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

Alas! from me, from me thou turnest,
Thou dost not know me—canst not know,
And chance the while thou pinest and mournest
For something like to me below!

125

Thou lov'st me not as thou believest,
And all the while the truth may be
Thou inly pin'st, and mournest, and grievest
For one the counterpart of me!

Woe, woe is me I cannot shew thee
All that I am in mind and heart,
But vague faint hints alone can throw thee—
For minds like mine still dwell apart.

Thou dream'st not all I am—my Dearest,
I cannot show thee all I am—
Thou mayst be all that thou appearest,
And I—no semblance false I sham!

And yet—'tis true—I speak in sadness—
We are but strangers—strangers still—
Hope thou 'rt vain—thou'rt worse than madness,
Thy charmed cup I fain would spill!

126

Yes! yes! 'tis vain—on this Earth never
Can we otherwise become—
Vain the hope and the endeavour,
Let me bear my bitter doom.

Since 'tis not mine, Love! to discover
The depths of my full Soul and Mind,
With Night and Silence mantled over,
And all in Mystery's cloud enshrined.

Scarce to myself can I uncurtain
Those deep dark secrets of my Soul,
All is vague, dim, strange, uncertain,
Ne'er e'en can I look through the whole!

My hopes, my dreams, my thoughts, my feelings,
My passions—powers—my joys and woes—
These, these on Earth have no revealings,
Far too intense still to disclose.

127

And could I Thought by Thought unfolding,
My Life's whole History teach to thee—
Bare every dream to thy beholding—
'Twould stiil but vain and useless be!

My Sorrows thus in stern exposure
Might be sounded—seen by thee—
My Mind's emotions find disclosure,
They're not that Mind itself—not Me!

As through Life's winding paths we travel,
We vary oft with varying fate,
And oft 'tis easy to unravel
Our Soul's assumed adopted state!

Easy to fathom—and to follow
The currents of our Spirit's change,
All born of this dull World is hollow—
And narrow at its noblest range.

128

But still unchanging, still unaltered—
That Spirit's inmost self remains—
It hath not fluctuated nor faultered—
Unmoved by pleasures and by pains!

And where all fire that Spirit burneth,
Quickening with an intenser life—
Each thought, each feeling strongly learneth
To struggle more in glorious strife

Far lesser circumstance can wake them—
Far weaker influences impress—
Far less can rouse—far less can shake them—
Too much for peace and happiness!

And they grow dark too and mysterious,
Through their intense untold excess—
Profound and mighty—fervent—serious—
And veiled in dim and far recess!

129

And none may mark them, none may measure
They within themselves lie coiled
With their torture—or their treasure,
As their hope is fixed or foiled!

They within themselves lie folded
In their woe or in their weal,
As they have been mixed and moulded—
As strong Fate hath stamped its seal!

Such my feelings are—so hidden—
Such my thoughts—so undisclosed—
They sprang to fiery life unbidden—
And undestroyed have long reposed—

For in my heart's core sealed and shrouded,
They for ever hushed remain—
As though they were uncrossed—unclouded—
Heirs of Peace and not of Pain!

130

But Pain hath been their mighty Master,
Pain hath been their Liege and Lord,
And o'er that heart still fast and faster,
A rain of ashes hath been poured.

Pain hath been their tamer tyrant—
Pain hath long sought to destroy—
Each was once a glad aspirant—
For triumphant deathless joy!

Now, alas! the difference—dimly
Now the torch of Hope doth shine—
Fear's stern shadows, stretching grimly,
Threaten e'en that spark's decline.

Yet are they destroyed or weakened?—
Are they tamed by torture's might?—
Are their energies e'en slackened?—
Are they bowed by Misery's blight

131

If to be compressed—concentered—
Gathered in their strength and power—
(Since the deadly iron entered
In my Soul in fatal hour!)

If to be for ever sleepless—
Brooding o'er their bitter doom,
In their heavy state and hapless,
In their deep and deepening gloom.

If to be for ever dreaming—
Dreams of fire that doom despite,
Like strange meteors streaming, streaming
Through a pitchy pall-wrapped Night.

If to be, while life is lengthening,
Struggling still to loftier height—
Strengthening with mysterious strengthening,
Day by Day, and Night by Night.

132

Aye! through Life's labyrinthine lengthenings,
Still uniting power to power,
Strengthening with mysterious strengthenings,
Day by day—and hour by hour.

If to be with pent flames glowing,
Enkindling ever—though in vain—
With ventless springs, fast overflowing
Still into themselves again!

If this be to be worn and weakened,
Then must they be weak indeed,
If this be to be shorn and slackened,
Oh! how they must fail at need!

Lo!—unfathomably streaming
Flow these Passion-fountains still,
Unextinguishably beaming
Burn these fires, through grief and ill.

133

Ever—evermore excelling
Their past selves in depth and force,
Strongly welling—strongly swelling,
Those wrung feelings keep their course.

Mighty beyond all expression,
Fervent beyond all display—
Gaining ever fresh accession
Of livelier strength and loftier sway!

But thou—Oh! thou mayst never know them—
What may break the fatal spell?—
Could I in their truth but show them—
Then all must, all would be well!

This consciousness I still am feeling,
(It racks the heart it doth rejoice!)
That nothing needs but truth revealing—
To make me the object of thy choice.

134

The consciousness is mine for ever
That thou must love me couldst thou know,
And is that destined to be never,
Must both be lorn and lone below?

I thus barred darkly from bestowing
The treasures thou wouldest fondliest prize,
Thou with a secret Passion glowing
For one that on thy dreams doth rise.

For one that haunts thy wandering fancies—
The dear creation of thy mind—
Which enthralls thee and entrances—
Which around thy heart doth wind.

One impassioned—true—devoted—
One whose life would hang on thee—
On whom thy fancy long hath doated,
Oh! mine own Beloved One—me!

135

At once indifferent and adoring,
Thou lovest me and thou lovest me not,
I most blessed and most deploring,
Share the happiest, heaviest lot.

Mine's the weariest doom and sweetest,
Strange—surpassing all things—strange—
Me thou avoidest—me thou meetest—
Oh! will there ne'er come a change?

Yes! unconsciously thou lovest me,
Mine thou art, and mine would'st be,
Choosest, honourest, and approv'st me
The while, thus, thus thou turn'st from me!

Joy! how darkly dost thou borrow
From Grief her frowns, her tears, her sighs—
How dost thou—funereal Sorrow—
Clasp with joy like dear allies!

136

Tossed 'twixt happiness and anguish,
'Tis one Chaos of the Soul—
I doubt, I tremble, and I languish—
Oh! could I these pangs controul!—

Thy love was formed to be my treasure,
Which I never may possess,
My troubled life is pain-in-pleasure,
And agony-in-happiness!

Oh! I was but for thee created,
Never—never to be thine!
Long hast thou in vain awaited
For a feeling Soul like mine!

Thine I am, thine all and only!—
Thine I am not, nor may be!—
Each is loveless, each is lonely,
'Tis a bitter destiny!

137

Must we still be disunited,
Must we still be Sorrow's prey,
Must each gentle hope be blighted,
Shall there dawn no fairer day?

Shall there rise no brighter Sun, Love,
Shall there spread no happier sky—
Then better far to look on none, Love,
Better, better far to die!

Could my Spirit stand before thee,
Clad in robes of Truth's own light,
Thou would'st adore as I adore thee,
Thou would'st see that Soul aright!

Thou should'st deem not as thou deemest
Thy love a lifeless love and vain—
'Tis not all a dream thou dreamest,
'Tis no vision of the brain!

138

'Tis no fleeting form ideal
That thou thron'st within thy mind—
Though for thee 'tis as unreal
As the shadows none may bind.

'Tis not that thou'rt fascinated
By an aëry phantasy
Uncalled to being—uncreated—
Known but to the dreaming eye!

But so thou ever shalt be thinking,
So thou ever shalt believe—
And in trembling silence shrinking,
I am destined to deceive!

I am destined to deceive thee,
(Miserable doom of mine!)
Oh! that I could die and leave thee
One dear Memory—half divine!

139

Could I leave thee but in dying
One deep Memory all of me—
Then, farewell to grief and sighing—
Oh! to die!—and live in thee!

Not to be save in thy Being,
Not to live save through thy life—
Now, e'en now would I be fleeing
From the anguish and the strife.

Now, e'en now would I be leaving
All the sorrows of my fate,
For this weary heart is heaving
Sick and faint and desolate!

Morning after Morning cometh
But to see my Hopes decline—
For even in this heart's waste bloometh
Hope—a flower that looks like thine.

140

Poor flower! 'mid ruins hath it flourished,
Storms have canopied its head,
In a soil of fire 'tis nourished,
Despair! thy dews are o'er it shed.

A wilderness of weeds is round it,
A wilderness of weeds and thorns,
Plants of poisonous juice have bound it,
All about it grieves and mourns!—

It hath flourished, it hath faded,
Faded oft to be renewed,
By a Sky of gloom o'ershaded,
In an angry solitude!

By no gentle fosterage cherished,
By no loving hand caressed,
'Twere haply better had it perished,
E'er in fleeting bloom 'twas dressed.

141

Rooted as it is in ashes,
Rained on as it is by tears,
Shone on but by scathing flashes,
Still a tender stem it rears.

Hope! though many things endear thee,
Thou'rt the source of bitterest care,
I have learnt, long learnt to fear thee,
Lovely as thou art and fair.

Didst not thou still stir within me,
I perchance might grow resigned,
Reflection from this World might win me,
Calm repose might soothe my mind.

No dear dream should I be shaping,
To be wronged by Grief's sharp blight,
Once from thy strong sway escaping,
From thy witching power and might.

142

Oh! of Happiness no vision
Should my yearning fancy bless—
(With its Heavenly smile Elysian—
Soul awakening Happiness!)

I should not dream of its existence,
Should not of its nature know,
Hope, 'tis through thy false assistance
Hearts are ruined, crushed below!

Sorrow, gloom, and melancholy,
If ye must my Soul possess,
Oh! possess it fully—wholly—
Leave no dreams of Happiness.

Be your empire undivided,
So I yet may win repose—
Not thus doubtful—undecided,
Slave of struggling joys and woes.

143

Let me, let me rest—forgetting
That on Earth there lives Delight,
When the Sun is sinking, setting,
I would that it at once were Night!

Twilight glimpses—Starry gleamings,
Meteor-glimmerings of rich Light—
But bring back regretful dreamings
Of that Sun in all his might:—

But awake a vain desiring,
In his glowing smile to bask—
I would gladly shrink retiring
E'en beneath Night's dunnest mask!

Weak, how weak this fond repining
O'er a fate that nought can change—
Every torturing pang refining—
'Tis a weakness dire and strange!

144

Every racking throe increasing,
Sharpening every deep-driven sting,
Will this pain be never ceasing,
Is it an immortal thing?

Oh! is it, is it everlasting,
Thought too fearful to be borne,
Must it still my Soul be wasting—
By conflicting feelings torn?

Oh! when, Dear One, we're reposing,
Snatched from this dark mortal sphere,
Each to each shall be disclosing
Truths 'twere well we had known here.

Then no more in darkness shrouded
Shall my spirit live unknown—
But shall stand in light unclouded,
All revealed unto thine own.

145

No more unconsciously adoring
Shalt thy weary Soul complain,
Her strength on aimless Passion pouring
Hopelessly and still in vain.

No more unwillingly deceiving
Shall I shroud my Soul from thee—
But woo in joy thy strong believing,
Claim thy perfect sympathy!

Every suffering then were over,
Every sorrow hushed to rest,
Then shouldst thou be the warmest lover,
And I the most beloved and blessed!

Hasten! thou dear Deliverance! hasten!
For I am crushed beneath my grief,
The long and heavy chain unfasten,
And give the o'erburthened heart relief!

146

Oh! let the sentence now be spoken,
Disperse these clouds—divide these shades,
And let this tenfold gloom be broken
That round me ever deepening spreads.

Oh! joy beyond all thought—all dreaming,
To rend the dull and envious veil,
Whose hated folds have been long streaming
'Twixt us, to blight with bitterest bale—

For sorrow over both is darkening,
I am bowed down to the dust,
To no voice of comfort hearkening,
Reft of every stabler trust.

And thou, Oh! thou in sooth hast emptied
The most poisoned cup of pain,
From no mortal pang exempted,
That hath wrung my heart and brain.

147

Her thou singlest forth and choosest,
Her whom thou could'st love alone,
Her thou lovest—her thou losest!—
Yet she still is all thine own!

Thou losest her whom most thou lovest,
Her whose heart and soul are thine,
Her thou laudest, hailest, approvest,
Her who must neglected pine!

Her thou avoid'st—thou most admirest,
(Oh! black mistake! whence springs this strife)
Her thou desert'st—yet most desirest,
For thine own heart-linked Love in Life!

Her thou lov'st with zeal unmeasured,
Her for whom thou would'st have died,
Her whom in thy Soul thou'st treasured,
Her thou shun'st—though at thy side!

148

Fell, foul mistake! most fatal error!
Ruining two souls at once—
Which each should be the other's mirror,
The echo—shadow—and response!

Fatal error!—dark delusion!
Fatal both to thee and me,
Making of our hopes confusion,
And our curse our constancy.

Is it to remain for ever,
Shall no alteration be?—
Vain the effort, vain the endeavour,
Fate estrangeth thee and me!

And from me, from me thou turnest,
Strangers we for ever are—
I pass on mourning—and thou mournest,
Each is chained to one stern care.

149

Each is hopeless—each is haunted
By one dream that should be blest—
I have pined and thou hast panted
For a treasure long possessed!

For it is so—I know, I feel it—
Thou dost love me, thou'rt mine own—
Though thou never may'st reveal it,
Though to thee the truth's unknown!

Though thou never hast suspected
This sweet truth—so deep, so dear—
But hast evermore neglected
Her who death-doomed, droopeth near.

And I love thee—Oh! 'twere folly
To attempt such Love to breathe,
Love thee wildly—warmly—wholly—
With a passion strong as Death!

150

Yet from me—from me thou turnest,
Yet we are as strangers still—
Her thou sighest for, thou spurnest,
And condemn'st to deadliest ill!

Thou'rt mistaken and misguided,
I am still misunderstood,
Thus dissevered and divided,
Each doth o'er lone sorrows brood.

Woe, woe is me—each hour must heighten
Griefs by which I sink undone,
Since I never may enlighten
Thee, for whom I live alone.

Since I never can awaken
To the truth thy mind deceived,
To the last thou 'lt be mistaken,
And I abandoned and bereaved!

151

And mine is but this consolation,
'Tis a mournful one and drear—
If there lives one in Creation
Born for thee—that one is here!

And from me thou turn'st—and sighest,
And all the while the truth may be
Within thy deepest heart, thou diest,
Pin'st, and mourn'st for one like me.

Yes! unconsciously thou lov'st me,
This I feel, and this I know,
Choosest, honourest, hail'st, approv'st me,
And leav'st me to a life of woe!

And leav'st me to o'erwhelming sadness,
Which no firmness can controul,
All seems mockery—all seems madness—
All is misery to my Soul!

152

Misery—yet the grief is mingled
With a proud felicity,
Oh! the pride to be forth-singled
Even unconsciously by thee!