Part 3 (2/2)

I rose in haste. I seiz'd, as in a trance, My violin, the friend I love the best (After thyself, sweet soul!) and wildly press'd, And firmly drew it, with a master's glance, Straight to my heart! The sunbeams seem'd to dance Athwart the strings, to rob me of my rest.

V.

For then a living thing it did appear, And every chord had sympathies for me; And something like a lover's lowly plea Did shake its frame, and something like a tear Fell on my cheek, to mind me of the year When first we met, we two, beside the sea.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

VI.

I stood erect, I proudly lifted up The Sword of Song, the bow that trembled now, As if for joy, my grief to disallow.-- Are there not some who, in the choicest cup, Imbibe despair, and famish as they sup, Sear'd by a solace that was like a vow?

VII.

Are there not some who weep, and cannot tell Why it is thus? And others who repeat Stories of ice, to cool them in the heat?

And some who quake for doubts they cannot quell, And yet are brave? And some who smile in h.e.l.l For thinking of the sin that was so sweet?

VIII.

I have been one who, in the glow of youth, Have liv'd in books, and realised a bliss Unfelt by misers, when they count and kiss Their minted joys; and I have known, in sooth, The taste of water from the well of Truth, And found it good. But time has alter'd this.

IX.

I have been hated, scorn'd, and thrust away, By one who is the Regent of the flowers, By one who, in the magic of her powers, Changes the day to night, the night to day, And makes a potion of the solar ray Which drugs my heart, and deadens it for hours.

X.

I have been taught that Happiness is coy, And will not come to all who bend the knee; That Faith is like the foam upon the sea, And Pride a snare, and Pomp a foolish toy, And Hope a moth whose wings we may destroy; And she I love has taught these things to me.

XI.

Yes, thou, my Lady! Thou hast made me feel The pangs of that Prometheus who was chain'd And would not bow, but evermore maintain'd A fierce revolt. Have I refused to kneel?

I do it gladly. But to mine appeal No answer comes, and none will be ordain'd.

XII.

Why, then, this rancour? Why so cold a thing As thy displeasure, O thou dearest One?

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