For on a grateful nation's breaste Thou and this orphan babe shall reste, Penwarne. THE SYMPATHY OF LOVE. We met-we gazed-I saw and sighed Involuntary sparks of thought, Which strike from out the heart o'erwrought, And form a strange intelligence, Alike mysterious and intense, 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 sighed-in silence wept, Without suspicion then, even then, I longed, and was resolved to speak; The accents tremulous and weak, It is I have forgot the name- I recked not if I won or lost, It was enough for me to be So near to her, and oh! to see The being whom I loved the most→→→→ (May ours this dark night watch as well!) Until I saw, and thus it was, That she was pensive, nor perceived Her occupation, nor was grieved. Nor glad to lose or gain; but still Played on for hours, as if her will Then through my brain the thought did pass Even as a flash of lightning there, That there was something in her air, And on the thought my words broke forth, Their eloquence was little worth. Her heart, be sure, is not of ice, I loved, and was beloved again. Where late he trod, her beautiful, her own; Thus much she viewed an instant and no moreHer struggle ceased with one convulsive groan; On her sire's arm, which until now scarce held Her writhing, fell she like a cedar felled. A vein had burst-and her sweet lips' pure dyes Were dabbled with the deep blood which ran o'er; And her head drooped as when the lily lies O'ercharged with rain; the summoned handmaids bore Their lady to her couch with gushing eyes: Of herbs and cordials they produced their store, Days lay she in that state, unchanged, though chill, She had no pulse, but death seemed absent still; All hope to look upon her sweet face bred The ruling passion, such as marble shows When exquisitely chiselled, still lay there, And ever-dying Gladiator's air, Their energy like life forms all their fame, Yet looks not life, for they are still the same. She woke at length but not as sleepers wake- Lay at her heart, whose earliest beat, still true, She looked on many a face with vacant eye, Her handmaids tended, but she heeded not; However dear or cherished in their day: They changed from room to room, but all forgot, Gentle, but without memory, she lay; And yet those eyes, which they would fain be weaning Back to old thoughts, seemed full of fearful meaning. 1 |