No tie remain to bind me here! 
    Still in my life’s young summer see
    A far and weary path to thee! 
    Along whose wild and desert way
    No sportive tribes of fancy play;
    No smiles that to the lips arise,
    No joys to sparkle in the eyes;—­
    No thrills of tenderness to feel,
    No spring of hope, no touch of zeal. 
    All sources of heart-feeling stopt,
    All impulse, all sustainment dropt. 
    With aching memory, sinking mind,
    Through this drear wilderness to find
    The path to death;—­and pining, roam
    Myriads of steps to reach the tomb! 
    Of which to catch a distant view,
    The softest line, the faintest hue,
    As symbol when I should be free,
    Were happiness too great for me!”

    Here clos’d at once, abrupt, the lay! 
    The Minstrel’s fingers ceas’d to play! 
    And, all her soul to anguish given,
    Doubted the pitying care of Heaven. 
    But evil, in its worst extreme,
      In its most dire, impending hour,
    Shall vanish, like a hideous dream,
      And leave no traces of its power!

    The vessel plunging on a rock,
      Wreck threatening in its fellest shape,
    No moment’s respite from the shock,
      No human means or power to ’scape,
    Some higher-swelling surge shall free,
    And lift and launch into the sea! 
    So, Marie, yet shall aid divine
    Restore that failing heart of thine! 
    Though to its centre wounded, griev’d,
    Though deeply, utterly bereav’d. 
    There genial warmth shall yet reside,
    There swiftly flow the healthful tide;
    And every languid, closing vein,
    Drink healing and delight again!

    At present all around her fades,
    Her listless ear no sound pervades. 
    Her senses, wearied and distraught,
    Perceive not how the stream of thought,
    Rising from her distressful song,
    In hurrying tide has swept along,
    With startling and resistless swell,
    The panic-stricken Isabel! 
    Who—­falling at her father’s feet,
      Like the most lowly suppliant, kneels;
    And, with imploring voice, unmeet
      For one so fondly lov’d, appeals.—­

    “Those looks have been to me a law,
      And solely by indulgence bought,
    With zeal intense, with deepest awe,
      A self-devoted slave, I caught
    My highest transport from thy smile;
    And studied hourly to beguile
    The lightest cloud of grief or care
    I saw those gracious features wear! 
    If aught induced me to divine
    A hope was opposite to thine,
    My fancy paus’d, however gay;
    My silent wishes sunk away! 
    Displeasure I have never seen,
    But sickness has subdued thy mien;
    When, lingering near, I still have tried
      To cheer thee, and thou didst approve;