Thou Canst Wound My Peace No More

Go—thou canst wound my peace no more—
For thou hast lost thy power to charm me—
My long, weak dream of love is o'er;
I wake—and thou no more canst harm me.

Yet I was blest when I believ'd
Whate'er thy treachery look'd, or utter'd;
While this fond heart, too long deceiv'd,
At sight of thee with pleasure flutter'd.

But now that heart, whene'er we meet,
Is still, and cold—and, proudly spurning
That weakness born of thy deceit,
Is o'er past errors deeply mourning.

It mourns o'er time to follies given,
And love's vain hopes, or vain repining,
Which might have fram'd my soul for heaven
And made my path with virtues shining.

But hence regret! my bark has found
A haven where no storms affright me;
Where Halcyons seem to brood around,
And gentle gales of peace delight me.

Yet, back upon the world's wide sea,
Where once I ventur'd, dangers daring,
I pitying look, and mourn for thee,
Who still art all those dangers sharing.

Haste! seek the land! no more be tost
On the world's waves, and tempest-driven:
But, midst their roar, my voice is lost,
Then shield him! save HIM! pitying Heaven!