Yet oft my doubting Soul 'twill shake;
Ev'n Slumber owns its gentle tone,
Till Consciousness will vainly wake
To listen, though the dream be flown.
Sweet Thyrza! waking as in sleep,
Thou art but now a lovely dream;
A Star that trembled o'er the deep,
Then turned from earth its tender beam.
But he who through Life's dreary way
Must pass, when Heaven is veiled in wrath,
Will long lament the vanished ray
That scattered gladness o'er his path.
December 8, 1811.
[First published, Childe Harold, 1812 (4to).]
ONE STRUGGLE MORE, AND I AM FREE.
One struggle more, and I am free
From pangs that rend my heart in twain;
One last long sigh to Love and thee,
Then back to busy life again.
It suits me well to mingle now
With things that never pleased before:
Though every joy is fled below,
What future grief can touch me more?
- To Thyrza.—[Editions 1812-1831.]
- From pangs that tear ——.—[MS.]
Such pangs that tear ——.—[MS. erased.]
- With things that moved me not before.—[MS. erased.]
- What sorrow cannot ——.—[MS.]