Light words they were, and lightly, falsely said: She heard them, and she started,—and she rose, As in the act to speak; the sudden thought And unconsidered impulse led her on. In act to speak she rose, but with the sense Of all the eyes of that mixed company Now suddenly turned upon her, some with age Hardened and dulled, some cold and critical; Some in whom vapours of their own conceit, As moist malarious mists the heavenly stars, Still blotted out their good, the best at best By frivolous laugh and prate conventional All too untuned for all she thought to say— With such a thought the mantling blood to her cheek Flushed-up, and o’er-flushed itself, blank night her soul Made dark, and in her all her purpose swooned. She stood as if for sinking. Yet anon With recollections clear, august, sublime, Of God’s great truth, and right immutable, Which, as obedient vassals, to her mind Came summoned of her will, in self-negation Quelling her troublous earthy consciousness, She queened it o’er her weakness. At the spell Back rolled the ruddy tide, and leaves her cheek Paler than erst, and yet not ebbs so far But that one pulse of one indignant thought Might hurry it hither in flood. So as she stood She spoke. God in her spoke and made her heard. 1845 _SIC ITUR._ As, at a railway junction, men Who came together, taking then One the train up, one down, again Meet never! Ah, much more as they Who take one street’s two sides, and say Hard parting words, but walk one way: Though moving other mates between, While carts and coaches intervene, Each to the other goes unseen; Yet seldom, surely, shall there lack Knowledge they walk not back to back, But with an unity of track, Where common dangers each attend, And common hopes their guidance lend To light them to the self-same end. Whether he then shall cross to thee, Or thou go thither, or it be Some midway point, ye yet shall see Each other, yet again shall meet Ah, joy! when with the closing street, Forgivingly at last ye greet! 1845 _PARTING._ O tell me, friends, while yet we part, And heart can yet be heard of heart, O tell me then, for what is it Our early plan of life we quit; From all our old intentions range, And why does all so wholly change? O tell me, friends, while yet we part! O tell me, friends, while yet we part,— The rays that from the centre start Within the orb of one warm sun, Unless I err, have once begun,— Why is it thus they still diverge? And whither tends the course they urge? O tell me, friends, while yet we part! O tell me, friends, while yet ye hear,— May it not be, some coming year, These ancient paths that here divide Shall yet again run side by side, And you from there, and I from here, All on a sudden reappear? O tell me, friends, while yet ye hear!