“Whither art thou gone, fair Una? Una fair, the moon is gleaming; Fear no mortal eye, fair Una, For the very flowers are dreaming.
And the twinkling stars are closing Up their weary watching glances, Warders on heaven's walls reposing, While the glittering foe advances.
“Una dear, my heart is throbbing, Full of throbbings without number; Come! the tired-out streams are sobbing Like to children ere they slumber;
And the longing trees inclining, Seek the earth's too distant bosom; Sad fate! that keeps from intertwining The earthly and the aerial blossom.
“Una dear, I've roamed the mountain, Round the furze and o'er the heather; Una, dear, I've sought the fountain Where we rested oft together;
Ah! the mountain now looks dreary, Dead and dark where no life liveth; Ah! the fountain, to the weary, Now, no more refreshment giveth.
“Una, darling, dearest daughter Beauty ever gave to Fancy, Spirit of the silver water, Nymph of Nature's necromancy!
Fair enchantress, fond magician, Is thine every spell-word spoken? Hast thou closed thy fairy mission? Is thy potent wand then broken?
“Una dearest, deign to hear me, Fly no more my prayer resisting!” Then a trembling voice came near me, Like a maiden to the trysting,
Like a maiden's feet approaching Where the lover doth attend her; Half-forgiving, half-reproaching, Came that voice so shy and tender.
“Must I blame thee, must I chide thee, Change to scorn the love I bore thee? And the fondest heart beside thee, And the truest eyes before thee.
And the kindest hands to press thee, And the instinctive sense to guide thee, And the purest lips to bless thee, What, O dreamer! is denied thee?
“Hast thou not the full fruition, Hast thou not the full enjoyance Of thy young heart's fond ambition, Free from every feared annoyance
Thou hast sighed for truth and beauty, Hast thou failed, then, in thy wooing? Dreamed of some ideal duty, Is there nought that waits thy doing?—
“Is the world less bright or beauteous, That dear eyes behold it with thee? Is the work of life less duteous, That thou art helped to do it, prithee?
Is the near rapture non-existent, Because thou dreamest an ideal? And canst thou for a glimmering distant Forget the blessings of the real?
“Down on thy knees, O doubting dreamer! Down! and repent thy heart's misprision.” Scarce had I knelt in tears and tremor, When the scales fell from off my vision.
There stood my human guardian angel, Given me by God's benign foreseeing, While from her lips came life's evangel, “Live! that each day complete thy being!”
Cookies on Poetry Cove