108
miscellaneous poems.
CONFESSIONS.
I speak in very bitterness, for I have deeply felt
The mock'ry of the hollow shrine at which my spirit knelt.
The weary hours—the restless nights—the mind in tumults toss'd,
Ambition—were thy gilded toys worth the sweet peace they cost?
Alas! alas! for woman's heart, 'tis an unworthy shrine,
To offer up the spirit's love—and, oh! unfit for mine.
Yet must I still the phantom seek, nor listen love's mild tone,
Breathed from lips whose eloquence I tremble whilst I own;
And I must learn to disavow the feelings of my soul—
To teach my throbbing heart to bow to reason's calm control;
To look with coldness on the brow, where love's bright seal is set—
The mock'ry of the hollow shrine at which my spirit knelt.
The weary hours—the restless nights—the mind in tumults toss'd,
Ambition—were thy gilded toys worth the sweet peace they cost?
Alas! alas! for woman's heart, 'tis an unworthy shrine,
To offer up the spirit's love—and, oh! unfit for mine.
Yet must I still the phantom seek, nor listen love's mild tone,
Breathed from lips whose eloquence I tremble whilst I own;
And I must learn to disavow the feelings of my soul—
To teach my throbbing heart to bow to reason's calm control;
To look with coldness on the brow, where love's bright seal is set—
