I sing not for the crowd, or low or high--
A pensive wanderer on life's thorny heath
Earth's pageants for my view
Have nought: I love but few,
And few who chance to hear thy trembling breath,
My lyre, for her who wakes thee, have a sigh. [FN#6]
[FN#6] It may not be improper to observe that these stanzas were
composed during a period of misfortune and dejection.
Forsake me not! none ever loved thee more!
Fair queen, I'll meet woe's fearfulest frown--and smile;
If mid the scene severe
Thou'lt drop on me one tear,
And let thy flitting form sometimes beguile
The present of its ills--I'll scorn them and adore.
Then warm the form relentless fate would chill--
Dark lours my night--Oh! give me one embrace!
If every pain I bear
Befit me for thy care,
Come sorrow--scorn--desertion--I can chase
Despair, fell watching for her victim still.
ZOPHIEL.
CANTO I.
I.
The time has been--this holiest records say--
In punishment for crimes of mortal birth,
When spirits banished from the realms of day
Wandered malignant o'er the nighted earth.(1)
And from the cold and marble lips declared,
Of some blind-worshipped--earth-created god,
Their deep deceits; which trusting monarchs snared
Filling the air with moans, with gore the sod.
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