LITMIR.BIZ

      'O Time, thou beautifier of the dead,

      Adorner of the ruin, comforter,

      And only healer when the heart hath bled! —

      Time, the corrector when our judgments err,

      The test of truth, love, – sole philosopher,

      For all besides are sophists, – from thy shrift

      That never loses, though it doth defer! —

      Time, the avenger! unto thee I lift

      My hands and heart and eyes, and claim of thee a gift.

      'If thou hast ever seen me too elate,

      Hear me not; but if calmly I have borne

      Good, and reserved my pride against the hate

      Which shall not whelm me, let me not have worn

      This iron in my soul in vain, – shall THEY not mourn?

      And thou who never yet of human wrong

      Left the unbalanced scale, great Nemesis,

      Here where the ancients paid their worship long,

      Thou who didst call the Furies from the abyss,

      And round Orestes bid them howl and hiss

      For that unnatural retribution, – just

      Had it but come from hands less near, – in this

      Thy former realm I call thee from the dust.

      Dost thou not hear, my heart? awake thou shalt and must!

      It is not that I may not have incurred

      For my ancestral faults and mine, the wound

      Wherewith I bleed withal, and had it been conferred

      With a just weapon it had flowed unbound,

      But now my blood shall not sink in the ground.

      'But in this page a record will I seek;

      Not in the air shall these my words disperse,

      Though I be ashes, – a far hour shall wreak

      The deep prophetic fulness of this verse,

      And pile on human heads the mountain of my curse.

      That curse shall be forgiveness. Have I not, —

      Hear me, my Mother Earth! behold it, Heaven, —

      Have I not had to wrestle with my lot?

      Have I not suffered things to be forgiven?

      Have I not had my brain seared, my heart riven,

      Hopes sapped, name blighted, life's life lied away,

      And only not to desperation driven,

      Because not altogether of such clay

      As rots into the soul of those whom I survey?

      'From mighty wrongs to petty perfidy,

      Have I not seen what human things could do, —

      From the loud roar of foaming calumny,

      To the small whispers of the paltry few,

      And subtler venom of the reptile crew,

      The Janus glance of whose significant eye,

      Learning to lie with silence, would seem true,

      And without utterance, save the shrug or sigh,

      Deal round to happy fools its speechless obloquy?'12

      'My daughter, – with this name my song began, —

      My daughter, – with this name my song shall end, —

      I see thee not and hear thee not, but none

      Can be so wrapped in thee; thou art the friend

      To whom the shadows of far years extend.

      'To aid thy mind's developments, to watch

      The dawn of little joys, to sit and see

      Almost thy very growth, to view thee catch

      Knowledge of objects, – wonders yet to thee, —

      And print on thy soft cheek a parent's kiss, —

      This it should seem was not reserved for me.

      Yet this was in my nature, – as it is,

      I know not what there is, yet something like to this.

      'Yet though dull hate as duty should be taught,

      I know that thou wilt love me; though my name

      Should be shut out from thee as spell still fraught

      With desolation and a broken claim,

      Though the grave close between us, – 't were the same,

      I know that thou wilt love me, though to drain

      My blood from out thy being were an aim

      And an attainment, – all will be in vain.'