Page:The Poets and Poetry of the West.djvu/314

 298 REBECCA S. NICHOLS. [1840-50. I might have grown appalled and shrunk away From the eternal paleness on that brow ! And from those eyes that made my dark- ness day, Eclipsed forever! by then- curtaining snow. I might have long consumed the dismal nights With fasting vigils ; and have flung aside All thoughts, all feelings, hopes and young delights. That were my solace, ere my lover died. Soon I had worn a path across the sward, To that nevv-shapen mound among the flowers, There, like a stricken, love-forsaken bard, To sing sad anthems to the moaning hours ! Bereft of thee, the sun had shone in vain ! No star had gilt the darkness of my gloom ; My only joy, each year, to hail again Spring's flowery footprints round thy grassy tomb ! I do lament me ! — Though earth holds thee, still Do I not know thou'rt wholly dead to me? That never more thy name can wake the thrill That stirred each trembling pulse to ec- stacy ! The dreamy passions of the quickening spring — The faint, delicious languor of her mood, Shall round my soul no more their sorcery fling, Or loose the currents of my frozen blood. The floating fragrance of the summer air — The dazzling radiance of the eveoing skies — less prayer ; All are as naught to my obdurate eyes. For 1 am dead to beauty and to love. Since thou hast died thus early unto me : — The flowers below, the burning stars above. Are linked in thought with perfidy and thee ! I do lament me ! Yet no folded palms. Nor "outward show" of unremitting grief. Shall ask of Pity, crystal drops, for alms, As by the wayside, beggars crave relief. - -t For I have wrapped me in an ermined pride, And haughty scorn is my familiar friend ; And if I weep, the weakness I deride. While shame and anger with my sufi'er- ings blend. I do lament me ! List ! I pledge this drauglit Of myrrh and rue and fringing worm- wood's gall To deep Oblivion ! — Aye ! the fiends have laughed ! I live no longer, in forgetting all ! THE POET'S ISLE. All night long, my soul is haunted By a dream of other days — Of a flowery isle, enchanted, Hidden from the fierce sun's rays; Lighted by the softened splendor Of a holy, harve?t-moon. And the saint-like eyes, so tender, Glowino- at the midnight noon.