Читать книгу Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, Volume 54, No. 334, August 1843 - Various - Страница 5

No! I this conflict longer will not wage,

The conflict Duty claims—the giant task;—

Thy spells, O Virtue, never can assuage

The heart's wild fire—this offering do not ask!

True, I have sworn—a solemn vow have sworn,

That I myself will curb the self within;

Yet take thy wreath, no more it shall be worn—

Take back thy wreath, and leave me free to sin.

Rent be the contract I with thee once made;—

She loves me, loves me—forfeit be thy crown!

Blest he who, lull'd in rapture's dreamy shade,

Glides, as I glide, the deep fall gladly down.

She sees the worm that my youth's bloom decays,

She sees my springtime wasted as it flees;

And, marv'ling at the rigour that gainsays

The heart's sweet impulse, my reward decrees.

Distrust this angel purity, fair soul!

It is to guilt thy pity armeth me;

Could Being lavish its unmeasured whole,

It ne'er could give a gift to rival Thee!

Thee—the dear guilt I ever seek to shun,

O tyranny of fate, O wild desires!

My virtue's only crown can but be won

In that last breath—when virtue's self expires!