Odes

er who shone the sole light of his days and deeds, Thou canst no more relieve This heart that inly bleeds With all thy love, with all thy tender lore, No, nor thy white hands soothe him any more. Still, the day-long, she hears Kind words that are more sharp to her than spears. Ah, loved he more, he had not been so kind ! And still with pricking tears She watches him, and still must seem resigned ; Though well she knows what face his eyes require, And jealous pangs, like coiled snakes in her mind, Cling tighter, as that voice more earnestly Asks heavy with desire From out that passionate past which is not hers, " Sweet wife, is there no sail upon the sea ? " Tenderest hearts by pain grow oft the bitterest, And haste to wound the thing they love the best. At evening, at sun-set, to Tristram's bed News on her lip she brings ! She comes with eyes bright in divining dread, Hardening her anguished heart she bends above his head. " O Tristram !"â??How her low voice strangely rings!â?? " There comes a ship, ah, rise not, turn not pale. I know not what this means, it is a sail Black, black as night!" She shot her word, and fled. But Tristram cried With a great cry, and rose upon his side. " It cannot be, it cannot, shall not be ! I will not die until mine own eyes see." Despair, more strong than hope, lifts his weak limbs; He stands -and draws deep effort from his breath, He trembles, his gaze swims, H...