TO HIM

No bonds withhold, — for all that held are broken;
So heaven ordained, — and blessed be its name!
The bitter chalice I have drained in token,
And now is peace with nothing more to claim.

I loved thee — but no more — not even in fancy;
Never, if I have erred, the truth be said;
O'er all the dreary years in necromancy
I throw forgetfulness, — my heart is fed.

Thou hast made riot there with breast unsparing,
Struck down my pride beneath thy blows insane,
But never turned my lips reproaches bearing
To bring a charge against thy tyrant reign.

Of weighty faults, a scourge in venging hour
Thou fill'dst thy mission here — Ah, knowst it not?—
Not thine was all the irresistible power
Which left my forces conquered and forgot.

'Twas God I sought, — unto His name be glory!—
For all is over; I regain my breath.
Angel of Vengeance! Man, it was thy story;
I see and fear thee not, nor seek thy death!

Thy sceptre faller and thy sword-blade rusted,
Alas! — is this the liberty I gain?—
I made a world of thee, in thee I trusted,—
Now life around me is an empty plain

Be happy thou! If thou shouldst e'er discover
This poor adieu that I address to thee,
Know that the breast wherein thou once wert lover
Holds pardon for thee and sweet charity.