Nunc Te Bacche Canam.
By Edward Woodley Bowling
'Tis done!Henceforth nor joy nor woe
Can make or mar my fate;
I gaze around, above, below,
And all is desolate.
Go, bid the shattered pine to bloom;
The mourner to be merry;
But bid no ray to cheer the tomb
In which my hopes I bury!
I never thought the world was fair;
That 'Truth must reign victorious';
I knew that Honesty was rare;
Wealth only meritorious.
I knew that Women might deceive,
And sometimes cared for money;
That Lovers who in Love believe
Find gall as well as honey.
I knew that "wondrous Classic lore"
Meant something most pedantic;
That Mathematics were a bore,
And Morals un-romantic.
I knew my own beloved light-blue
Might much improve their rowing:
In fact, I knew a thing or two
Decidedly worth knowing.
But thou! - Fool, fool, I thought that thou
At least wert something glorious;
I saw thy polished ivory brow,
And could not feel censorious.
I thought I saw thee smile - but that
Was all imagination;
Upon the garden seat I sat,
And gazed in adoration.
I plucked a newly-budding rose,
Our lips then met together;
We spoke not - but a lover knows
How lips two lives can tether.
We parted!I believed thee true;
I asked for no love-token;
But now thy form no more I view -
My Pipe, my Pipe, thou'rt broken!
Broken! - and when the Sun's warm rays
Illumine hill and heather,
I think of all the pleasant days
We might have had together.
When Lucifer's phosphoric beam
Shines e'er the Lake's dim water,
O then, my Beautiful, I dream
Of thee, the salt sea's daughter.
O why did Death thy beauty snatch
And leave me lone and blighted,
Before the Hymeneal match
Our young loves had united?
I knew thou wert not made of clay,
I loved thee with devotion,
Soft emanation of the spray!
Bright, foam-born child of Ocean!
One night I saw an unknown star,
Methought it gently nodded;
I saw, or seemed to see, afar
Thy spirit disembodied.
Cleansed from the stain of smoke and oil,
My tears it bade me wipe,
And there, relieved from earthly toil,
I saw my Meerschaum pipe.
Men offer me the noisome weed;
But nought can calm my sorrow;
Nor joy nor misery I heed;
I care not for the morrow.
Pipeless and friendless, tempest-tost
I fade, I faint, I languish;
He only who has loved and lost
Can measure all my anguish.