Page:Poems Hoffman.djvu/554

Deserted by her who has led him to ruin,
And made of his honor a hideous lie,
He sees now his unblinded madness and folly
Standing out clear and plain when the dream has passed by,

And wearily gropes for some light in the darkness,
For some bow of promise the storm to abate,
But not a gleam comes to scatter its blackness,
And in low, husky whispers he murmurs: "Too late!"

Too late; oh, the darkest most horrible message
That ever chilled hope in the heart of the brave,
That ever hushed gladness to slumber forever,
That ever doomed beauty to fade in the grave!

Is there hope for him yet? (He looks wildly about him.)
No; not on the land where his day-star has set,
But perhaps on the ocean, the great surging ocean,
Sweet Mercy may comfort and solace him yet.

As the day dawn is breaking a strong iron-bound vessel
Launches out from the harbor to traverse the deep,
A calm, peaceful ocean lies tranquil before her,
As if tempests and breakers had fallen asleep;

One passenger stands on the deck, pale and haggard,
Gazing anxiously back to the receding shore,
As if fearing to lose the last glimpse for a moment
Of the hills that shall gladden his vision no more.

No kerchief for him flutters trembling with feeling,
No loving farewell falls like balm on his ear,
But he stands like a statue surrounded by mourners,
And moves not a muscle and sheds not a tear;

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