
The pity that should be relief—
Is the worst pang of all!
Thine own glad smiles recall,
The pity that should be relief—
Is the worst pang of all!
Oh! leave me, leave me to my fate—
In lonely—lorn despair—
'Twill seem less wildly desolate—
Than when thy tears are there!
In lonely—lorn despair—
'Twill seem less wildly desolate—
Than when thy tears are there!
| Queen Berengaria's Courtesy, and Other Poems | |