Do I not see thee now? Thy black resplendent hair;
The glory-beaming brow; and smile how heavenly fair!
Thine eyes are turned away—those eyes I would not see;
Their dark, their deadly ray would more than madden me.
Then, go, deceiver, go! My hair is streaming wet;
My heart's blood flows to buy the blessing—to forget!
Oh! could that heart give back—give back again to thine,
One tenth part of the pain that clouds my dark decline.
Oh! could I see thy lids weighed down in cheerless woe;
Too full to hide their tears, too stern to overflow;
Oh! could I know thy soul with equal grief was torn,
This fate might be endured—this anguish might be borne.
I shall not tread again the deep glens where it rose.
How gloomy grows the night! 'Tis Gondal's wind that blows;