DOUBT.
Bright laughs the sun; the birds, that are to air
Like song to life, are gaily on the wing;
In every mead the handmaid hours prepare
The delicates of spring;[E]
But, if she love me not!
To me at this fair season still hath been
In every wild-flower an exhaustless treasure,
And, when the young-eyed violet first was seen,
Methought to breathe was pleasure;—
But, if she love me not!
How, in thy twilight, Doubt, at each unknown
Dim shape, the superstitious Love will start;
How Hope itself will tremble at its own
Light shadow on the heart!—
Ah, if she love me not!
Well; I will know the worst, and leave the wind
To drift or drown the venture on the wave;
Life has two friends in grief itself most kind—
Remembrance and the Grave—
Mine, if she love me not!
THE ASSURANCE.
I am loved, I am loved—Jubilate!
Hark! hark! how the happy note swells
To and fro from the fairy bells,
With which the flowers melodiously
To their banquet halls invite the bee!—
"He is loved, he is loved—Jubilate!"
The echo at rest on her mountain-keep
Murmurs the sound in her broken sleep—
"He is loved, he is loved—Jubilate!"
And those gossips, the winds, have come to scout
What the earth is so happy about,
And they catch the sound, and circle it round—
"He is loved, he is loved—Jubilate!"
And the rivers, who, all the world must know,
Were in love with the stars ever since they could flow,
With a dimpled cheek and a joyous sigh,
Whisper it up to the list'ning sky,
"He is loved, he is loved—Jubilate!"
It is not the world that I knew before;
Where is the gloom that its glory wore?
Not a foe could offend, nor a friend betray,
Old Hatred hath gone to his grave to-day!
Hark! hark! his knell we toll,
Here's to the peace of his sinful soul!
On the earth below, in the heaven above,
Nothing is left me now but Love.
Love, Love, honour to Love,
I am loved, I am loved—Jubilate!