Plead for Me
Oh, thy bright eyes must answer now,When Reason, with a scornful brow,Is mocking at my overthrow!Oh, thy sweet tongue must plead for meAnd tell why I have chosen thee!
Stern Reason is to judgment come,Arrayed in all her forms of gloom:Wilt thou, my advocate, be dumb?No, radiant angel, speak and say,Why I did cast the world away.
Why I have persevered to shunThe common paths that others run;And on a strange road journeyed on,Heedless, alike of wealth and power—Of glory’s wreath and pleasure’s flower.
These, once, indeed, seemed Beings Divine;And they, perchance, heard vows of mine,And saw my offerings on their shrine;But careless gifts are seldom prized,And MINE were worthily despised.
So, with a ready heart, I sworeTo seek their altar-stone no more;And gave my spirit to adoreThee, ever-present, phantom thing—My slave, my comrade, and my king.
A slave, because I rule thee still;Incline thee to my changeful will,And make thy influence good or ill:A comrade, for by day and nightThou art my intimate delight,—
My darling pain that wounds and sears,And wrings a blessing out from tearsBy deadening me to earthly cares;And yet, a king, though Prudence wellHave taught thy subject to rebel
And am I wrong to worship whereFaith cannot doubt, nor hope despair,Since my own soul can grant my prayer?Speak, God of visions, plead for me,And tell why I have chosen thee!
Self-Interogation,
“The evening passes fast away.’Tis almost time to rest;What thoughts has left the vanished day,What feelings in thy breast?
“The vanished day? It leaves a senseOf labour hardly done;Of little gained with vast expense—A sense of grief alone?
“Time stands before the door of Death,Upbraiding bitterlyAnd Conscience, with exhaustless breath,Pours black reproach on me:
“And though I’ve said that Conscience liesAnd Time should Fate condemn;Still, sad Repentance clouds my eyes,And makes me yield to them!
“Then art thou glad to seek repose?Art glad to leave the sea,And anchor all thy weary woesIn calm Eternity?
“Nothing regrets to see thee go—Not one voice sobs’ farewell;’And where thy heart has suffered so,Canst thou desire to dwell?”
“Alas! the countless links are strongThat bind us to our clay;The loving spirit lingers long,And would not pass away!
“And rest is sweet, when laurelled fameWill crown the soldier’s crest;But a brave heart, with a tarnished name,Would rather fight than rest.
“Well, thou hast fought for many a year,Hast fought thy whole life through,Hast humbled Falsehood, trampled Fear;What is there left to do?
“’Tis true, this arm has hotly striven,Has dared what few would dare;Much have I done, and freely given,But little learnt to bear!
“Look on the grave where thou must sleepThy last, and strongest foe;It is endurance not to weep,If that repose seem woe.
“The long war closing in defeat—Defeat serenely borne,—Thy midnight rest may still be sweet,And break in glorious morn!”