Poems (Griffith)/The Deserted
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The Deserted.
WHY didst thou leave me thus? Had memory
No chain to bind thee to me, lone and wrecked
In spirit as I am? Was there no spell
Of power in my deep, yearning love to stir
The sleeping fountain of thy soul, and keep
My image trembling there? Is there no charm
In strong and high devotion such as mine,
To win thee to my side once more? Must I
Be cast for ever off for brighter forms
And gayer smiles? Alas! I love thee still.
Love will not, cannot perish in my heart—
'Twill linger there for ever. Even now
In our own dear, sweet sunset time, the hour
Of passion's unforgotten tryst, I hush
The raging tumult of my soul, and still
The fierce strife in my lonely breast where pride
Is fiercely struggling for control. Each hue
Of purple, gold and crimson that flits o'er
The western sky, recalls some by-gone joy,
That we have shared together, and my soul
Is love's and memory's
No chain to bind thee to me, lone and wrecked
In spirit as I am? Was there no spell
Of power in my deep, yearning love to stir
The sleeping fountain of thy soul, and keep
My image trembling there? Is there no charm
In strong and high devotion such as mine,
To win thee to my side once more? Must I
Be cast for ever off for brighter forms
And gayer smiles? Alas! I love thee still.
Love will not, cannot perish in my heart—
'Twill linger there for ever. Even now
In our own dear, sweet sunset time, the hour
Of passion's unforgotten tryst, I hush
The raging tumult of my soul, and still
The fierce strife in my lonely breast where pride
Is fiercely struggling for control. Each hue
Of purple, gold and crimson that flits o'er
The western sky, recalls some by-gone joy,
That we have shared together, and my soul
Is love's and memory's
As here I sit
In loneliness, the thought comes o'er my heart,
How side by side in moonlight eves, while soft
The rose-winged hours were flitting by, we stood
Beside that clear and gently-murmuring fount
O'erhung with wild and blooming vines, and felt
The spirit of a holy love bedew
Our hearts' own budding blossoms. There I drank
The wild, o'ermasterlng tide of eloquence
That flowed from thy o'erwrought and burning soul.
There thou didst twine a wreath of sweetest flowers
To shine amid my dark brown locks, and now
Beside me lies a bud, the little bud
Thou gav'st me in the glad, bright Summer-time,
Telling me 'twas the emblem of a hope
That soon would burst to glorious life within
Our spirits' garden. The poor fragile bud
Is now all pale and withered, and the hope
Is faded in my lonely breast, and cast
For ever forth from thine.
In loneliness, the thought comes o'er my heart,
How side by side in moonlight eves, while soft
The rose-winged hours were flitting by, we stood
Beside that clear and gently-murmuring fount
O'erhung with wild and blooming vines, and felt
The spirit of a holy love bedew
Our hearts' own budding blossoms. There I drank
The wild, o'ermasterlng tide of eloquence
That flowed from thy o'erwrought and burning soul.
There thou didst twine a wreath of sweetest flowers
To shine amid my dark brown locks, and now
Beside me lies a bud, the little bud
Thou gav'st me in the glad, bright Summer-time,
Telling me 'twas the emblem of a hope
That soon would burst to glorious life within
Our spirits' garden. The poor fragile bud
Is now all pale and withered, and the hope
Is faded in my lonely breast, and cast
For ever forth from thine.
They tell me, too,
My brow and cheek are very pale—Alas!
There is no more a spirit-fire within
To light it with the olden glow. Life's dreams
And visions all have died within my soul,
And I am sad, and lone, and desolate;
And yet at times, when I behold thee near,
A something like the dear old feeling stirs
Within my breast, and wakens from the tomb
Of withered memories one pale, pale rose,
To bloom a moment there, and cast around
Its sweet and gentle fragrance, but anon
It vanishes away, as if it were
A mockery, the spectre of a flower.
I quell my struggling sighs, and wear a smile;
But ah! that smile, more eloquent than sighs,
Tells of a broken heart.
My brow and cheek are very pale—Alas!
There is no more a spirit-fire within
To light it with the olden glow. Life's dreams
And visions all have died within my soul,
And I am sad, and lone, and desolate;
And yet at times, when I behold thee near,
A something like the dear old feeling stirs
Within my breast, and wakens from the tomb
Of withered memories one pale, pale rose,
To bloom a moment there, and cast around
Its sweet and gentle fragrance, but anon
It vanishes away, as if it were
A mockery, the spectre of a flower.
I quell my struggling sighs, and wear a smile;
But ah! that smile, more eloquent than sighs,
Tells of a broken heart.
'Tis said that thou
Dost ever shine the gayest amid the gay,
That loudest rings thy laugh in festive halls,
That in the dance, with lips all wreathed in smiles,
Thou whisperest love's delicious flatteries;
And if my name is spoken, a light sneer
Is all thy comment. Yet, proud man, I know
Beneath thy hollow mask of recklessness,
Thy conscious heart still beats as true to me
As in the happy eves long past. Ah! once,
In night's still hour, when I went forth to weep
Beneath our favorite tree, whose giant arms
Seemed stretched out to protect the lonely girl,
I marked a figure stealing thence away,
And my poor heart beat quick; for oh! I saw,
Despite the closely muffled cloak, 'twas thou.
Then, then I knew that thou in secrecy
Hadst sought that spot, like me, to muse and weep
O'er blighted memories. Thou art, like me,
In heart a mourner. In thy solitude,
When mortal eyes behold thee not, wild sighs
Convulse thy bosom, and thy hot tears fall
Like burning rain. Oh! 'twas thy hand that dealt
The blow to both our hearts. I well could bear
My own fierce sufferings, but thus to feel
That thou, in all thy manhood's glorious strength,
Dost bear a deep and voiceless agony,
Lies on my spirit with the dull, cold weight
Of death. I see thee in my tortured dreams,
And ever with a smile upon thy lip,
But a keen arrow quivering deep within
Thy throbbing, bleeding heart. Go, thou may'st wed
Another; but beside the altar dark
My mournful form will stand, and when thou seest
The wreath of orange blossoms on her brow,
Oh! it will seem a fiery scorpion coiled
Wildly around thine own.
Dost ever shine the gayest amid the gay,
That loudest rings thy laugh in festive halls,
That in the dance, with lips all wreathed in smiles,
Thou whisperest love's delicious flatteries;
And if my name is spoken, a light sneer
Is all thy comment. Yet, proud man, I know
Beneath thy hollow mask of recklessness,
Thy conscious heart still beats as true to me
As in the happy eves long past. Ah! once,
In night's still hour, when I went forth to weep
Beneath our favorite tree, whose giant arms
Seemed stretched out to protect the lonely girl,
I marked a figure stealing thence away,
And my poor heart beat quick; for oh! I saw,
Despite the closely muffled cloak, 'twas thou.
Then, then I knew that thou in secrecy
Hadst sought that spot, like me, to muse and weep
O'er blighted memories. Thou art, like me,
In heart a mourner. In thy solitude,
When mortal eyes behold thee not, wild sighs
Convulse thy bosom, and thy hot tears fall
Like burning rain. Oh! 'twas thy hand that dealt
The blow to both our hearts. I well could bear
My own fierce sufferings, but thus to feel
That thou, in all thy manhood's glorious strength,
Dost bear a deep and voiceless agony,
Lies on my spirit with the dull, cold weight
Of death. I see thee in my tortured dreams,
And ever with a smile upon thy lip,
But a keen arrow quivering deep within
Thy throbbing, bleeding heart. Go, thou may'st wed
Another; but beside the altar dark
My mournful form will stand, and when thou seest
The wreath of orange blossoms on her brow,
Oh! it will seem a fiery scorpion coiled
Wildly around thine own.
I'm dying now;
Life's sands are falling fast, the silver cord
Is loosed and broken, and the golden bowl
Is shattered at the fount. My sun has set,
And dismal clouds hang o'er me; but afar
I see the glorious realm of Paradise,
And by its cooling fountains, and beneath
Its holy shades of palm, my soul will wash
Away its earthly stains, and learn to dream
Of heavenly joys. Farewell! despite thy cold
Desertion, I will leave my angel home,
Each gentle eve, at our own hour of tryst,
To hold my vigils o'er thy pilgrimage,
And with my spirit-pinion I will fan
Thy aching brow, and by a holy spell,
That I may learn in Heaven, will charm away
All evil thoughts and passions from thy breast,
And calm the raging tumult of thy soul.
Life's sands are falling fast, the silver cord
Is loosed and broken, and the golden bowl
Is shattered at the fount. My sun has set,
And dismal clouds hang o'er me; but afar
I see the glorious realm of Paradise,
And by its cooling fountains, and beneath
Its holy shades of palm, my soul will wash
Away its earthly stains, and learn to dream
Of heavenly joys. Farewell! despite thy cold
Desertion, I will leave my angel home,
Each gentle eve, at our own hour of tryst,
To hold my vigils o'er thy pilgrimage,
And with my spirit-pinion I will fan
Thy aching brow, and by a holy spell,
That I may learn in Heaven, will charm away
All evil thoughts and passions from thy breast,
And calm the raging tumult of thy soul.