Yes, Thyrza! yes, they breathe of thee, Is worse than discord to my heart! A voice that now might well be still; TO THYRZA. ONE struggle more, and I am free From pangs that rend my heart in twain, One last long sigh to love and thee, Then back to busy life again. It suits me well to mingle now With things that never pleased before: Though every joy is fled below, What future grief can touch me more? Then bring me wine, the banquet bring; That smiles with all, and weeps with none. It was not thus in days more dear, It never would have been, but thou In vain my lyre would lightly breathe! Though gay companions o'er the bowl Though pleasure fires the maddening soul, On many a lone and lovely night When stretch'd on fever's sleepless bed, <<'T is comfort still,» I faintly said, << That Thyrza cannot know my pains: Like freedom to the time-worn slave, A boon 't is idle then to give, Relenting Nature vainly gave My life, when Thyrza ceased to live! My Thyrza's pledge in better days, When love and life alike were new! Thou bitter pledge! thou mournful token! Or break the heart to which thou 'rt prest! EUTHANASIA. WHEN Time, or soon or late, shall bring Wave gently o'er my dying bed! But silent let me sink to earth, With no officious mourners near: Yet Love, if Love in such an hour In her who lives and him who dies. 'T were sweet, my Psyche! to the last Thy features still serene to see: Forgetful of its struggles past, E'en Pain itself should smile on thee. But vain the wish-for Beauty still Will shrink, as shrinks the ebbing breath; And woman's tears, produced at will, Deceive in life, unman in death. Then lonely be my latest hour, Without regret, without a groan! Ay, but to die, and go,» alas! Where all have gone, and all must go! To be the nothing that I was Ere born to life and living woe! Count o'er the joys thine hours have seen, And know, whatever thou hast been, STANZAS. Heu quanto ninus est cum reliquis versari quam tui meminisse! AND thou art dead, as young and fair As aught of mortal birth; And form so soft, and charms so rare, Though Earth received them in her bed, There is an eye which could not brook I will not ask where thou liest low, There flowers or weeds at will may grow, So I behold them not: It is enough for me to prove That what I loved, and long must love, Like common earth can rot; To me there needs no stone to tell, Yet did I love thee to the last Who didst not change through all the past, And canst not alter now. The love where Death has set his seal, Nor falsehood disavow: And, what were worse, thou canst not see |