On Being Advised to Refrain from Composition

Vainly, too vainly, ’gainst the power I strive,Which, night and day, comes rushing through my soul!Without that pouring forth of thought and songMy life is life no more!Wilt thou forbid the silkworm to spin on,When hourly, with the labour’d line, he drawsNearer to death. In vain!--the costly webMust from his inmost being still be wrought,Till he lies wrapp’d in his consummate shroud.Oh! that a gracious God to us may giveThe lot of that bless’d worm!--to spread free wings,And burst exultingly on brighter life,In a new realm of sunshine!

He is at last released, and admitted into the presence of the PrincessLeonora, to take his leave of her before commencing a distant journey.Notwithstanding his previous doubts of her interest in him, he isovercome by the pitying tenderness of her manner, and breaks into astrain of passionate gratitude and enthusiasm:--

Thou art the same pure angel, as when firstThy radiance cross’d my path! Forgive, forgive,If for a moment, in his blind despair,The mortal’s troubled glance hath read thee wrong!Once more he knows thee! His expanding soulFlows forth to worship thee for evermore,And his full heart dissolves in tenderness.Is it false light which draws me on to thee?Is it delirium?--Is it thought inspired,And grasping first high truth divinely clear?Yes! ’tis even so--the feeling which aloneCan make me bless’d on earth!

Can I then image no high-hearted manWhose pangs and conflicts have surpass’d mine own,That my vex’d soul might win sustaining powerFrom thoughts of him? I cannot!--all is lost!One thing alone remains, one mournful boon:Nature on us, her suffering children, showersThe gift of tears--the impassion’d cry of grief,When man can bear no more;--and with my woe,With mine above all others, hath been link’dSad music, piercing eloquence, to pourAll, all its fulness forth! To me a GodHath given strong utterance for mine agony,When others, in their deep despair, are mute!Thou standest calm and still, thou noble man!I seem before thee as the troubled wave:But oh! be thoughtful!--in thy lofty strengthExult thou not! By nature’s might alikeThat rock was fix’d, that quivering wave was madeThe sensitive of storm! She sends her blasts--The living water flies--it quakes and swells,And bows down tremblingly with breaking foam;Yet once that mirror gave the bright sun backIn calm transparence--once the gentle starsLay still upon its undulating breast!Now the sweet peace is gone--the glory nowDeparted from the wave! I know myselfNo more in these dark perils, and no moreI blush to lose that knowledge. From the barkIs wrench’d the rudder, and through all its frameThe quivering vessel groans. Beneath my feetThe rocking earth gives way--to thee I cling--I grasp thee with mine arms. In wild despairSo doth the struggling sailor clasp the rockWhereon he perishes!

“All this hath somewhat worn me, and may wear,But must be borne. I stoop not to despair;For I have baffled with mine agony,And made me wings wherewith to overflyThe narrow circus of my dungeon-wall;And freed the Holy Sepulchre from thrall;And revell’d among men and things divine,And pour’d my spirit over Palestine,In honour of the sacred war for Him,The God who was on earth and is in heaven;For He hath strengthen’d me in heart and limb.That through this sufferance I might be forgiven,I have employ’d my penance to recordHow Salem’s shrine was won, and how adored.”