They said, the words I lov'd to hearWere whisper'd in another's ear,With that sweet smile, and tender tone,With which thou mad'st my heart thine own,I listen'd to the torturing tale,With brow and cheek as marble pale;Yet nerv'd I then my woman's soul,Its deadliest feelings to controul,And mov'd about, as pale, and wan,As if my very life were gone,And I a wand'ring spirit, leftOn earth, of ev'n a tomb bereft.I would have gladly borne for theePain,-scorn,-reproach,-and penury;Or,--dear as was thine early fame,-Have shar'd with thee a blighted name.With fearless confidence, that ne'erDream'd of the wound it soon must bear,My soul repos'd itself on thine,And deem'd it honour's purest shrine.With startling suddenness, I wokeTo the dark truth which o'er me broke;-Yes!-I was rous'd from dreams of blissTo know thee false-and oh! to feelThat there was agony in thisBeyond all earthly pow'r to heal:It mattered little how the restOf life pass'd by,- I knew that naughtOf fate, could make it more unblest,Or be with bitterer anguish fraught.And now thou com'st, thy wav'rings o'er,To bid me be thy slave once more!'Tis vainly ask'd!-affection's chainWas all too rudely wrench'd in twainAnd never will unite again.That voice whose ev'ry accent fellLike softest music on mine ear,Hath lost its deep, its touching spell,Of eloquence unspeakable,Which was, in days gone by, so dear,I see thee with unthrobbing breast;I meet thy glance, yet still am calm;Go, then!-nor break the tranquil rest,Which is my spirit's needful balm.Leave me to peace !-my heart is grown,Since thou didst cast its love away,As cold, and careless as thine own,And might as soon its trust betray.-Yet, though estrang'd,-upon the pastEv'n now unmov'd I cannot dwell:-My first affections, and my last,Were thine-thine only-fare thee well!
