She pressed his fettered fingers to her heart,
And bowed her head, and turned her to depart,
And noiseless as a lovely dream is gone.
And bowed her head, and turned her to depart,
And noiseless as a lovely dream is gone.
Byron
1110
Oft must my soul the question undergo,
Of--'Dost thou love? ' and burn to answer, 'No! '
Oh! hard it is that fondness to sustain,
And struggle not to feel averse in vain;
But harder still the heart's recoil to bear,
And hide from one--perhaps another there.
He takes the hand I give not--nor withhold--
Its pulse nor checked--nor quickened--calmly cold:
And when resigned, it drops a lifeless weight
From one I never loved enough to hate. 1120
No warmth these lips return by his imprest,
And chilled Remembrance shudders o'er the rest.
Yes--had I ever proved that Passion's zeal,
The change to hatred were at least to feel:
But still--he goes unmourned--returns unsought--
And oft when present--absent from my thought.
Or when Reflection comes--and come it must--
I fear that henceforth 'twill but bring disgust;
I am his slave--but, in despite of pride,
'Twere worse than bondage to become his bride. 1130
Oh! that this dotage of his breast would cease!
Or seek another and give mine release,
But yesterday--I could have said, to peace!
Yes, if unwonted fondness now I feign,[hv]
Remember--Captive! 'tis to break thy chain;
Repay the life that to thy hand I owe;
To give thee back to all endeared below,
Who share such love as I can never know.
Farewell--Morn breaks--and I must now away:
'Twill cost me dear--but dread no death to-day! " 1140
XV.
She pressed his fettered fingers to her heart,
And bowed her head, and turned her to depart,
And noiseless as a lovely dream is gone.
And was she here? and is he now alone?
What gem hath dropped and sparkles o'er his chain?
The tear most sacred, shed for others' pain,
That starts at once--bright--pure--from Pity's mine,
Already polished by the hand divine!
Oh! too convincing--dangerously dear--
In Woman's eye the unanswerable tear! 1150
That weapon of her weakness she can wield,
To save, subdue--at once her spear and shield:
Avoid it--Virtue ebbs and Wisdom errs,
Too fondly gazing on that grief of hers!
What lost a world, and bade a hero fly?
The timid tear in Cleopatra's eye.
Yet be the soft Triumvir's fault forgiven;
By this--how many lose not earth--but Heaven!
Consign their souls to Man's eternal foe,
And seal their own to spare some Wanton's woe! 1160
XVI.
'Tis Morn--and o'er his altered features play
The beams--without the Hope of yesterday.
What shall he be ere night? perchance a thing
O'er which the raven flaps her funeral wing,
By his closed eye unheeded and unfelt;
While sets that Sun, and dews of Evening melt,
Chill, wet, and misty round each stiffened limb,
Refreshing earth--reviving all but him!
Oft must my soul the question undergo,
Of--'Dost thou love? ' and burn to answer, 'No! '
Oh! hard it is that fondness to sustain,
And struggle not to feel averse in vain;
But harder still the heart's recoil to bear,
And hide from one--perhaps another there.
He takes the hand I give not--nor withhold--
Its pulse nor checked--nor quickened--calmly cold:
And when resigned, it drops a lifeless weight
From one I never loved enough to hate. 1120
No warmth these lips return by his imprest,
And chilled Remembrance shudders o'er the rest.
Yes--had I ever proved that Passion's zeal,
The change to hatred were at least to feel:
But still--he goes unmourned--returns unsought--
And oft when present--absent from my thought.
Or when Reflection comes--and come it must--
I fear that henceforth 'twill but bring disgust;
I am his slave--but, in despite of pride,
'Twere worse than bondage to become his bride. 1130
Oh! that this dotage of his breast would cease!
Or seek another and give mine release,
But yesterday--I could have said, to peace!
Yes, if unwonted fondness now I feign,[hv]
Remember--Captive! 'tis to break thy chain;
Repay the life that to thy hand I owe;
To give thee back to all endeared below,
Who share such love as I can never know.
Farewell--Morn breaks--and I must now away:
'Twill cost me dear--but dread no death to-day! " 1140
XV.
She pressed his fettered fingers to her heart,
And bowed her head, and turned her to depart,
And noiseless as a lovely dream is gone.
And was she here? and is he now alone?
What gem hath dropped and sparkles o'er his chain?
The tear most sacred, shed for others' pain,
That starts at once--bright--pure--from Pity's mine,
Already polished by the hand divine!
Oh! too convincing--dangerously dear--
In Woman's eye the unanswerable tear! 1150
That weapon of her weakness she can wield,
To save, subdue--at once her spear and shield:
Avoid it--Virtue ebbs and Wisdom errs,
Too fondly gazing on that grief of hers!
What lost a world, and bade a hero fly?
The timid tear in Cleopatra's eye.
Yet be the soft Triumvir's fault forgiven;
By this--how many lose not earth--but Heaven!
Consign their souls to Man's eternal foe,
And seal their own to spare some Wanton's woe! 1160
XVI.
'Tis Morn--and o'er his altered features play
The beams--without the Hope of yesterday.
What shall he be ere night? perchance a thing
O'er which the raven flaps her funeral wing,
By his closed eye unheeded and unfelt;
While sets that Sun, and dews of Evening melt,
Chill, wet, and misty round each stiffened limb,
Refreshing earth--reviving all but him!
