Classic Poem

Child of some happier fate, for love's lost hours!
Treasure of household good, of golden days!
The sunshine of all hearts! Torn on the thorns
Wherewith my path was strewn, she sank to death!
Lisa! upon thy grave some violet's breath
Shall softly sigh; and there be set a crown,
As a perpetual token of thy grace,
Rustling upon the banners of our life,
From the gross weight of custom shaken forth.
You see her portrait and her letters there.
I never dare to take them in my hand,
Till now my time 's most spent; and I should look

Through the blank, palsied vacuum of the past,
And then be crushed to silence, by the will
Of ruthless fate.
And 't is the same sweet face?
With half a touch of sadness at the mouth
Gathered, as if the angel smiling there
Might say: " Children of time, bard is our lot;
Yet am I yours. I will not leave you lonely.
But I will come to you, and smile on you.
For I'm a soul, — the cause of pleasure still!
With my devotions, smiles and tears are blent.
Both joys and sorrows keen kindle my lovers.
With me shall sing the unmelodious air,
Sparkle with foam the cold and boundless sea,
And swiftly-fleeting clouds arrest their march,
Till the soft ra liance of my pulses thrill
Their mutely-folded sunshine. I must cull
The odor of the rose, bloom of the peach,
And wave across the forehead in a tress.
I will claim beauty! Take, oh, take, the rest,
You clumsy man! — the war, the weariness.
If you but look at me, in that one look, —
A glance, a touch, one pressure of my hand, —
Shall all your manhood fall within myself,
Yet not to dissonance. And wonder on!
For to myself I am a mystery still.
That I attract is true, — the secret's kept.
You come to kneel, — you worship. Love has lent
Me to the office. I could not refuse;
Though, sometimes, I have thought, " If I had scope
For a few selfish hours, with Love's consent!"
Why is a woman's dawn thus toned in spells
Of music that dissolve, in age, to noise?
Beauty is youth! For youth forgets herself! "

She looks as if she spoke. I ne'er forget
When her pale portrait left the artist's hand.
And oft I saw that joyous look of life
Upon her face at the faint glow of twilight.
When the dim wood fire lit her pure features,
As in a fairy vision, she would smile.
The past and future were one happy dream;
The present like the laughter of a child.
Eliza! 't is the hour!
And I must ope the casked ere I sleep!
I may unloose the thread. This lock of hair,
Dabbled in gore, Gordon's, — I know the stain, —
I saw you cut it from his head, the morn,
In the cold sunshine of December's scorn.
He did not move, nor lift those loving eyes!
Why do I prate of this? What 's here? A flower!
A withered rose, — a soft, pale rose, your hands
Had placed upon his breast! Be merciful!
That was a sad revenge I took on you!
I loved but thee! Ever within my heart
The murmur ran: Lisa, my darling child!
The idol of my heart! my heart of hearts!
No drop of blood steals ever through my veins
That does not throb with thine! No nerve obeys
A sweet emotion, save of thee it comes.
I saw Time's gorgeous pageant drape the west,
When the low summer sunshine bent the lakes
To fiery gold, and thought, " Were Lisa here! "
Night crystalled on her zenith! Stars blazed high!
Myriads of orbs rolling their myriad rounds!
I said: " Does Lisa see them? " Was it song,
Picture or statue, grove or shrine, one hope
Beat its soft love-march in my faithful breast.
Did with me Lisa look, that day was bliss.
I dare no more! What words are these? What sounds?
'T is nigh the midnight hour! This withered scroll,
My hand and spots upon it, Gordon's name, —
Yes! yes! the challenge! I recall it now!
And here is hers to him and hers to me,
That morning, both one date. And then, how sweet
And thoughtful of her kind, considerate heart:
" Gordon, our life is brief! We are to prove
A blessing or an evil to our friends.
God, in his mercy, gently lays upon
Our path, the opportunity to good.
O Gordon, take it up! Oh, clasp the right!
Think of my heart, and pardon. Be my friend.
I know the lawless blood, the frontier feud, —
But there's a better way. 'T is Love's pure law, —
Never can bloodshed right a human wrong. "
And but a line —
The least faint line, the smallest hair — divides
A life of anguish from a life of joy.
And there's no power to keep a human soul
From passing it. — The wolves across the slough!
I fear their thrilling yell. It chills my veins,
And forces out a gasp. Why do they howl?
An echo to my heart, poor hungry knaves!
I humor the least sound. 'T is in myself
The answers must be given. If heard not there,
No gold can taste, no justice purchase them.

There is a star, by which we pledged our faith;
I see it shining through yon glittering sky.
That lamp of promise guides my tearful heart
To calmer regions of unvanquished bliss.
It falls; the cloud is rife. This further page:
" Never despair! for laboring storm-clouds fly,
Softly the west is bathed in Heaven's pure light,
There is a place, beyond Time's sullen sky,
With stars of mercy filled, and ever bright.
Thou gentle heart! Surely thy love was born
To meet return, and find its equal sphere.
The ship glides into port, the streamers torn;
And yet her voyage made good, her record clear,

So thine! The mist is fading off the hills;
Sunshine and verdure light the wintry tree,
Love! in my heart confide thy store of ills;
My faith shall firmly lift thy destiny! "

I read no more!
I must abroad, and soothe me with the air!
The mist is dallying o'er the cataract's tomb;
This hour tastes chill. There is a world within
That outward show the vulgar miscall life,
Why should we then, year after year, submit
To Time's ingratitude? One touch, and all
Was done and ended. We must go one day.
What maddening thoughts! Lisa! I see thy star!
Fondly it climbs that sky's lone zenith far?
The watery clouds tend its pale, soothing light!
Lisa! my heart! Thou idol of my love!
If in the planet's soul thine own is set,
If 't is thy figure I see floating there,
Upon a wretched outlaw in these woods,
Look down in mercy from thy spheral throne.
Oh, to be leagued with me, a vagrant's bride!
Cast out, spurned off, detested by his kin;
His children worse than dead, his heart a den
Wherein the furies writhe! Where am I strayed?
So near the edge of the black precipice, —
The slippery rock, the dread, uncertain height.
And there, sleeping in peace, the silvery gulf
Whereto the whirlpool reels, maddened at the rush.
Away! away! It tempts me to its plunge! Away!