Ye part and feel no thrill of pain.
Yet I would rather life should be
A shadow-haunted vale of tears,
Would rather drink of misery
Than thus to pass unfeeling years.
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Yea, truly were my soul to choose,
Rather than be so worldly wise,
'T would pass through darkest realms of pain
In passion of self-sacrifice.
'T would learn the secret of the grief
In dread Medusa's quivering eye,
Mourn with the mad, to none refuse
The throbbing hand of sympathy.
And if in sorrow, shame, and scorn
Its life at last should have an end,
Prouder than yours its epitaph,
"True worshipper and faithful friend."