The Song of Bornholm

Curses on the world’s decree!
That decree which bid us part:
Who has e’er resisted thee,
Passion-throbbing, maddened heart?

Is aught holier than the light
Kindled in our souls by heaven?
Is aught stronger than the might
Given to love--to beauty given?

Yes! I love--shall ever love!
Curse the passion if ye will,
Call down vengeance from above,
Still I love--adore her still!

Holy Nature! I, thy child,
To thy sheltering bosom flee:
Thou hast fanned this flame so wild,
I am innocent with thee.

If to yield to passion’s sway,
Be a dark and damning sin;
Why hast thou, O tempter! say,
Lighted passion’s fires within?

No! thy storm-winds as they rolled,
Gently rocked our secret bed;
And thy thunder, though it growled,
Never burst upon our head.

Bornholm! Bornholm! to thy home
Memory--wildered memory flies:
Thither would my spirit roam
From its tears--its agonies!

Vain the wish! an outlaw I,
Followed by a father’s curse;
Doomed in banishment to die,
Or despairing live--as worse!

Lila! has thy spirit shrunk
From thy woes, and found a grave?
Has thy burthened misery sunk
In oblivion’s silent wave?

Let thy shadow then appear,
Smile upon me from the tomb;
Give me, love! a welcome there,
Come, though veil’d in darkness,--come!