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 feels 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 love.

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 lore.

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