not blame;
Our sorrows, hopes, and joys have been the same—­
Been one from childhood; but the dream is past,
And stern realities at length have cast
Our fates asunder.  Yet, when thou shalt see
Proud ones before thee bend the suppliant knee,
And kiss thy garment while they woo thy hand,
Spurn not the peasant boy who dared to stand
Before thee, in the rapture of his heart,
And woo thee as thine equal.  Courtly art
May find more fitting phrase to charm thine ear,
But, dearest, mayst thou find them as sincere! 
And, oh! by every past and hallowed hour! 
By the lone tree that formed our trysting bower! 
By the fair moon, and all the stars of night,
That round us threw love’s holiest, dearest light! 
By infant passion’s first and burning kiss! 
By every witness of departed bliss! 
Forget me not, loved one! forget me not! 
For, oh, to know that I am not forgot—­
That thou wilt still retain within thy breast
Some thought of him who loved you first and best—­
To know but this, would in my bosom be
Like one faint star seen from the pathless sea
By the bewildered mariner.  Once more,
Maid of my heart, farewell!  A distant shore
Must be thy Edmund’s home—­though where the soul
Is as a wilderness; from pole to pole
The desolate in heart may ceaseless roam,
Nor find on earth that spot of heaven—­a home! 
But be thou happy!—­be my Helen blessed!—­
Thou wilt be happy!  Oh! those words have pressed
Thoughts on my brain on which I may not dwell! 
Again, farewell!—­my Helen, fare-thee-well!

XVI.

A gallant bark was gliding o’er the seas,
And, like a living mass, before the breeze,
Swept on majestic, as a thing of mind
Whose spirit held communion with the wind,
Rearing and rising o’er the billowed tide,
As a proud steed doth toss its head in pride. 
Upon its deck young Edmund silent stood—­
A son of sadness; and his mournful mood
Grew day by day, while wave on wave rolled by,
And he their homeward current with a sigh
Followed with fondness.  Still the vessel bore
The wanderer onward from his native shore,
Till in a distant land he lonely stood
’Midst city crowds in more than solitude.

XVII.

There long he wandered, without aim or plan,
Till disappointment whispered, Act as man!
But though it cool the fever of the brain,
And shake, untaught, presumption’s idle reign,
Bring folly to its level, and bid hope
Before the threshold of attainment stop,
Still—­when its blastings thwart our every scheme,
When humblest wishes seem an idle dream,
And the bare bread of life is half denied—­
Such disappointments humble not our pride;
But do they change the temper of the soul,
Change every word and action, and enrol