Queen Berengaria's Courtesy, and Other Poems By the Lady E. Stuart Wortley. In Three Vols |
 | I, II, III. |
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A SHADOW ROUND ME. |
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 | Queen Berengaria's Courtesy, and Other Poems |  |
A SHADOW ROUND ME.
A shadow round me broodeth dark,
No dove abideth in mine ark,
For me there is no rest, no peace,
My sorrows evermore increase!
I that once moved in glorious gladness,
Move zoned and mantled round with sadness!
No dove abideth in mine ark,
For me there is no rest, no peace,
My sorrows evermore increase!
I that once moved in glorious gladness,
Move zoned and mantled round with sadness!
162
I faulter on mine onward road,
For heavy, heavy is my load,
And none compassionately share
The crushing burthen that I bear;
No! those I meet in Life's mazed turnings
Shrink from my murmurings and my mournings!
For heavy, heavy is my load,
And none compassionately share
The crushing burthen that I bear;
No! those I meet in Life's mazed turnings
Shrink from my murmurings and my mournings!
All have their separate joy or woe,
All their engrossing schemes below,
And none may pause with kind delay
To weep with weepers on their way—
Then let me on—unsoothed, unaided,
With every hope and feeling faded!
All their engrossing schemes below,
And none may pause with kind delay
To weep with weepers on their way—
Then let me on—unsoothed, unaided,
With every hope and feeling faded!
My heart was like some vase of old,
Which doth all precious things enfold,
Whose incense makes the temple glad,
Which in its golden clouds seems clad,
Now 'tis a vase all crushed and shattered,
Shivered its wreaths—its incense scattered.
Which doth all precious things enfold,
Whose incense makes the temple glad,
Which in its golden clouds seems clad,
Now 'tis a vase all crushed and shattered,
Shivered its wreaths—its incense scattered.
163
The feelings of the suffering breast
May silent lie—yet not suppressed—
No rest amid their ruin they
May find, but shudderingly decay,
Still quick and conscious in their dying—
Ever to Fate's sharp strokes replying.
May silent lie—yet not suppressed—
No rest amid their ruin they
May find, but shudderingly decay,
Still quick and conscious in their dying—
Ever to Fate's sharp strokes replying.
Why must this be?—Oh! cruel Woe!
Crush, crush them now with one dread blow,
Nor let one beam of hope outshine
To rouse them in their dull decline,
Who from the Grave would rise, contented
To be upon the rack tormented?
Crush, crush them now with one dread blow,
Nor let one beam of hope outshine
To rouse them in their dull decline,
Who from the Grave would rise, contented
To be upon the rack tormented?
For, Oh! that beam—if beam there be,
Glimpsing through long despondency,
With fierce suspense would soon consume
The Soul long wrapt in shrouding gloom—
And show the spoils and the undoings—
Th' ashes—the wrecks—the fragment-strewings!
Glimpsing through long despondency,
With fierce suspense would soon consume
The Soul long wrapt in shrouding gloom—
And show the spoils and the undoings—
Th' ashes—the wrecks—the fragment-strewings!
164
Why for the roc must we still pine,
Why must the distant seem divine,
Why must the difficult appear
The most desirable and dear?
'Tis thus we live in doubt for ever,
Existence but one restless fever.
Why must the distant seem divine,
Why must the difficult appear
The most desirable and dear?
'Tis thus we live in doubt for ever,
Existence but one restless fever.
Still we desire what is denied,
And turn from blessings known and tried,
Too oft with senseless wishes fond,
To grasp at something far beyond—
Something that hath not yet been ours,
And so we strive with misspent powers.
And turn from blessings known and tried,
Too oft with senseless wishes fond,
To grasp at something far beyond—
Something that hath not yet been ours,
And so we strive with misspent powers.
But Love! immortal Love! may'st thou
Be the angel of my healings now,
Thou, thou, the Flower—the Star—the Gem—
The Light—the Crown—the Spring—the Stem
From which all lovely joys rise brightly,
To bid us climb Life's rough steeps lightly.
Be the angel of my healings now,
Thou, thou, the Flower—the Star—the Gem—
The Light—the Crown—the Spring—the Stem
From which all lovely joys rise brightly,
To bid us climb Life's rough steeps lightly.
165
Thou gentle and Earth-gladdening Power!
Of every garland—crowning flower,
Fair Sovereign planet of all skies—
Harmony of all Harmonies—
Art thou confessed in sooth for ever,
Ne'er shall my hand thy bright chain sever!
Of every garland—crowning flower,
Fair Sovereign planet of all skies—
Harmony of all Harmonies—
Art thou confessed in sooth for ever,
Ne'er shall my hand thy bright chain sever!
Still, still be mine—nay! still be me,
For all my Soul is full of thee!—
And did I in my sorrow say
I would fain 'scape from Feeling's sway,
Who would not bear the woes of Feeling,
To know the rapture of their healing?
For all my Soul is full of thee!—
And did I in my sorrow say
I would fain 'scape from Feeling's sway,
Who would not bear the woes of Feeling,
To know the rapture of their healing?
For surely none for ever mourn!—
None are through Life's whole course forlorn—
Relenting Fate doth bring at last
Some consolation for the Past—
The drought declineth—dew descendeth—
Ebbeth the surge—the wild storm endeth!
None are through Life's whole course forlorn—
Relenting Fate doth bring at last
Some consolation for the Past—
The drought declineth—dew descendeth—
Ebbeth the surge—the wild storm endeth!
166
And yet of Hope I am afraid,
Oh! wrap me in gloom's thickest shade
Sooner than give the uncertain light
Which shows the threatening depths of Night—
The light that quickly fadeth—waneth—
But for a while its cheer retaineth.
Oh! wrap me in gloom's thickest shade
Sooner than give the uncertain light
Which shows the threatening depths of Night—
The light that quickly fadeth—waneth—
But for a while its cheer retaineth.
| Queen Berengaria's Courtesy, and Other Poems | |