Love Letters of a Violinist and Other Poems Part 25

VII.

But stand at G.o.d's high altar there, With saints around thee tall and sweet, I'll match thy pride with my despair, And drag thee down from glory's seat.

Yea, thou shalt kneel! Thy head shall bow As mine is bent in anguish now.

VIII.

What! for thy sake have I forsworn My just ambition,--all my joy, And all my hope from morn to morn, That seem'd a prize without alloy?

Have I done this? I have; and see!

I weep wild tears for thine and thee.

IX.

But I can school my soul to strength, And weep and wail as children do; Be hard as stone, yet melt at length, And curb my pride as thou can'st, too!

But I have faith, and thou hast none; And I have joy, but thine is done.

X.

No marriage-bells? No songs, you say?

No flowers to grace our bridal morn?

No wine? No kiss? No wedding-day?

I care not! Oaths are all forsworn; And, when I clasp'd thy hand so white, I meant to curse thee, girl, to-night.

XI.

And so I shall,--Oh! doubt not that.

At stroke of twelve I'll curse thee twice.

When screams the owl, when swoops the bat, When ghosts are out I'll curse thee thrice.

And thou shalt hear!--Aye, by my troth, One song will suit the souls of both.

XII.

I curse thy face; I curse thy hair; I curse thy lips that smile so well, Thy life, thy love, and my despair, My loveless couch, thy wedding-bell; My soul and thine!--Ah, see! though black, I take one half my curses back.

XIII.

For thou and I were form'd for hate, For love, for scorn; no matter what.

I am thy Fere and thou my Fate, And fire and flood shall harm us not.

Thou shalt be kill'd and hid from ken, And fiends will sing thy requiem then.

XIV.

Yet think not Death will serve thy stead; I'll find thy grave, though wall'd in stone.

I'll move thy mould to make my bed, And lie with thee long hours alone:-- Long, lifeless hours! Ah G.o.d, how free, How pale, how cold, thy lips will be!

XV.

But graves are cells of truth and love, And men may talk no treason there.

A corpse will wear no wedding-glove, A ghost will make no sign in air.

But ghosts can pray? Well, let them kneel; They, too, must loathe the love they feel.

XVI.

Ah me! to sleep and yet to wake, To live so long, and yet to die; To sing sad songs for Sylvia's sake, And yet no peace to gain thereby!

What have I done? What left unsaid?

Nay, I will count my tears instead.

XVII.

Here is a word of wild design.

Here is a threat; 'twas meant to warn.

Here is a fierce and freezing line, As hot as hate, as cold as scorn.

Ah, friend! forgive; forbear my rhymes, But pray for me, sweet soul! sometimes.

XVIII.

Had I a curse to spare to-day, (Which I have not) I'd use it now.

I'd curse my hair to turn it gray, I'd teach my back to bend and bow; I'd make myself so old and thin That I should seem too sad to sin.

XIX.

And then we'd meet, we two, at night; And I should know what saints have known.

Thou would'st not tremble, dear, for fright, Or shriek to meet me there alone.

I should not then be spurned for this, Or want a smile, or need a kiss.

XX.

I should not then be fierce as fire, Or mad as sin, or sharp as knife; My heart would throb with no desire, For care would cool the flush of life; And I should love thee, spotless one, As pilgrims love some holy nun.

XXI.

Ah, queen-like creature! smile on me; Be kind, be good; I lov'd thee much.