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POEMS BY CURRER BELLPASSION.
Some have won a wild delight,
By daring wilder sorrow;
Could I gain thy love to-night,
I`d hazard death to-morrow.
Could the battle-struggle earn
One kind glance from thine eye,
How this withering heart would burn,
The heady fight to try!
Welcome nights of broken sleep,
And days of carnage cold,
Could I deem that thou wouldst weep
To hear my perils told.
Tell me, if with wandering bands
I roam full far away,
Wilt thou to those distant lands
In spirit ever stray?
Wild, long, a trumpet sounds afar;
Bid me--bid me go
Where Seik and Briton meet in war,
On Indian Sutlej`s flow.
Blood has dyed the Sutlej`s waves
With scarlet stain, I know;
Indus` borders yawn with graves,
Yet, command me go!
Though rank and high the holocaust
Of nations steams to heaven,
Glad I`d join the death-doomed host,
Were but the mandate given.
Passion`s strength should nerve my arm,
Its ardour stir my life,
Till human force to that dread charm
Should yield and sink in wild alarm,
Like trees to tempest-strife.
If, hot from war, I seek thy love,
Darest thou turn aside?
Darest thou then my fire reprove,
By scorn, and maddening pride?
No--my will shall yet control
Thy will, so high and free,
And love shall tame that haughty soul--
Yes--tenderest love for me.
I`ll read my triumph in thine eyes,
Behold, and prove the change;
Then leave, perchance, my noble prize,
Once more in arms to range.
I`d die when all the foam is up,
The bright wine sparkling high;
Nor wait till in the exhausted cup
Life`s dull dregs only lie.
Then Love thus crowned with sweet reward,
Hope blest with fulness large,
I`d mount the saddle, draw the sword,
And perish in the charge!
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