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Then deem it evil, what thou wilt;

But say,

oh say, hers was not guilt!

She was my life's unerring light;

That quench'd, what beam shall break my night?
Oh! would it shone to lead me still,

Although to death or deadliest ill!
Why marvel ye, if they who lose
This present joy, this future hope,
No more with sorrow meekly cope;
In frenzy then their fate accuse :
In madness to those fearful deeds

That seem to add but guilt to woe?

Alas! the breast that inly bleeds

Hath nought to dread from outward blow:
Who falls from all he knows of bliss,
Cares little into what abyss.

appear:

Fierce as the gloomy vulture's now
To thee, old man, my deeds
I read abhorrence on thy brow,
And this too was I born to bear!
'T is true, that, like that bird of prey,

With havock have I mark'd my way:
But this was taught me by the dove,
To die-and know no second love.
This lesson yet hath man to learn,
Taught by the thing he dares to spurn:
The bird that sings within the brake,
The swan that swims upon the lake,
One mate, and one alone, will take.
And let the fool, still prone to range,
And sneer on all who cannot change,
Partake his jest with boasting boys;

I

envy not his varied joys,

But deem such feeble, heartless man,

Less than yon solitary swan;

Far, far beneath the shallow maid

He left believing and betray'd.

Such shame at least was never mine-
Leila! each thought was only thine!
My good, my guilt, my weal, my woe,
My hope on high-my all below.
Earth holds no other like to thee,
Or if it doth, in vain for me:
For worlds I dare not view the dame
Resembling thee, yet not the same.
The very crimes that mar my youth,
This bed of death-attest my truth!
'T is all too late-thou wert, thou art
The cherish'd madness of my heart!

"And she was lost-and yet I breathed,
But not the breath of human life:
A serpent round my heart was wreathed,
And stung my every thought to strife.
Alike all time, abhorr'd all place,
Shuddering I shrunk from nature's face,
Where every hue that charm'd before
The blackness of my bosom wore.
The rest thou dost already know,
And all my sins, and half my woe.
But talk no more of penitence;

Thou see'st I soon shall part from hence:
And if thy holy tale were true,

The deed that's done canst thou undo?
Think me not thankless—but this grief
Looks not to priesthood for relief.41
My soul's estate in secret guess :
But wouldst thou pity more, say less.
When thou canst bid my Leila live,
Then will I sue thee to forgive;
Then plead my cause in that high place
Where purchased masses proffer grace.
Go, when the hunter's hand hath wrung
From forest-cave her shrieking young,
And calm the lonely lioness :

But soothe not-mock not my distress!

"In earlier days, and calmer hours,

When heart with heart delights to blend, Where bloom my native valley's bowers, -a friend!

I had Ah! have I now?

To him this pledge I charge thee send,
Memorial of a youthful vow;

I would remind him of my end:

Though souls absorb'd like mine allow
Brief thought to distant friendship's claim,
Yet dear to him my blighted name.
'T is strange-he prophesied my doom,
And I have smiled-I then could smile-
When prudence would his voice assume,
And warn-I reck'd not what-the while :
But now remembrance whispers o'er
Those accents scarcely mark'd before.
Say that his bodings came to pass,

And he will start to hear their truth,
And wish his words had not been sooth:

Tell him, unheeding as I was,

Through many a busy bitter scene,
Of all our golden youth had been,

In pain, my faltering tongue had tried
To bless his memory ere I died;
But Heaven in wrath would turn away,
If guilt should for the guiltless pray.
I do not ask him not to blame,
Too gentle he to wound my name ;
And what have I to do with fame?
I do not ask him not to mourn,

Such cold request might sound like scorn;
And what than friendship's manly tear
May better grace a brother's bier!
But bear this ring, his own of old,
And tell him-what thou dost behold!
The wither'd frame, the ruin'd mind,
The wreck by passion left behind,
A shrivell'd scroll, a scatter'd leaf,
Sear'd by the autumn blast of grief!

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"Tell me no more of fancy's gleam;
No, father, no, 't was not a dream:
Alas! the dreamer first must sleep;
I only watch'd, and wish'd to weep,
But could not, for my burning brow
Throbb'd to the very brain, as now:
I wish'd but for a single tear,
As something welcome, new, and dear:
I wish'd it then, I wish it still—
Despair is stronger than my will.
Waste not thine orison, despair
Is mightier than thy pious prayer:
I would not, if I might, be blest;
I want no paradise, but rest.

42

'T was then, I tell thee, father! then
I saw her; yes, she lived again;
And shining in her white symar,
As through yon pale grey cloud the star
Which now I gaze on, as on her,
Who look'd and looks far lovelier;
Dimly I view its trembling spark:
To-morrow's night shall be more dark;
And I, before its rays appear,
That lifeless thing the living fear.
I wander, father! for my soul
Is fleeting towards the final goal.
I saw her, friar! and I rose,
Forgetful of our former woes;

And rushing from my couch, I dart,
And clasp her to my desperate heart:
I clasp-what is it that I clasp?
No breathing form within my grasp,
No heart that beats reply to mine.
Yet, Leila! yet the form is thine!
And art thou, dearest, changed so much,
As meet my eye, yet mock my touch?
Ah! were thy beauties e'er so cold,
I care not; so my arms enfold
The all they ever wish'd to hold.
Alas! around a shadow prest,
They shrink upon my lonely breast;
Yet still 't is there! in silence stands,
And beckons with beseeching hands!
With braided hair, and bright-black eye-
I knew 't was false-she could not die!
But he is dead! within the dell

I saw him buried where he fell :
He comes not, for he cannot break
From earth; why then art thou awake?
They told me wild waves roll'd above
The face I view, the form I love :
They told me- -'t was a hideous tale!
I'd tell it, but my tongue would fail:
If true, and from thine ocean-cave
Thou comest to claim a calmer grave,
Oh! pass thy dewy fingers o'er
This brow, that then will burn no more;
Or place them on my hopeless heart:
But, shape or shade! whate'er thou art,
ne'er again depart!

In mercy

Or farther with thee bear my soul,
Than winds can waft or waters roll!

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And thank thee for the generous tear
This glazing eye could never shed.
Then lay me with the humblest dead,
And, save the cross above my head,
Be neither name nor emblem spread,
By prying stranger to be read,
Or stay the passing pilgrim's tread."

He pass'd-nor of his name and race Hath left a token or a trace,

Save what the father must not say Who shrived him on his dying day: This broken tale was all we knew Of her he loved, or him he slew.45

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