Thy bride—for thus was plighted faith,
And pledge and promise kept;
I smil'd deridingly on those
Who look'd on me, and wept:
I dar'd my doom; that reckless smile,
Its memory haunts me still,
Recurring 'mid each change to add
Intensity to ill!
Amid each change—and change to me
Has been with evil fraught,
Yet long I vainly sought to gild
The ruin thou hadst wrought;
Beneath the stern, unjust rebuke,
Love's holy silence kept,
And at a cold and thankless shrine,
I worship'd while I wept!
I learn'd to look upon the brow
Where stern indifference sat,
But love—the love a rival shared—
I could not witness that!
I saw thee on another smile,
I mark'd the mute caress,
And blush'd in agony to think
I could not love thee less!
The shaft has entered!—other hand
Had vainly aimed the blow;
With thee I had unshrinking met
A world of want or wo;
With thee I fearlessly had dar'd
Each form of earthly ill,
And 'mid the desert, bird and flower
Had gaily met me still.
The shaft has entered!—even thou
Wilt weep to learn my fate;
Oh, would that I could spare the pang
Which then will come too late!
Alas for life, which from the past
No closing light can borrow,
Whose story is a tale of sin,
Of suffering, and sorrow!
Rebecca.
[FRANCIS MITFORD.]
NUMBER TWO.