In the void air, towards thee,
My stretch'd arms are cast; But a sea rolls between usOur different past!
To the lips, ah! of others
Those lips have been prest, And others, ere I was,
Were strain'd to that breast;
Far, far from each other
Our spirits have grown.
And what heart knows another?
Ah! who knows his own?
Blow, ye winds! lift me with you! I come to the wild.
Fold closely, O Nature!
Thine arms round thy child.
To thee only God granted
A heart ever new
To all always open,
To all always true.
Ah! calm me, restore me;
And dry up my tears
On thy high mountain-platforms,
Where morn first appears;
Where the white mists, for ever,
Are spread and upfurl'd-
In the stir of the forces
Whence issued the world.
My horse's feet beside the lake,
Where sweet the unbroken moonbeams lay,
Sent echoes through the night to wake
Each glistening strand, each heath-fringed bay.
The poplar avenue was pass'd,
And the roof'd bridge that spans the stream;
Up the steep street I hurried fast,
Led by thy taper's starlike beam.
I came! I saw thee rise!-the blood
Pour'd flushing to thy languid cheek.
Lock'd in each other's arms we stood,
In tears, with hearts too full to speak.
Days flew ;-ah, soon I could discern
A trouble in thine alter'd air!
Thy hand lay languidly in mine,
Thy cheek was grave, thy speech grew rare.
I blame thee not!-this heart, I know,
To be long loved was never framed;
For something in its depths doth glow
Too strange, too restless, too untamed.
And women-things that live and move
Mined by the fever of the soul-
They seek to find in those they love.
Stern strength, and promise of control.
They ask not kindness, gentle ways;
These they themselves have tried and known;
They ask a soul which never sways
With the blind gusts that shake their own.
I too have felt the load I bore
In a too strong emotion's sway;
I too have wish'd, no woman more,
This starting, feverish heart away.
I too have long'd for trenchant force,
And will like a dividing spear;
Have praised the keen, unscrupulous course,
Which knows no doubt, which feals no fear.
But in the world I learnt, what there
Thou too wilt surely one day prove,
That will, that energy, though rare,
Are yet far, far less rare than lore.
Go, then!-till time and fate impress
This truth on thee, be mine no more!
They will!-for thou, I feel, not less
Than I, wast destined to this love.
We school our manners, act our parts-
But He, who sees us through and through,
Knows that the bent of both our hearts
Was to be gentle, tranquil, true.
And though we wear out life, alas!
Distracted as a homeless wind,
In beating where we must not pass,
In seeking what we shall not find;
Yet we shall one day gain, life past,
Clear prospect o'er our being's whole;
Shall see ourselves, and learn at last
Our true affinities of soul.
We shall not then deny a course
To every thought the mass ignore;
We shall not then call hardness force,
Nor lightness wisdom any more.
Then, in the eternal Father's smile,
Our soothed, encouraged souls will dare
To seem as free from pride and guile,
As good, as generous, as they are.
Then we shall know our friends!-though much
Will have been lost-the help in strife,
The thousand sweet, still joys of such
As hand in hand face earthly life-
Though these be lost, there will be yet
A sympathy august and pure;
Ennobled by a vast regret,
And by contrition seal'd thrice sure.
And we, whose ways were unlike here,
May then more neighbouring courses ply;
May to each other be brought near,
And greet across infinity.
How sweet, unreach'd by earthly jars,
My sister to maintain with thee
The hush among the shining stars,
The calm upon the moonlit sea!
How sweet to feel, on the boon air,
All our unquiet pulses cease!
To feel that nothing can impair
The gentleness, the thirst for peace-
The gentleness too rudely hurl'd
On this wild earth of hate and fear;
The thirst for peace a raving world
Would never let us satiate here.
4. Isolation. To Marguerite
WE were apart; yet, day by day,
I bade my heart more constant be.
I bade it keep the world away,
And grow a home for only thee;
Nor fear'd but thy love likewise grew,
Like mine, each day, more tried, more true.
The fault was grave! I might have known,
What far too soon, alas! I learn'd-
The heart can bind itself alone,
And faith may oft be unreturn'd.
Self-sway'd our feelings ebb and swell-
Thou lov'st no more;-Farewell! Farewell!
Farewell—and thou, thou lonely heart,
Which never yet without remorse
Even for a moment didst depart
From thy remote and spheréd course
To haunt the place where passions reign-
Back to thy solitude again!
Back with the conscious thrill of shame
Which Luna felt, that summer-night,
Flash through her pure immortal frame,
When she forsook the starry height
To hang over Endymion's sleep
Upon the pine-grown Latmian steep.
Yet she, chaste queen, had never proved
How vain a thing is mortal love,
Wandering in Heaven, far removed;
But thou hast long had place to prove
This truth-to prove, and make thine own:
'Thou hast been, shalt be, art, alone.'
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