Why, the gold cloud grows leaden, as the eve In that old day the subtle child-god came; He went, my girl, and raised your hand and sighed, Old wife, old love, there is a something yet HON. JOHN LEICESTER WARREN. RENUNCIATION. H no! you shall not catch me in the snare- Life might become a terror, a despair, Nothing is given here, 'tis only lent, I will not, dare not, trust: For joy might strike at once his heaven-built tent, And leave me but its dust. What horror, after all my life was given, Adventured on one barque, If that should go, even to the joy of heaven, Left on a wreck of sorrow, with no power With death denied, and every torturing hour Left with the dregs of life, its wine poured out; Left to the past a prey; From its sad ghosts that haunt my heart about, Helpless to flee away. No! I renounce life's bliss-love's perfect flower, Sweet though it be !-I choose The lower, lasting lot, and keep the power, Without a pang, to lose. WINDLE-STRAWS. I. ERE life to last for ever, love, We might go hand in hand, And pause and pull the flowers that blow And we might lie in sunny fields And while the hours away With fallings-out and fallings-in For half a summer day. But since we two must sever, love, I have no time to give thee much "For ever thine," and "thine my love,” O Death may come apace. What more of love could life bestow, Dearest, than this embrace? |