Poems by Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell Part 7

Pa.s.sion's strength should nerve my arm, Its ardour stir my life, Till human force to that dread charm Should yield and sink in wild alarm, Like trees to tempest-strife.

If, hot from war, I seek thy love, Darest thou turn aside?

Darest thou then my fire reprove, By scorn, and maddening pride?

No--my will shall yet control Thy will, so high and free, And love shall tame that haughty soul-- Yes--tenderest love for me.

I'll read my triumph in thine eyes, Behold, and prove the change; Then leave, perchance, my n.o.ble prize, Once more in arms to range.

I'd die when all the foam is up, The bright wine sparkling high; Nor wait till in the exhausted cup Life's dull dregs only lie.

Then Love thus crowned with sweet reward, Hope blest with fulness large, I'd mount the saddle, draw the sword, And perish in the charge!

PREFERENCE.

Not in scorn do I reprove thee, Not in pride thy vows I waive, But, believe, I could not love thee, Wert thou prince, and I a slave.

These, then, are thine oaths of pa.s.sion?

This, thy tenderness for me?

Judged, even, by thine own confession, Thou art steeped in perfidy.

Having vanquished, thou wouldst leave me!

Thus I read thee long ago; Therefore, dared I not deceive thee, Even with friendship's gentle show.

Therefore, with impa.s.sive coldness Have I ever met thy gaze; Though, full oft, with daring boldness, Thou thine eyes to mine didst raise.

Why that smile? Thou now art deeming This my coldness all untrue,-- But a mask of frozen seeming, Hiding secret fires from view.

Touch my hand, thou self-deceiver; Nay-be calm, for I am so: Does it burn? Does my lip quiver?

Has mine eye a troubled glow?

Canst thou call a moment's colour To my forehead--to my cheek?

Canst thou tinge their tranquil pallor With one flattering, feverish streak?

Am I marble? What! no woman Could so calm before thee stand?

Nothing living, sentient, human, Could so coldly take thy hand?

Yes--a sister might, a mother: My good-will is sisterly: Dream not, then, I strive to smother Fires that inly burn for thee.

Rave not, rage not, wrath is fruitless, Fury cannot change my mind; I but deem the feeling rootless Which so whirls in pa.s.sion's wind.

Can I love? Oh, deeply--truly-- Warmly--fondly--but not thee; And my love is answered duly, With an equal energy.

Wouldst thou see thy rival? Hasten, Draw that curtain soft aside, Look where yon thick branches chasten Noon, with shades of eventide.

In that glade, where foliage blending Forms a green arch overhead, Sits thy rival, thoughtful bending O'er a stand with papers spread-- Motionless, his fingers plying That untired, unresting pen; Time and tide unnoticed flying, There he sits--the first of men!

Man of conscience--man of reason; Stern, perchance, but ever just; Foe to falsehood, wrong, and treason, Honour's shield, and virtue's trust!

Worker, thinker, firm defender Of Heaven's truth--man's liberty; Soul of iron--proof to slander, Rock where founders tyranny.

Fame he seeks not--but full surely She will seek him, in his home; This I know, and wait securely For the atoning hour to come.

To that man my faith is given, Therefore, soldier, cease to sue; While G.o.d reigns in earth and heaven, I to him will still be true!

EVENING SOLACE.

The human heart has hidden treasures, In secret kept, in silence sealed;-- The thoughts, the hopes, the dreams, the pleasures, Whose charms were broken if revealed.

And days may pa.s.s in gay confusion, And nights in rosy riot fly, While, lost in Fame's or Wealth's illusion, The memory of the Past may die.

But there are hours of lonely musing, Such as in evening silence come, When, soft as birds their pinions closing, The heart's best feelings gather home.

Then in our souls there seems to languish A tender grief that is not woe; And thoughts that once wrung groans of anguish Now cause but some mild tears to flow.

And feelings, once as strong as pa.s.sions, Float softly back--a faded dream; Our own sharp griefs and wild sensations, The tale of others' sufferings seem.

Oh! when the heart is freshly bleeding, How longs it for that time to be, When, through the mist of years receding, Its woes but live in reverie!

And it can dwell on moonlight glimmer, On evening shade and loneliness; And, while the sky grows dim and dimmer, Feel no untold and strange distress-- Only a deeper impulse given By lonely hour and darkened room, To solemn thoughts that soar to heaven Seeking a life and world to come.

STANZAS.

If thou be in a lonely place, If one hour's calm be thine, As Evening bends her placid face O'er this sweet day's decline; If all the earth and all the heaven Now look serene to thee, As o'er them shuts the summer even, One moment--think of me!

Pause, in the lane, returning home; 'Tis dusk, it will be still: Pause near the elm, a sacred gloom Its breezeless boughs will fill.

Look at that soft and golden light, High in the unclouded sky; Watch the last bird's belated flight, As it flits silent by.

Hark! for a sound upon the wind, A step, a voice, a sigh; If all be still, then yield thy mind, Unchecked, to memory.

If thy love were like mine, how blest That twilight hour would seem, When, back from the regretted Past, Returned our early dream!

If thy love were like mine, how wild Thy longings, even to pain, For sunset soft, and moonlight mild, To bring that hour again!

But oft, when in thine arms I lay, I've seen thy dark eyes shine, And deeply felt their changeful ray Spoke other love than mine.

My love is almost anguish now, It beats so strong and true; 'Twere rapture, could I deem that thou Such anguish ever knew.

I have been but thy transient flower, Thou wert my G.o.d divine; Till checked by death's congealing power, This heart must throb for thine.

And well my dying hour were blest, If life's expiring breath Should pa.s.s, as thy lips gently prest My forehead cold in death; And sound my sleep would be, and sweet, Beneath the churchyard tree, If sometimes in thy heart should beat One pulse, still true to me.

PARTING.

There's no use in weeping, Though we are condemned to part: There's such a thing as keeping A remembrance in one's heart:

There's such a thing as dwelling On the thought ourselves have nursed, And with scorn and courage telling The world to do its worst.

We'll not let its follies grieve us, We'll just take them as they come; And then every day will leave us A merry laugh for home.

When we've left each friend and brother, When we're parted wide and far, We will think of one another, As even better than we are.

Every glorious sight above us, Every pleasant sight beneath, We'll connect with those that love us, Whom we truly love till death!

In the evening, when we're sitting By the fire, perchance alone, Then shall heart with warm heart meeting, Give responsive tone for tone.

We can burst the bonds which chain us, Which cold human hands have wrought, And where none shall dare restrain us We can meet again, in thought.

So there's no use in weeping, Bear a cheerful spirit still; Never doubt that Fate is keeping Future good for present ill!