Moral.

  Faint heart ne’er won fair lady, if in love you would
      have luck,
  In wooing, as in warfare, trust in nothing else than pluck.

  (1871).

“NUNC TE BACCHE CANAM.”

  ’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.