Selected Poems (113 page)

To virtue a few farewell tears,

A restless dream or two, some glances

At Warsaw’s youth, some songs, and dances,

Awaited but the usual chances,

175

Those happy accidents which render

The coldest dames so very tender,

To deck her Count with titles given,

’Tis said, as passports into heaven;

But, strange to say, they rarely boast

180

Of these, who have deserved them most.

V

‘I was a goodly stripling then;

At seventy years I so may say,

That there were few, or boys or men

Who, in my dawning time of day,

185

Of vassal or of knight’s degree,

Could vie in vanities with me;

For I had strength, youth, gaiety,

A port, not like to this ye see,

But smooth, as all is rugged now;

190

For time, and care, and war, have plough’d

My very soul from out my brow;

And thus I should be disavow’d

By all my kind and kin, could they

Compare my day and yesterday;

195

This change was wrought, too, long ere age

Had ta’en my features for his page:

With years, ye know, have not declined

My strength, my courage, or my mind,

Or at this hour I should not be

200

Telling old tales beneath a tree,

With starless skies my canopy.

But let me on: Theresa’s form –

Methinks it glides before me now,

Between me and yon chestnut’s bough,

205

The memory is so quick and warm;

And yet I find no words to tell

The shape of her I loved so well:

She had the Asiatic eye,

Such as our Turkish neighbourhood

210

Hath mingled with our Polish blood,

Dark as above us is the sky;

But through it stole a tender light,

Like the first moonrise of midnight;

Large, dark, and swimming in the stream,

215

Which seem’d to melt to its own beam;

All love, half languor, and half fire,

Like saints that at the stake expire,

And lift their raptured looks on high,

As though it were a joy to die.

220

A brow like a midsummer lake,

Transparent with the sun therein,

When waves no murmur dare to make,

And heaven beholds her face within.

A cheek and lip – but why proceed?

225

I loved her then – I love her still;

And such as I am, love indeed

In fierce extremes — in good and ill.

But still we love even in our rage,

And haunted to our very age

230

With the vain shadow of the past,

As is Mazeppa to the last.

VI

‘We met – we gazed – I saw, and sigh’d,

She did not speak, and yet replied;

There are ten thousand tones and signs

235

We hear and see, but none defines —

Involuntary sparks of thought,

Which strike from out the heart o’erwrought,

And form a strange intelligence,

Alike mysterious and intense,

240

Which link the burning chain that binds,

Without their will, young hearts and minds;

Conveying, as the electric wire,

We know not how, the absorbing fire. –

I saw, and sigh’d – in silence wept,

245

And still reluctant distance kept,

Until I was made known to her,

And we might then and there confer

Without suspicion — then, even then,

I long’d, and was resolved to speak;

250

But on my lips they died again,

The accents tremulous and weak,

Until one hour. — There is a game,

A frivolous and foolish play,

Wherewith we while away the day;

255

It is – I have forgot the name –

And we to this, it seems, were set,

By some strange chance, which I forget:

I reck’d not if I won or lost,

It was enough for me to be

260

So near to hear, and oh! to see

The being whom I loved the most. –

I watch’d her as a sentinel,

(May ours this dark night watch as well!)

Until I saw, and thus it was,

265

That she was pensive, nor perceived

Her occupation, nor was grieved

Nor glad to lose or gain; but still

Play’d on for hours, as if her will

Yet bound her to the place, though not

270

That hers might be the winning lot.

Then through my brain the thought did pass

Even as a flash of lightning there,

That there was something in her air

Which would not doom me to despair;

275

And on the thought my words broke forth,

All incoherent as they were —

Their eloquence was little worth,

But yet she listen’d – ’tis enough –

Who listens once will listen twice;

280

Her heart, be sure, is not of ice,

And one refusal no rebuff.

VII

‘I loved, and was beloved again –

They tell me, Sire, you never knew

Those gentle frailties; if ’tis true,

285

I shorten all my joy or pain;

To you ’twould seem absurd as vain;

But all men are not born to reign,

Or o’er their passions, or as you

Thus o’er themselves and nations too.

290

I am — or rather
was
— a prince,

A chief of thousands, and could lead

Them on where each would foremost bleed;

But could not o’er myself evince

The like control — But to resume:

295

I loved, and was beloved again;

In sooth, it is a happy doom,

But yet where happiest ends in pain. –

We met in secret, and the hour

Which led me to that lady’s bower

300

Was fiery Expectation’s dower.

My days and nights were nothing – all

Except that hour which doth recall

In the long lapse from youth to age

No other like itself — I’d give

305

The Ukraine back again to live

It o’er once more – and be a page,

The happy page, who was the lord

Of one soft heart, and his own sword,

And had no other gem nor wealth

310

Save nature’s gift of youth and health. —

We met in secret — doubly sweet,

Some say, they find it so to meet;

I know not that – I would have given

My life but to have call’d her mine

315

In the full view of earth and heaven;

For I did oft and long repine

That we could only meet by stealth.

VIII

‘For lovers there are many eyes,

And such there were on us; – the devil

320

On such occasions should be civil –

The devil! — I’m loth to do him wrong,

It might be some untoward saint,

Who would not be at rest too long,

But to his pious bile gave vent –

325

But one fair night, some lurking spies

Surprised and seized us both.

The Count was something more than wroth –

I was unarm’d; but if in steel,

All cap-à-pie from head to heel,

330

What ’gainst their numbers could I do? —

’Twas near his castle, far away

From city or from succour near,

And almost on the break of day;

I did not think to see another,

335

My moments seem’d reduced to few;

And with one prayer to Mary Mother,

And, it may be, a saint or two,

As I resigned me to my fate,

They led me to the castle gate:

340

Theresa’s doom I never knew,

Our lot was henceforth separate. —