by Eliza Acton

Eliza Acton

They said, the words I lov'd to hear
Were whisper'd in another's ear,
With that sweet smile, and tender tone,
With which thou mad'st my heart thine own,
I listen'd to the torturing tale,
With brow and cheek as marble pale;
Yet nerv'd I then my woman's soul,
Its deadliest feelings to controul,
And mov'd about, as pale, and wan,
As if my very life were gone,
And I a wand'ring spirit, left
On earth, of ev'n a tomb bereft.
I would have gladly borne for thee
Pain,-scorn,-reproach,-and penury;
Or,--dear as was thine early fame,-
Have shar'd with thee a blighted name.
With fearless confidence, that ne'er
Dream'd of the wound it soon must bear,
My soul repos'd itself on thine,
And deem'd it honour's purest shrine.
With startling suddenness, I woke
To the dark truth which o'er me broke;-
Yes!-I was rous'd from dreams of bliss
To know thee false-and oh! to feel
That there was agony in this
Beyond all earthly pow'r to heal:
It mattered little how the rest
Of life pass'd by,- I knew that naught
Of fate, could make it more unblest,
Or be with bitterer anguish fraught.
And now thou com'st, thy wav'rings o'er,
To bid me be thy slave once more!
'Tis vainly ask'd!-affection's chain
Was all too rudely wrench'd in twain
And never will unite again.
That voice whose ev'ry accent fell
Like softest music on mine ear,
Hath lost its deep, its touching spell,
Of eloquence unspeakable,
Which was, in days gone by, so dear,
I see thee with unthrobbing breast;
I meet thy glance, yet still am calm;
Go, then!-nor break the tranquil rest,
Which is my spirit's needful balm.
Leave me to peace !-my heart is grown,
Since thou didst cast its love away,
As cold, and careless as thine own,
And might as soon its trust betray.-
Yet, though estrang'd,-upon the past
Ev'n now unmov'd I cannot dwell:-
My first affections, and my last,
Were thine-thine only-fare thee well!

Last updated January 14, 2019