“BEATI QUI LUGEANT.”
Reading edition
FROM THE FRENCH OF MARIE JENNA.
Go; vainly in thy breast lies hid the steel That pierces. I perceive thy sad estate, Thy silent fortitude; and for thy weal
I pray thee meet thy fate.
And weep before me! Cast thy burden down, I know that sorrow finds a drear relief In solitude, and wears abroad the crown
Of a majestic grief.
The hand of friendship may not put aside The heavy folds of the funereal veil, And on the threshold of an arid pride,
Words seem to faint, and fail.
But days have passed, I come—nay—never start, Suffer my presence, place thy hand in mine, Pour thy full soul into my faithful heart
Whose pulses all are thine.
If friendship only bore me to thy side, I would withdraw before thine icy face, Obey the teachings of my human pride,
My eager steps retrace.
But I, too, have known sorrow, and have earned The right to minister before its shrine. A mighty secret, too, my heart has learned,
Whose sources are divine—
A secret that shall set thy soul aglow When once its holy meaning I unfold, And make thee bless its author for the woe
That thus could be consoled.