So late from Heaven—­that dew—­it fell
  (’Mid dreams of an unholy night)
  Upon me with the touch of Hell,
  While the red flashing of the light
  From clouds that hung, like banners, o’er,
  Appeared to my half-closing eye
  The pageantry of monarchy;
  And the deep trumpet-thunder’s roar
  Came hurriedly upon me, telling
  Of human battle, where my voice,
  My own voice, silly child!—­was swelling
  (O! how my spirit would rejoice,
  And leap within me at the cry)
  The battle-cry of Victory!

  The rain came down upon my head
  Unsheltered—­and the heavy wind
  Rendered me mad and deaf and blind. 
  It was but man, I thought, who shed
  Laurels upon me:  and the rush—­
  The torrent of the chilly air
  Gurgled within my ear the crush
  Of empires—­with the captive’s prayer—­
  The hum of suitors—­and the tone
  Of flattery ’round a sovereign’s throne.

  My passions, from that hapless hour,
  Usurped a tyranny which men
  Have deemed since I have reached to power,
  My innate nature—­be it so: 
  But, father, there lived one who, then,
  Then—­in my boyhood—­when their fire
  Burned with a still intenser glow
  (For passion must, with youth, expire)
  E’en then who knew this iron heart
  In woman’s weakness had a part.

  I have no words—­alas!—­to tell
  The loveliness of loving well! 
  Nor would I now attempt to trace
  The more than beauty of a face
  Whose lineaments, upon my mind,
  Are—­shadows on th’ unstable wind: 
  Thus I remember having dwelt
  Some page of early lore upon,
  With loitering eye, till I have felt
  The letters—­with their meaning—­melt
  To fantasies—­with none.

  O, she was worthy of all love! 
  Love as in infancy was mine—­
  ’Twas such as angel minds above
  Might envy; her young heart the shrine
  On which my every hope and thought
  Were incense—­then a goodly gift,
  For they were childish and upright—­
  Pure—­as her young example taught: 
  Why did I leave it, and, adrift,
  Trust to the fire within, for light?

We grew in age—­and love—­together—­ Roaming the forest, and the wild; My breast her shield in wintry weather—­ And, when the friendly sunshine smiled.  And she would mark the opening skies, I saw no Heaven—­but in her eyes.  Young Love’s first lesson is——­the heart:  For ’mid that sunshine, and those smiles, When, from our little cares apart, And laughing at her girlish wiles, I’d throw me on her throbbing breast, And pour my spirit out in tears—­ There was no need to speak the rest—­ No need to quiet any fears Of her—­who asked no reason why, But turned on me her quiet eye!

  Yet more than worthy of the love
  My spirit struggled with, and strove
  When, on the mountain peak, alone,