Rejoice, ye tribes of Israel, the Lord was on your side,
Your fierce presumptuous enemies have fallen in their pride?
But, Jephthah, thou art childless now, lift up thy voice and weep!
No sound of wailing can disturb thy daughter’s dreamless sleep!
May, 1858.
DE PROFUNDIS.
I’ve seen the Ocean try to kiss the Moon,
Till the wild effort of his hopeless love
Tortured him into madness, and the roar
From his great throat was terrible to hear;
And his vast bosom heaved such awful sighs
As made Earth tremble to her very bones,
And all her children cling to her for fear.
And I have watched and seen a gentle change
Come over him, till, like a child, he lay,
That, disappointed, cries herself asleep,
And on her sorrow angels paint a dream
So happy that her face is one sweet smile.
So have I seen the love-tost Ocean smile
After his fury, till I almost hoped
That the gay Moon would never tempt him more.
But ever his heart throbs at her approach,
And he awakes in all the strength of love,
And frets himself to madness, watching her.
And when, as I have sometimes seen, the Sun,
His mighty rival, struts before his eyes
With her he loves, and warmly looks on her,
Oh! how his heart is torn with jealousy!
Oh! how he froths and foams and moans and raves,
Till all his energy is lost in sleep,
From which his love will rouse him soon again!
So did I learn the Ocean’s tale of love,
Watching him, day by day, for many years,
Hearing him often murmur in his sleep
Such sweet, sad murmurs, that I pitied him;
And, like Electra, sat beside his bed
Till all the madness of his love awoke.
O Ocean! thou art like the human heart,
Which craves forever what it cannot have,
And, though a little it forget its strife
Of longing, only wakes to long again
For that which is no more accessible
Than is the Moon to thee! Yet, shouldst thou lie
Dull, sluggish, motionless, thy very life
Would grow corrupt, and from the stagnant mass
All things abominable would creep forth
To soil with slimy poison the fair Earth;
And that alone which moves thee to thy heart
Can keep thee pure and bright and beautiful!
So, by the anguish of a hopeless love,—
So, by the madness born of mental pain,—
So, by the endless strife of joy and fear,—
So, by all sufferings, tortures, agonies,—
So, by the powers that shake it to its depths,—
So, by the very loss of what it seeks,—
The heart is purified, and that which seems
Its death gives it a fresher, truer life.