O yearning heart! I did inherit Thy withering portion with the fame, O craving heart, for the lost flowers Rings, in the spirit of a spell, Upon thy emptiness-a knell. III, I have not always been as now, I claimed and won usurpingly—— Hath not the same fierce heirdom given Rome to the Cæsar-this to me? The heritage of a kingly mind, And a proud spirit which hath striven Triumphantly with human kind. IV. On mountain soil I first drew life: The mists of the Taglay have shed Nightly their dews upon my head, And, I believe, the wingèd strife And tumult of the headlong air Have nestled in my very hair. V. So late from Heaven-that dew-it fell ('Mid dreams of an unholy night) Upon me with the touch of Hell, While the red flashing of the light From clouds that hung, like banners, o'er, Appeared to my half-closing eye The pageantry of monarchy, And the deep trumpet-thunder's roar Came hurriedly upon me, telling Of human battle, where my voiceMy own voice, silly child !—was swelling (O! how my spirit would rejoice, And leap within me at the cry) The battle-cry of Victory! VI. The rain came down upon my head Unsheltered-and the heavy wind Rendered me mad and deaf and blind. It was but man, I thought, who shed Laurels upon me and the rush The torrent of the chilly air Gurgled within my ear the crush Of empires-with the captive's prayer— Of flattery round a sovereign's throne. VII. My passions, from that hapless hour, Usurped a tyranny which men Have deemed, since I have reached to power, My innate nature—be it so : But, father, there lived one who, then, Then-in my boyhood-when their fire Burned with a still intenser glow (For passion must, with youth, expire), E'en then who knew this iron heart In woman's weakness had a part. VIII. I have no words-alas !—to tell The loveliness of loving well! The more than beauty of a face Whose lineaments, upon my mind, Are--shadows on th' unstable wind! |