And were they but for this, those pa**ionate schemes
Of joy, that I have nursed? indeed for this
That longings, day and night, have filled my dreams?
Now it has come, the hour of bliss,
How different it seems!
So thought I bitterly: but on my bed
As I lay lone and restless, in my ear,
Falling from some far place of peace o'erhead
Through the still dark, I seemed to hear
These accents softly shed:
``Wouldst thou then, child, from this invading pain
Find refuge, and relax thy suffering will
In tears? To peace wouldst thou indeed attain?
Remember all thy courage; still
True to thyself remain!
``What is it to thee, if some wished delight.
That from the future beckoned thee, at last
Comes changed, its former glory faded quite?
Fly the perfidious Hours; keep fast
Within, the springs of light!
``What is it to thee, if in some dear mind
Another is remembered, more than thou?
Quench that poor envy; let no gazer find
Aught in thine acts or on thy brow
But what is sweet and kind!
``For how shall that pure spirit, whom vain things flee,
Whom pa**ion's ebbs and floods delight not, Love
The consolation of the world, if he
Out of his course so lightly move,
Immortal and eternal be?
``Take courage! peace at last and joy attend
The true--fixt heart that mocks Time's envious power;
The heart that, tender even to the end,
Exacts not joy from any hour,
Nor love from any friend.''
Alas! how oft I have wished that voice had spared
Its counsel stern, nor pointed me through tears
My path! How oft, to feet stumbling and scarred,
That path impossible appears;
Which yet is only hard.