Page:Poems by William Wordsworth (1815) Volume 1.djvu/288

228 "This visage tells thee that my doom is past:

Know, virtue were not virtue if the joys

Of sense were able to return as fast

And surely as they vanish.—Earth destroys

Those raptures duly—Erebus disdains:

Calm pleasures there abide—majestic pains.

Be taught, O faithful Consort, to control

Rebellious passion: for the Gods approve

The depth, and not the tumult of the soul;

The fervor—not the impotence of love.

Thy transports moderate; and meekly mourn

When I depart, for brief is my sojourn—"

"Ah, wherefore?—Did not Hercules by force

Wrest from the guardian Monster of the tomb

Alcestis, a reanimated Corse,

Given back to dwell on earth in beauty's bloom?

Medea's spells dispersed the weight of years,

And Æson stood a Youth mid youthful peers.

The Gods to us are merciful—and they

Yet further may relent: for mightier far

Than strength of nerve and sinew, or the sway

Of magic potent over sun and star

Is love, though oft to agony distrest,

And though his favorite seat be feeble Woman's breast.