Yet these were tokens Rowland did not heed,
Such trifles then he little cared about,
As he upon his journey did proceed
He was disturbed within more than without
And dead to all around I've not a doubt,
Absorbed in thoughts that words can ne'er define,
Yet you can guess, my reader, what about,
Most likely such as those have once been thine,
I really fail to count how often they've been mine.
C.
Within him was a feeling as of pain,—
That melancholy music in whose tone,
Though full of sadness, something sweet doth reign,
And Rowland for the first time felt alone;
How often hath this feeling been our own
When all is—what? compared to something dear,
When former pleasures all, yea, all have flown,
And life is centred in another sphere,
And all the world is nothing if one be not near.
CI.
There was a something in the heaven above
That corresponded with his state of mind;
We all know what it is to be in love,
When all Earth's sweetest pleasures seem combined,
When Life and Love both, both are intertwined,
And the young blood is as the desert's thirst,
A scorching wilderness, a torrid wind,
A torrent with its flood-gates open burst;
When Youth's most cherished hopes within the breast are nursed.
CII.
O tell me not that Youth, all youth is folly,
Give me the kiss that youth doth first impress,
O let me feel love's ling'ring melancholy,
And smile on lips all youthful loveliness!
Give me the bosom I can fondly press
While Youth's hot blood is burning in the veins,
O what but this is earthly happiness?
This world no sweeter thing than this contains;
When days of youth are o'er, life's foremost pleasure wanes.
CIII.
Yes, Youth was made for such; it is enough
To know in some fond heart our words abide;
Oh life's not life but death without a love,
All ceaseless darkness where she is denied!
We know not our existence till we hide
Our soul within another's there to be
Its very being: like a river wide
Love rolls its endless volumes to the sea,
Losing itself within its own immensity.
CIV.