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BALLAD.
137
V.
But thine shall be unnamed, unknown,
The cup that I shall press,
Will only be thy name to drown
In deep forgetfulness.
VI.
I will go gaze on raven eyes,
Like thine they cannot be;
The brightest smiles, the softest sighs,
Are nothing now to me.
VII.
Give me the battle on the brine,
The revel on the shore;
Be peril or be pleasure mine,
To think of thee no more.
VIII.
My way is on the wandering wave,
My home on many a coast;
But I must seek within the grave,
The peace that I have lost.
IX.
My night dream still will be of her,
My day thoughts on her dwell!
Then farewell lovely islander,
A long but vain farewell!
L. E. L.
