Cruel is she who took from me that substance
With which I might have conquered an escape,
Leaving me, a forlorn old spirit, sere and grey.
Musing through barren hours upon the past,
I think with bitterness on those who once
Were friends and lovers--Queen, companions, Wife!
Forgotten! yes, forgotten by them all!
The luxuries of the world-taxing city,
The kisses of their children, smiles of men
Renowned of deeds which have not failed, like mine--
_This_ is the portion of that happier crowd
Who set me on to dangerous enterprise.
But ah! the worst part of it all, is this,--
To be forgotten by my own best friends--
To be to them as if I ne'er had been!
My wife--my wife!"--he ended with bowed head.

"Art thou indeed a spirit?" OLIVE asked,
Shrinking a step aside. Then her kind heart
O'ercome the transient awe, and stealing close,
While smiling on him with sweet, wondering eyes,
Began again:--"But art thou truly he
Whose name is on the lip of the great world?--
Of whom the wives and mothers, tearful, speak
When sound the Northern wind-harps?--whose grand fate,
Hath power to touch, not only hearts of men,
But draw the golden drops from weeping purses?
Oh! be content! if Fame and Love content thee.
For thee, the hearts of mariners beat loud--
For thee, ships chase the pathways of the sea--