Classic Poem

FROM THE ITALIAN .

I.

Yes ! Pride of soul shall nerve me now,
To think of thee no more;
And coldness steel the heart and brow
That passion swayed before!
Think'st thou that I will share thy breast,
Whilst dwells a fondlier cherished guest.
Deep in its inmost core?
No;—by my hopes of Heaven! I'll be
A LL—ALL —or nothing unto thee!

II.

Thy hand hath oft been clasped in mine,—
Fondly,—since first we met;
My lip hath e'en been pressed to thine—
In greeting wild;—but yet,
Lightly avails it, now, to tell
Of moments only loved too well—
Joys I would fain forget,
Since M EMORY'S star can ill controul
The moonless midnight of my soul!

III.

But I 'll reproach thee not;—Farewell!
Whilst yet I'm somewhat free,
'Twere better far to break the spell
That binds my soul to thee,
Than wait till Time each pulse shall lend
A strength that will not let it bend
To Reason's stern decree:
Since Fate hath willed that we must part,
'Twere better now to brave the smart.

IV.

Not seldom is the soul depressed
Whilst tearless is the eye;
For there are woes that wring the breast
When Feeling's fount is dry;—
Sorrows that do not fade with years,
But—dwelling all too deep for tears—
Rankle eternally!—
Such now as in my bosom swell,
Read thou in this wild word,—F AREWELL !