Page:Forget Me Not 1825.pdf/3

 Ronald.—Not love thee! By that cheek Now beautiful with blushes—by those eyes, Like a blue harebell, when a sunshine plays Upon its dewy leaves—by that white brow Crown’d with gold curls, and by that eloquent smile— I love thee tenderly as exiles love Remembrance of their own country; dear As home, as infancy, as happiness; Precious as hope. Ellen.—Ah, these are honeyed words, but. . . I believe them. Ronald.—Alas! my trusting love, I’ve other words— Dark, fearful words—for thee. We must forget That we have ever loved; our vows must be Shadows long past. Ellen.—Oh Ronald, cruel, cruel— Love may not learn forgetfulness. I can Be silent as the grave; can school my tears To fall in secret; let my cheek grow pale; And my heart waste away in solitude;— But I cannot forget thee. Ronald.—Time has been When pardon to the mourner were less sweet Than are those words to me; but now thy love To me is as despair: I’ll tell thee all, All my dark auguries. E’en from a child There was a strange power on me; I have sought The mountain brow, when veiled in thunder clouds; I roamed the forest when night wrapped me round, The meteor flames my guide; I lay beside The foaming waterfall, and I have held Unblest communion with the dead, and seen And talked with spirits, and have looked on sights Which sent the frozen life-blood from my cheek! I did not seek companionship with man; I lived in a proud solitude; but you Softened my gloomy mood, and then my pride Bowed to a woman’s power: life was no more A stern and gloomy pathway: but it grew A paradise of hope, and I forgot My dreary visions.