Kind solace in a dying hour!
   Such, father, is not (now) my theme �
 I will not madly deem that power
      Of Earth may shrive me of the sin
       Unearthly pride hath revell�d in��
   I have no time to dote or dream:
You call it hope �� that fire of fire!
It is but agony of desire:
If I can hope�� Oh God! I can��
    Its fount is holier�� more divine��
I would not call thee fool, old man,
  But such is not a gift of thine.
Know thou the secret of a spirit
   Bow�d from its wild pride into shame.
O yearning heart! I did inherit
Thy withering portion with the fame,
The searing glory which hath shone
Amid the jewels of my throne,
Halo of Hell! and with a pain
Not Hell shall make me fear again��
O craving heart, for the lost flowers
And sunshine of my summer hours!
The undying voice of that dead time,
With its interminable chime,
Rings, in the spirit of a spell,
Upon thy emptiness�� a knell.

I have not always been as now:
The fever�d diadem on my brow
   I claim�d and won usurpingly��
Hath not the same fierce heirdorm given
   Rome to the Caesar�� this to me?
      The heritage of a kingly mind,
And a proud spirit which hath striven
      Triumphantly with human kind.

On mountain soil I first drew life:
The mists of the Taglay have shed
      Nightly their dews upon my head,
And, I believe, the wing�d strife
And tumult of the headlong air
Have nestled in my very hair.

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 voice,
  My own voice, silly child!�� was swelling
     (O! how my spirit would rejoice,
And leap within me at the cry)
The battle‑cry of Victory!

The rain came down upon my head
   Unshelter�d�� 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��
The hum of suitors�� and the tone
Of flattery �round a sovereign�s throne.

My passions, from that hapless hour,
    Usurp�d a tyranny which men
Have deem�d, since I have reach�d to power,
       My innate nature�� be it so:
    But, father, there liv�d one who, then,
Then�� in my boyhood�� when their fire
Burn�d 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.

I have no words�� alas!�� to tell
The loveliness of loving well!
Nor would I now attempt to trace
The more than beauty of a face
Whose lineaments, upon my mind,
Are������shadows on th�unstable wind:
Thus I remember having dwelt
     Some page of early lore upon,
With loitering eye, till I have felt
The letters�� with their meaning�� melt
     To fantasies�� with none.

0, she was worthy of all love!
    Love�� as in infancy was mine��
�Twas such as angel minds above
    Might envy; her young heart the shrine
  On which my every hope and thought
    Were incense�� then a goodly gift,
        For they were childish and upright��
Pure������as her young example taught:
    Why did I leave it, and, adrift,
       Trust to the fire within, for light?

We grew in age�� and love�� together��
    Roaming the forest and the wild;
My breast her shield in wintry weather��
     And, when the friendly sunshine smil�d,
And she would mark the opening skies,
I saw no Heaven�� but in her eyes.

Young Love�s first lesson is�� the heart:
      For�mid that sunshine, and those smiles,
When, from our little cares apart,
     And laughing at her girlish wiles,
I�d throw me on her throbbing breast,
     And pour my spirit out in tears��
There was no need to speak the rest��
     No need to quiet any fears
 Of her�� who ask�d no reason why,
But turn�d on me her quiet eye!
 

Yet more than worthy of the love
My spirit struggled with, and strove,
When, on the mountain peak, alone,
Ambition lent it a new tone��
I had no being�� but in thee:
     The world, and all it did contain
In the earth�� the air�� the sea��
     Its joy�� its little lot of pain
That was new pleasure�� the ideal,
     Dim, vanities of dreams by night��
And dimmer nothings which were real��
      (Shadows�� and a more shadowy light!)
Parted upon their misty wings,
        And, so, confusedly, became
        Thine image and�� a name�� a name!
Two separate�� yet most intimate things.

I was ambitious�� have you known
        The passion, father? You have not:
A cottager, I mark�d a throne
Of half the world as all my own,
        And murmur�d at such lowly lot��
But, just like any other dream,
         Upon the vapor of the dew
My own had past, did not the beam
         Of beauty which did while it thro�
The minute�� the hour�� the day�� oppress
 My mind with double loveliness.

We walk�d together on the crown
  Of a high mountain which look�d down
Afar from its proud natural towers
     Of rock and forest, on the hills��
The dwindled hills! begirt with bowers
     And shouting with a thousand rills.

I spoke to her of power and pride,
     But mystically�� in such guise
That she might deem it nought beside
     The moment�s converse; in her eyes
I read, perhaps too carelessly,
     A mingled feeling with my own��
The flush on her bright cheek, to me
     Seem�d to become a queenly throne
Too well that I should let it be
     Light in the wilderness alone.

I wrapp�d myself in grandeur then
     And donn�d a visionary crown��
           Yet it was not that Fantasy
           Had thrown her mantle over me��
But that, among the rabble�� men,
    Lion ambition is chain�d down��
And crouches to a keeper�s hand��
Not so in deserts where the grand��
The wild�� the terrible conspire
With their own breath to fan his fire.

Look �round thee now on Samarcand!��
     Is she not queen of Earth? her pride
Above all cities? in her hand
    Their destinies? in all beside
 Of glory which the world hath known
Stands she not nobly and alone?
Falling�� her veriest stepping‑stone
Shall form the pedestal of a throne��
And who her sovereign? Timour�� he
     Whom the astonished people saw
Striding o�er empires haughtily
     A diadem�d outlaw!
O, human love! thou spirit given,
On Earth, of all we hope in Heaven!
Which fall�st into the soul like rain
Upon the Siroc‑wither�d plain,
And, failing in thy power to bless,
But leav�st the heart a wilderness!
Idea! which bindest life around
With music of so strange a sound
And beauty of so wild a birth��
Farewell! for I have won the Earth.

When Hope, the eagle that tower�d, could see
    No cliff beyond him in the sky,
His pinions were bent droopingly��
   And homeward turn�d his soften�d eye.
�T was sunset: when the sun will part
There comes a sullenness of heart
To him who still would look upon
The glory of the summer sun.
That soul will hate the ev�ning mist
So often lovely, and will list
To the sound of the coming darkness (known
To those whose spirits harken) as one
Who, in a dream of night, would fly
But cannot from a danger nigh.

What tho� the moon�� the white moon��
Shed all the splendor of her noon,
Her smile is chilly�� and her beam,
In that time of dreariness, will seem
(So like you gather in your breath)
A portrait taken after death.
And boyhood is a summer sun
Whose waning is the dreariest one��
For all we live to know is known,
And all we seek to keep bath flown.
Let life, then, as the day‑flower, fall
With the noon‑day beauty�� which is all.

I reach�d my home�� my home no more��
    For all had flown who made it so.
I pass�d from out its mossy door,
     And, tho� my tread was soft and low,
A voice came from the threshold stone
Of one whom I had earlier known��
     O, I defy thee, Hell, to show
     On beds of fire that burn below,
     An humbler heart�� a deeper wo.

Father, I firmly do believe��
     I know�� for Death who comes for me
          From regions of the blest afar,
Where there is nothing to deceive,
         Hath left his iron gate ajar,
     And rays of truth you cannot see
     Are  flashing thro�Eternity��
I do believe that Eblis hath
A snare in every human path��
Else how, when in the holy grove
I wandered of the idol, Love,
Who daily scents his snowy wings,
With incense of burnt offerings
From the most unpolluted things,
Whose pleasant bowers are yet so riven
Above with trellis�d rays from Heaven
No mote may shun�� no tiniest fly��
The light�ning of his eagle eye��
How was it that Ambition crept,
      Unseen, amid the revels there,
Till growing bold, he laughed and leapt
      In the tangles of Love�s very hair?

I saw thee on thy bridal day��
    When a burning blush came o�er thee,
Though happiness around thee lay,
    The world all love before thee:

And in thine eye a kindling light
    (Whatever it might be)
Was all on Earth my aching sight
    Of Loveliness could see.

 That blush, perhaps, was maiden shame��
     As such it well may pass��
Though its glow hath raised a fiercer flame
     In the breast of him, alas!

Who  saw the on that bridal day,
    When that deep blush would come o�er thee,
Though happiness around thee lay,
    The world all love before thee.

Oh! that my young life were a lasting dream!
My spirit not awak�ning till the beam
Of an Eternity should bring the morrow.
Yes! tho� that long dream were of hopeless sorrow,
�T were better than the cold reality
Of waking life, to him whose heart must be,
And hath been still, upon the lovely earth,
A chaos of deep passion, from his birth.
But should it be�� that dream eternally
Continuing�� as dreams have been to me
In my young boyhood�� should it thus be giv�n,
�T were folly still to hope for higher Heav�n.
For I have revell�d, when the sun was bright
I�the summer sky, in dreams of living light
And loveliness,�� have left my very heart
In climes of mine imagining, apart
From mine own home, with beings that have been
Of mine own thought�� what more could I have seen?
�T was once�� and only once�� and the wild hour
From my remembrance shall not pass�� some pow�r
Or spell had bound me���t was the chilly wind
Came o�er me in the night, and left behind
Its image on my spirit�� or the moon
Shone on my slumbers in her lofty noon
Too coldly�� or the stars�� howe�er it was,
That dream was as that night‑wind�� let it pass.

I  have been happy, tho� in a dream.
I have been happy�� and I love the theme:
Dreams! in their vivid coloring of life,
As in that fleeting, shadowy, misty strife
Of semblance with reality which brings
To the delirious eye, more lovely things
Of Paradise and Love�� and all our own!
Than young Hope in his sunniest hour hath known.

In visions of the dark night
     I have dreamed of joy departed��
But a waking dream of life and light
    Hath left me broken‑hearted.

Ah! what is not a dream by day
    To him whose eyes are cast
On things around him with a ray
    Turned back upon the past?

That holy dream�� that holy dream,
    While all the world were chiding,
Hath cheered me as a lovely beam
     A lonely spirit guiding.

What though that light, thro�storm and night,
    So trembled from afar��
What could there be more purely bright
    In Truth�s day‑star?

The happiest day ‑ the happiest hour
    My sear�d and blighted heart hath known,
The highest hope of pride and power,
    I feel hath flown.

Of power! said I? Yes! such  I ween;
    But they have vanish�d long, alas!
The visions of my youth have been
    But let them pass.

And, pride, what have I now with thee?
    Another brow may ev�n inherit
The venom thou hast pour�d on me��
    Be still, my spirit.

The happiest day�� the happiest hour
    Mine eyes shall see�� have ever seen,
The brightest glance of pride and power
    I feel�� have been:

But were that hope of pride and power
    Now offer�d, with the pain
Ev�n then I felt�� that brightest hour
   I would not live again:

For on its wing was dark alloy,
    And as it flutter�d�� fell
An essence�� powerful to destroy
    A soul that knew it well.

In spring of youth it was my lot
To haunt of the wide world a spot
The which I could not love the less��
So lovely was the loneliness
Of a wild lake, with black rock bound,
And the tall pines that towered around.

But when the Night had thrown her pall
Upon that spot, as upon all,
And the mystic wind went by
Murmuring in melody,
Then�� ah, then I would awake
To the terror of the lone lake.

Yet that terror was not fright,
But a tremulous delight��
A feeling not the jewelled mine
Could teach or bribe me to define��
Nor Love�� although the Love were thine.

Death was in that poisonous wave,
And in its gulf a fitting grave
For him who thence could solace bring
To his lone imagining��
Whose solitary soul could make
An Eden of that dim lake.