THE RETROSPECT.
I have not heard thy name for years;
Thy memory ere thyself is dead;
And even I forget the tears
That once for thy lov’d sake were shed.
There was a time when thou didst seem
The light and breath of life to me—
When, e’en in thought, I could not dream
That less than mine thou e’er could be:—
Yet now it is a chance that brought
Thy image to my heart again;
A single flower recall’d the thought—
Why is it still so full of pain?
The jasmine, round the casement twin’d,
Caught mine eye in the pale moonlight.
It broke my dream, and brought to mind
Another dream—another night.
As then, I by the casement leant,
As then, the silver moonlight shone
But not, as then, another bent
Beside me—I am now alone.
The sea is now between us twain
As wide a gulf between each heart;
Never can either have again
An influence on the other’s part.
Our paths are different; perchance mine
May seem the sunniest of the two:
The lute, which once was only thine,
Has other aim, and higher view.
My song has now a wider scope
Than when its first tones breath’d thy name;
My heart has done with Love—and hope
Turn’d to another idol—Fame.
’Tis but one destiny; one dream
Succeeds another—like a wave
Following its bubbles—till their gleam
Is lost, and ended in the grave.
Why am I sorrowful? ’Tis not
One thought of thee has brought the tear
In sooth, thou art so much forgot,
I do not even wish thee here.
Both are so chang’d, that did we meet
We might but marvel we had lov’d:
What made our earliest dream so sweet?—
Illusions—long, long since remov’d.
I sorrow—but it is to know
How still some fair deceit unweaves—
To think how all of joy below
Is only joy while it deceives.
I sorrow—but it is to feel
Changes which my own mind hath told:—
What, though time polishes the steel,
Alas! it is less bright than cold.
Have more smiles, and fewer tears;
But tears are now restrain’d for shame:
Task-work the smiles my lip now wears,
That once like rain and sunshine came.
Where is the sweet credulity,
Happy in that fond trust it bore,
Which never dream’d the time would be
When it could hope and trust no more?
Affection, springing warmly forth—
Light word, light laugh, and lighter care
Life’s afternoon is little worth—
The dew and warmth of morning air.
I would not live again love’s hour;
But fain I would again recall
The feelings which upheld its power—
The truth, the hope, that made it thrall.
I would renounce the worldliness,
Now too much with my heart and me;
In one trust more, in one doubt less,
How much of happiness would be!—
Vainer than vain! Why should I ask
Life’s sweet but most deceiving part?
Alas! the bloom upon the cheek
Long, long outlives that of the heart.
L. E. L.—Monthly Magazine.