Gracia, a social tragedy . came the night to my loves blissful day! Nor Jiomed nor hallowed in the heavens beyond Is there in tenser Joy than ones first love; While hell itself contains no sadder thing Than blighted love, when turned to womans shame! 36 GRACIA. M VIII Y mother soon knew all. I did not try To hide the sin-fraught truth from her. NordidShe chide, rebuke, or speak reprovingly;But wept with white, drawn face, and breaking heart:My sin had torn its ruthless, ragged wayStraight to that ceaseless fount of godlike love. I think the saddest tears that ever fall From human e
Gracia, a social tragedy . came the night to my loves blissful day! Nor Jiomed nor hallowed in the heavens beyond Is there in tenser Joy than ones first love; While hell itself contains no sadder thing Than blighted love, when turned to womans shame! 36 GRACIA. M VIII Y mother soon knew all. I did not try To hide the sin-fraught truth from her. NordidShe chide, rebuke, or speak reprovingly;But wept with white, drawn face, and breaking heart:My sin had torn its ruthless, ragged wayStraight to that ceaseless fount of godlike love. I think the saddest tears that ever fall From human eyes upon this tear-drenched earth Are those by mothers shed for ruined girls. Weep, mother, weep; in sorrow dost thou eatThe bitter fruit of thine own carelessness!Couldst thou not see the signs of growing love?Didst thou not know that inexperienced youthConfides, believes, and has no will to holdLifes battlements against a wily foe?Why didst thou, mother, not protect thy child?And thou, O father, where wert thou the while. But^ivefl zvit/i iLhite-drawn face and breaki?!^ heart. GRACIA. 37 Thy child was tutored in lifes mysteriesBy one unknown save by his polished mien?Why did ye give such license to thy child?Weep, parents, weep; for ye are much to blame:Thy child the victim of thy might I say, and saying, speak but God forbid! Twas fault of mine alone!Ill call it mine, for who can judge himself?Twas I who caused my mother thus to drinkOf sorrows utmost dregs! Twas I who thrustThe iron through that soul whose fountain pureHad nourished and sustained me all my years;Thus did my guilt become a cruel shaftWhich caused the blotting out of that fair life,—A life that Earth nor Time can eer restore. Oh, bitter, poisoned cup! Ah, fatal draught!For soon she died! Loves magic fingers touchedHer face, and brought the old smile back again;—Death froze it there eternally. Then roseMy stern and angry father from besideMy mothers bier, and turned on me a glance
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