University of Virginia Library

LINES FROM “INEZ.” (A MS. POEM.)

Now o'er my thoughts shines many a phantasy,
Dazzling my Soul—myself away from me!
Few days have passed since Love's strange, fearful spell
(Felt too intensely and obeyed too well)
Changed all my being—Love's quick spell of power,
That works dark wonders in one burning hour,
Makes moments teem with alterations deep,
(Till our past life appears one frozen sleep!)—
And pours in light o'er unknown Worlds of Soul—
Till like Creation, life runs through the whole!—
What is this sentence of a mystic doom?—
I am not what I was—such change hath come
Upon my living Spirit deeply now,
That doth the might of that quick spell avow:
It springs as though from depths of barren gloom,
It starts and bounds as from the murky tomb—
The dull, deep tomb of Cold Indifference called,
Where long it lay with clouds and shadows palled!—
I am not what I was—but yet—but yet—
The Past's lost peace I covet and regret.
Indifference! thee would I yet ask—yet crave—
Though now shouldst thou seem colder than the grave,
Heavier than mountains—darker than the night?
Contented with the excess of life and light,
Which Love—deep Love, with might o'erpowering brings,
Upon his sudden—sweeping, lightning wings.
I am not what I was; deep change doth fall
O'er mine existence, and my being all—
Aims, objects, interests, trusts, resources, powers,
Beliefs and feelings—in these few full hours
All, all are altered—all my soul is wrought
Into one mighty and absorbing thought!—
One thought! Even so! for thoughts, hopes, fancies, dreams,
All mingle now, like overflowing streams,
Into one flood, that doth—in deluge deep—
The horizon-bound of consciousness o'ersweep.—
I know not all I feel, nor yet am made,
Brought suddenly to noon's full light, from shade;
The master of mine own new heart and mind,
But stumble, as with over-gazing blind;
My very self is dazzled now from me,
And nothing, nothing, is distinct—but thee.
I schemed before, I planned, willed, thought, and dreamed;
But now,—(and brief the interval hath seemed)
Thou plann'st, and will'st, and workest within my soul,
And no volition's mine and no controul.
I know not what it now may be to care—
For aught thou dost not bring, thou dost not share!
All marks of independent soul and mind
Are merged—razed—lost—and what to leave behind?
A trace, a faint, faint trace—a trembling shade,
And that, even that, appears to fleet and fade—
And even that fleeting shade and fading trace,
That passion's earthquake-footsteps fast efface,
Aye! even that trace, that shade are not of me.
But, oh! thou discreating Power!—of thee!
I love thee! but I hate the crushing thrall,
The fear—the unrest—Love's tyrannous bondage all.
I love! and hate the love that makes my soul
Slave to a stranger influence and controul,
That robs me thus (while all things grow a doubt)
Even of the world within—and world without!