Poetry Archives

Thro’ grief and thro’ danger thy smile hath cheer’d my way,
Till hope seem’d to bud from each thorn that round me lay;
The darker our fortune, the brighter our pure love burned,
Till shame into glory, till fear into zeal was turned,
Oh! slave as I was, in thy arms my spirit felt free,
And bless’d e’en the sorrows that made me more dear to thee.

Thy rival was honoured, while thou wert wronged and scorned;
Thy crown was of briers, while gold her brows adorned;
She woo’d me to temples, while thou lay’st hid in caves;
Her friends were all masters, while thine, alas! were slaves;
Yet, cold in the earth at thy feet I would rather be,
Than wed what I lov’d not, or turn one thought from thee.