A sworded man whose trade is blood,
In grief, in anger, and in fear,
Thro’ jungle, swamp, and torrent flood,
I seek the wealth you hold so dear!
The dazzling charm of outward form,
The power of gold, the pride of birth,
Have taken Woman's heart by storm —
Usurp'd the place of inward worth.
Is not true Love of higher price
Than outward Form, though fair to see,
Wealth's glittering fairy-dome of ice,
Or echo of proud ancestry?—
O! Asra, Asra! couldst thou see
Into the bottom of my heart,
There's such a mine of Love for thee,
As almost might supply desert!
( This separation is, alas!
Too great a punishment to bear;
O! take my life, or let me pass
That life, that happy life, with her! )
The perils, erst with steadfast eye
Encounter'd, now I shrink to see —
Oh! I have heart enough to die —
Not half enough to part from Thee!