Poems (Hooper)/Faust to Marguerite

by Lucy Hamilton Hooper

FAUST TO MARGUERITE.

Wild visions, born of mem'ry and remorse,
 Recall thy ruined beauty, Marguerite!
And I behold thee still before me glide
 Pale as the vision of Walpurgis night!
And once again I see the wild sad eyes
Whose last gaze turned from me to seek the skies,
                   Marguerite!

And then the vision changes I behold
 Thee pure and fair as when I saw thee first,
Ere yet the fiend and I had stay'd thy steps,
 And thrilled thy heart with words and looks accursed.
Alas! the sweet mouth I shall kiss no more,
The golden hair that swept the prison floor,
                   Marguerite!

Again the dream doth change. I see again
 The wondrous vision of the witches' cave;
When fiendish art called up thy gentle form
 And to my dazzled eyes thy beauty gave,
And then I wake to know thou art no more;
That peace and hope and love for me are o'er,
                   Marguerite!

And thou didst love me—yes, the last on earth,
 For mortal love shall nevermore be mine.
What have I left me now? Remorse, despair—
 The fiend's companionship instead of thine.
My past all sin; my present—misery;
Hell for my future. Woe, ah, woe is me!
                   Marguerite!

There's blood upon my hands; it does not weigh
 So heavy upon my soul as thine undoing.
His sword met mine—his rage aroused my wrath!
 What hadst thou done that I should work thy ruin?
No compact 'twixt us did the demon need;
My soul was lost by that one unblest deed,
                   Marguerite!

And even Death will re-unite us not.
 That last hope sad hearts cherish is not mine.
'The awful gulf that never may be cross'd
 Will separate for aye my soul from thine.
Yet one blest thought amid despair doth live:
If Heav'n will not, thou wilt, I know, forgive,
                   Marguerite!

One other ray of light illumes my lot,
 One dream of mercy on my heart is graved—
The mem'ry of that strange mysterious voice,
 Heard in the last dread moment, "She is saved!"
Yes, I can bear my fate, whate'er it be;
Let hell be mine, if heav'n has place for thee,
                   Marguerite!

Pray for me, Marguerite! I am so lost
 And so accurs'd my lips are locked from prayer.
Canst thou not give me back to hope and Heav'n,
 Me, who but gave thee ruin and despair?
In yonder sky, where thou dost wander free,
Ask God if there be mercy still for me,
                   Marguerite!