LOVE IN EXILE.
81
And then, I cast a shuddering, pitying lookUpon the fall'n—perhaps their virtue stroveTo bridge th' abyss with daring and high love,And, failing, perished in the leap they took.
In this divorce from Beauty lies a wrong—I must deny her, I who hold her faithDeep in my heart, and fervent unto death,While she is outlawed from my sight and song.
My mortal frame is welded to her might,And my soul worships, as a captive does,Who murmurs holy words 'mid heathen foes,While cruel hands forbid the happy rite.
A sentry, forced to keep a foreign door,A soldier to an alien banner sold,A priest to whom the shrine is void and cold,Are of the things men mock at, or deplore.
Eager to check, and tireless to reprove,Pause, ere you scare the meanest from his right,—God gives to each his measure of delight,To every nature its appropriate love.
