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Farewell! if ever fondest prayer For other's weal availed on high, Mine will not all be lost in air, But waft thy name beyond the sky.
'Twere vain to speak--to weep--to sigh: Oh! more than tears of blood can tell, When wrung from Guilt's expiring eye,
Are in that word--Farewell!--Farewell!
These lips are mute, these eyes are dry; But in my breast and in my brain, Awake the pangs that pass not by, The thought that ne'er shall sleep again.
My soul nor deigns nor dares complain, Though Grief and Passion there rebel: I only know we loved in vain-- I only feel--Farewell!--Farewell!
[First published, _Corsair_, Second Edition, 1814.]
WHEN WE TWO PARTED.
When we two parted In silence and tears, Half broken-hearted To sever for years, Pale grew thy cheek and cold, Colder thy kiss; Truly that hour foretold[mr]
Sorrow to this.
The dew of the morning[ms]
Sunk chill on my brow-- It felt like the warning Of what I feel now.
Thy vows are all broken,[mt]
And light is thy fame: I hear thy name spoken, And share in its shame.
They name thee before me, A knell to mine ear; A shudder comes o'er me-- Why wert thou so dear?
They know not I knew thee, Who knew thee too well:-- Long, long shall I rue thee, Too deeply to tell.
In secret we met-- In silence I grieve.
That thy heart could forget, Thy spirit deceive.
If I should meet thee[mv]
After long years, How should I greet thee?-- With silence and tears.
[First published, _Poems_, 1816.]
[LOVE AND GOLD.]
I cannot talk of Love to thee, Though thou art young and free and fair!
There is a spell thou dost not see, That bids a genuine love despair.
And yet that spell invites each youth, For thee to sigh, or seem to sigh; Makes falsehood wear the garb of truth, And Truth itself appear a lie.
If ever Doubt a place possest In woman's heart, 'twere wise in thine: Admit not Love into thy breast, Doubt others' love, nor trust in mine.
Perchance 'tis feigned, perchance sincere, But false or true thou canst not tell; So much hast thou from all to fear, In that unconquerable spell.
Of all the herd that throng around, Thy simpering or thy sighing train, Come tell me who to thee is bound By Love's or Plutus' heavier chain.
In some 'tis Nature, some 'tis Art That bids them worship at thy shrine; But thou deserv'st a better heart, Than they or I can give for thine.
For thee, and such as thee, behold, Is Fortune painted truly--blind!
Who doomed thee to be bought or sold, Has proved too bounteous to be kind.
Each day some tempter's crafty suit Would woo thee to a loveless bed: I see thee to the altar's foot A decorated victim led.
Adieu, dear maid! I must not speak Whate'er my secret thoughts may be; Though thou art all that man can reck I dare not talk of Love to _thee_.
STANZAS FOR MUSIC.
I speak not, I trace not, I breathe not thy name,[mw]
There is grief in the sound, there is guilt in the fame: But the tear which now burns on my cheek may impart The deep thoughts that dwell in that silence of heart.
Too brief for our passion, too long for our peace, Were those hours--can their joy or their bitterness cease?
We repent, we abjure, we will break from our chain,-- We will part, we will fly to--unite it again!