From a Dungeon Wall in the Southern College
Listen! when your hair, like mine,
Takes a tint of silver grey;
When your eyes, with dimmer shine,
Watch life's bubbles float away;
“When you, young man, have borne like me,
The weary weight of sixty-three,
Then shall penance sore be paid
For these hours so wildly squandered;
And the words that now fall dead
On your ears, be deeply pondered;
Pondered and approved at last,
But their virtue will be past!
“Glorious is the prize of Duty,
Though she be a serious power;
Treacherous all the lures of Beauty,
Thorny bud and poisonous flower!
“Mirth is but a mad beguiling
Of the golden-gifted Time;
Love, a demon-meteor, wiling
Heedless feet to gulfs of crime.
“Those who follow earthly pleasure,
Heavenly knowledge will not lead;
Wisdom hides from them her treasure,
Virtue bids them evil-speed!
“Vainly may their hearts, repenting,
Seek for aid in future years;
Wisdom scorned knows no relenting;
Virtue is not won by tears.
“Fain would we your steps reclaim,
Waken fear and holy shame.
And to this end, our council well
And kindly doomed you to a cell
Whose darkness may, perchance, disclose
A beacon-guide from sterner woes.”
So spake my judge—then seized his lamp
And left me in the dungeon damp,
A vault-like place whose stagnant air
Suggests and nourishes despair!
Rosina, this had never been
Except for you, my despot queen!
Except for you the billowy sea
Would now be tossing under me,
The wind's wild voice my bosom thrill
And my glad heart bound wilder still,
Flying before the rapid gale
Those wondrous southern isles to hail
Which wait for my companions free
But thank your passion—not for me!
You know too well—and so do I—
Your haughty beauty's sovereignty;
Yet have I read those falcon eyes—
Have dived into their mysteries—
Have studied long their glance and feel
It is not love those eyes reveal.
They Flash, they burn with lightning shine,
But not with such fond fire as mine;
The tender star fades faint and wan
Before Ambition's scorching sun.
So deem I now—and Time will prove
If I have wronged Rosina's love.
Takes a tint of silver grey;
When your eyes, with dimmer shine,
Watch life's bubbles float away;
“When you, young man, have borne like me,
The weary weight of sixty-three,
Then shall penance sore be paid
For these hours so wildly squandered;
And the words that now fall dead
On your ears, be deeply pondered;
Pondered and approved at last,
But their virtue will be past!
“Glorious is the prize of Duty,
Though she be a serious power;
Treacherous all the lures of Beauty,
Thorny bud and poisonous flower!
“Mirth is but a mad beguiling
Of the golden-gifted Time;
Love, a demon-meteor, wiling
Heedless feet to gulfs of crime.
“Those who follow earthly pleasure,
Heavenly knowledge will not lead;
Wisdom hides from them her treasure,
Virtue bids them evil-speed!
“Vainly may their hearts, repenting,
Seek for aid in future years;
Wisdom scorned knows no relenting;
Virtue is not won by tears.
“Fain would we your steps reclaim,
Waken fear and holy shame.
And to this end, our council well
And kindly doomed you to a cell
Whose darkness may, perchance, disclose
A beacon-guide from sterner woes.”
So spake my judge—then seized his lamp
And left me in the dungeon damp,
A vault-like place whose stagnant air
Suggests and nourishes despair!
Rosina, this had never been
Except for you, my despot queen!
Except for you the billowy sea
Would now be tossing under me,
The wind's wild voice my bosom thrill
And my glad heart bound wilder still,
Flying before the rapid gale
Those wondrous southern isles to hail
Which wait for my companions free
But thank your passion—not for me!
You know too well—and so do I—
Your haughty beauty's sovereignty;
Yet have I read those falcon eyes—
Have dived into their mysteries—
Have studied long their glance and feel
It is not love those eyes reveal.
They Flash, they burn with lightning shine,
But not with such fond fire as mine;
The tender star fades faint and wan
Before Ambition's scorching sun.
So deem I now—and Time will prove
If I have wronged Rosina's love.
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