The First Love

The day once more within my memory lives
When first I felt the affray of Love, and said:
"Ah me, if this be Love, what pangs he gives!"
Unto the earth I bent mine eyes and head,
Beholding her from whom my heart did learn
The first and stainless passion whence it bled.
Love, to dire goal thou didst my fancy turn!
Why should so tender an affection sting
With such desire, such agonies that burn?
Why not serene, and with unfettered wing,
Why full of frenzy and of loud lament
Into my heart didst thou thy joyaunce bring?
Tell me, my tender heart, what terror sent
A shaft through thee, what anguish 'mid the thought,
Beside which paled whate'er was once content?
That thought by day with flattering pleasure fraught.
By night as well, unto my mind appeared,
When worlds the silence of deep shadows sought.
Restless, yet happy, though to grief endeared,
Thou on my pillows didst alarm my frame
With palpitations, every minute feared.
And where I sad and grieved and weary came
To close mine eyes in slumber, feverish fire
And frenzy roused me, sleep could never tame.
How 'mid the shades, the queen of my desire
Uprose with vivid splendour, and mine eyes
Gazed on her closed, the lids not rising higher!
How many a thrill of sweet emotion flies
Through my glad frame which joyous ardours seize!
How many thoughts within my soul arise,
Uncertain, undefined! Thus 'mid the trees
Of ancient forests doth a murmur sound,
Vague, deep of tone, in answer to the breeze.
And whilst in silence all my thoughts were bound,
What said'st thou, heart, when she went far away,
For whom a world of passion thou hadst found?
I scarce within me felt the heat a day,
Arising from Love's furnace, when the air
Whereon it came, to scenes remote did stray.
At early dawn I lay in sleepless care;
Before our house the horses pranced, ere long
To make me of my only joyaunce bare!
And I, to whom misgivings vague belong,
These orbs did idly in the shadows strain,
And forced my hearing with an effort strong
To catch the voice, last token I could gain
From the fair lips of her whom I revere:
All else, alas! hath Heaven from me ta'en.
How many a time struck on my doubtful ear
Plebean cries and accents, and I froze
In all my frame, my heart appalled with fear!
And when at last within my heart I close
The voice so well beloved, and hear the race
Of wheels and horses as the carriage goes:
Knowing myself despoiled, I hide my face,
And shut mine eyes, and sink upon my bed,
And sigh, and on my heart my hand I place.
After a while with wavering limbs I tread
As one amazed, along the silent room,
And "What power else hath struck my heart?" I said.
Then the remembrance with most bitter gloom
Settled within my bosom; and my soul
Became to all the scenes of life a tomb,
And seas of anguish through my being roll,
And I did feel as when the torrents drear
Pour from the clouds, and shades o'ercast the whole
Space of the sky; nor born for many a tear,
Knew I the youth of vanished years twice nine,
When, Love, thou first didst in full power appear,
When for all pleasure scorn alone was mine,
Nor dear the quiet dawn or meadows green
Or joyous radiance of the stars that shine.
The love of glory was no more the queen
Of this my soul, which it before did burn,
For love of beauty reigned there all serene.
To wonted studies no more thoughts I turn,
And those unto my fancy idle seem
For which all other thoughts I used to spurn.
Ah! I myself another self must deem
That so much love another love hath ta'en!
We are, in truth, vain as an empty dream!
Only my heart did please me, and we twain
In an eternal dialogue immersed,
I loved to sit, the guardian of my pain.
Mine eyes bent on the ground or else inversed
Within myself, on lovely face to gaze
Or on a form unpleasing, never durst:
For the unspotted image to erase
That dwelt within my bosom, much I feared,
As calm lakes ruffle when the zephyr plays.
And the remorse that not enough I cheered
My heart with joy, a thought so full of pain
That pleasures past it maketh unendeared,
Rankled within me in the days that wane,
For shame could not my cloudless soul appal,
Nor hue of indignation my brow stain.
To Heaven, to you, ye gentle lovers all,
I swear no evil will did in me strive,
None could my fire base and ignoble call.
That fire yet lives, my love is yet alive,
Still in my thought the beauteous image reigns,
Whence other joys than from the skies derive,
I never felt; enough content remains.