Part 6

"Oh! Love was all a thin illusion Joy, but the desert's flying stream; And glancing back on long delusion, My memory grasps a hollow dream.

"Yet whence that wondrous change of feeling, I never knew, and cannot learn; Nor why my lover's eye, congealing, Grew cold and clouded, proud and stern.

"Nor wherefore, friendship's forms forgetting, He careless left, and cool withdrew; Nor spoke of grief, nor fond regretting, Nor ev'n one glance of comfort threw.

"And neither word nor token sending, Of kindness, since the parting day, His course, for distant regions bending, Went, self-contained and calm, away.

"Oh, bitter, blighting, keen sensation, Which will not weaken, cannot die, Hasten thy work of desolation, And let my tortured spirit fly!

"Vain as the passing gale, my crying; Though lightning-struck, I must live on; I know, at heart, there is no dying Of love, and ruined hope, alone.

"Still strong and young, and warm with vigour, Though scathed, I long shall greenly grow; And many a storm of wildest rigour Shall yet break o'er my shivered bough.

"Rebellious now to blank inertion, My unused strength demands a task; Travel, and toil, and full exertion, Are the last, only boon I ask.

"Whence, then, this vain and barren dreaming Of death, and dubious life to come? I see a nearer beacon gleaming Over dejection's sea of gloom.

"The very wildness of my sorrow Tells me I yet have innate force; My track of life has been too narrow, Effort shall trace a broader course.

"The world is not in yonder tower, Earth is not prisoned in that room, 'Mid whose dark panels, hour by hour, I've sat, the slave and prey of gloom.

"One feeling--turned to utter anguish, Is not my being's only aim; When, lorn and loveless, life will languish, But courage can revive the flame.

"He, when he left me, went a roving To sunny climes, beyond the sea; And I, the weight of woe removing, Am free and fetterless as he.

"New scenes, new language, skies less clouded, May once more wake the wish to live; Strange, foreign towns, astir, and crowded, New pictures to the mind may give.

"New forms and faces, passing ever, May hide the one I still retain, Defined, and fixed, and fading never, Stamped deep on vision, heart, and brain.

"And we might meet--time may have changed him; Chance may reveal the mystery, The secret influence which estranged him; Love may restore him yet to me.

"False thought--false hope--in scorn be banished! I am not loved--nor loved have been; Recall not, then, the dreams scarce vanished; Traitors! mislead me not again!

"To words like yours I bid defiance, 'Tis such my mental wreck have made; Of God alone, and self-reliance, I ask for solace--hope for aid.

"Morn comes--and ere meridian glory O'er these, my natal woods, shall smile, Both lonely wood and mansion hoary I'll leave behind, full many a mile."

GILBERT.

I. THE GARDEN.

Above the city hung the moon, Right o'er a plot of ground Where flowers and orchard-trees were fenced With lofty walls around: 'Twas Gilbert's garden--there to-night Awhile he walked alone; And, tired with sedentary toil, Mused where the moonlight shone.

This garden, in a city-heart, Lay still as houseless wild, Though many-windowed mansion fronts Were round it; closely piled; But thick their walls, and those within Lived lives by noise unstirred; Like wafting of an angel's wing, Time's flight by them was heard.

Some soft piano-notes alone Were sweet as faintly given, Where ladies, doubtless, cheered the hearth With song that winter-even. The city's many-mingled sounds Rose like the hum of ocean; They rather lulled the heart than roused Its pulse to faster motion.

Gilbert has paced the single walk An hour, yet is not weary; And, though it be a winter night He feels nor cold nor dreary. The prime of life is in his veins, And sends his blood fast flowing, And Fancy's fervour warms the thoughts Now in his bosom glowing.

Those thoughts recur to early love, Or what he love would name, Though haply Gilbert's secret deeds Might other title claim. Such theme not oft his mind absorbs, He to the world clings fast, And too much for the present lives, To linger o'er the past.

But now the evening's deep repose Has glided to his soul; That moonlight falls on Memory, And shows her fading scroll. One name appears in every line The gentle rays shine o'er, And still he smiles and still repeats That one name--Elinor.

There is no sorrow in his smile, No kindness in his tone; The triumph of a selfish heart Speaks coldly there alone; He says: "She loved me more than life; And truly it was sweet To see so fair a woman kneel, In bondage, at my feet.