To suffer, yet not expiate; To die at last, yet not atone; To mourn our heirship to a guilt, Erased by innocent blood alone! You lift your hands in shocked surprise; You say enough I have not prayed: Can prayer go back through centuries, And change the web of fate one braid? Nay, own the truth, and say that we Are but the bonded slaves of doom; Unconscious to the cradle came, Unwilling must go to the tomb. Your woman's hands are void of help, Though my soul should be stung to death; Could I avert one pang from you, Imploring with my latest breath? And men!--we suffer any wrong That men, or mad, or blind, may do;-- Let me alone in my despair! There is no help for me or you. I wait to find the meaning out That lies beyond the bitter end; Comfort yourself with 'wearying heaven, I ask no comfort, oh my friend! MOONLIGHT MEMORIES. Do thy chamber windows open east, Beloved, as did ours of old? And do you stand when day has ceased, Withdrawn thro' evening's porch of gold, And watch the pink flush fade above The hills on which the wan moon leans, Remembering the sweet girlish love That blest this hour in other scenes! I see your hand upon your heart-- I see you dash away the tears-- It is the same undying smart, That touched us in the long-gone years; And cannot pass away. You stand Your forehead to the window crest, And stifle sobs that no command Can keep from rising in your breast. Dear, balm is not for griefs like ours, Nor resurrection for dead hope: In vain we cover wounds with flowers, That grow upon life's western slope. Their leaves tho' bright, are hard, and dry, They have no soft and healing dew; The pansies of past spring-times lie Dead in the shadow of the yew. You feel this in your heart, and turn To pace the dimness of your room; But lo, like fire within an urn, The moonlight glows through all the gloom. It sooths you like a living touch, And spite of the slow-falling tears, Sweet memories crowd with oh, so much, Of all that girlhood's time endears. On nights like this, with such a moon, Full shining in a wintry sky; Or on the softer nights of June, When fleecy clouds fled thought-like by, Within our chamber opening east, With curtains from the window parted, With hands and cheeks together prest, We dreamed youth's glowing dreams, light-hearted. Or talked of that mysterious love That comes like fate to every soul: And vowed to hold our lives above, Perchance its sorrowful control. Alas, the very vow we made, To keep our lives from passion free, To wiser hearts well had betrayed Some future love's intensity.