Page:The Curse at Farewell.pdf/50

 THE CURSE AT FAREWELL

Will bite my hidden breast repeatedly !

Fie on you, whencesoe’er you came, and be

Accurséd, selfish traveller! Here, in shade

Of my life’s wood you sat, and pastime made—

To waste a little leisure tore ashred

The petals of my happiness, to thread

A playful garland—then, in great disdain,

Departing, snap in two the thin, poor chain,

And toss it down! My life’s whole glory there

Lies rolled in dust. Then go! But, going, bear

My curse with you—the knowledge for whose sake

You scorn me, never, never shali you make

Your own! Mechanic porter,’ you shall bring

This gift to others, knowing it a thing

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