“YOU CALL US INCONSTANT.”

———

BY H. T. TUCKERMAN.

———

You call us inconstant—you say that we cease

Our homage to pay, at the voice of caprice;

That we dally with hearts till their treasures are ours,

As bees drink the sweets from a cluster of flowers;

For a moment’s refreshment at love’s fountain stay,

Then turn, with a thankless impatience, away.

And think you, indeed, we so cheerfully part

With hopes that give wings to the o’erwearied heart,

And throw round the future a promise so bright

That life seems a glory, and time a delight?

From our pathway forlorn can we banish the dove,

And yield, without pain, the enchantments of love?

You know not how chill and relentless a wave

Reflection will cast o’er the soul of the brave⁠—

How keenly the clear rays of duty will beam,

And startle the heart from its passionate dream,

To tear the fresh rose from the garland of youth,

And lay it, with tears, on the altar of truth!

We pass from the presence of beauty, to think⁠—

As the hunter will pause on the precipice brink⁠—

“For me shall the bloom of the gladsome and fair

Be wasted away by the fetters of care?

Shall the old, peaceful nest, for my sake, be forgot,

And the gentle and free know a wearisome lot?

“By the tender appeal of that beauty, beware

How you woo her thy desolate fortunes to share.

O pluck not a lily so sheltered and sweet,

And bear it not off from its genial retreat.

Enriched with the boon thy existence would be,

But hapless the fate that unites her to thee!”

Thus, dearest, the spell that thy graces entwined,

No fickle heart breaks, but a resolute mind;

The pilgrim may turn from the shrine with a smile,

Yet, believe me, his bosom is wrung all the while,

And one thought alone lends a charm to the past⁠—

That his love conquered selfishness nobly at last.