Nunc Te Bacche Canam. by Edward Woodley Bowling — Stanza

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Nunc Te Bacche Canam.

by Edward Woodley Bowling

'Tis done! Henceforth nor joy nor woe

Can make or mar my fate;

I gaze around, above, below,

And all is desolate.

Go, bid the shattered pine to bloom;

The mourner to be merry;

But bid no ray to cheer the tomb

In which my hopes I bury!

I never thought the world was fair;

That 'Truth must reign victorious';

I knew that Honesty was rare;

Wealth only meritorious.

I knew that Women might deceive,

And sometimes cared for money;

That Lovers who in Love believe

Find gall as well as honey.

I knew that "wondrous Classic lore"

Meant something most pedantic;

That Mathematics were a bore,

And Morals un-romantic.

I knew my own beloved light-blue

Might much improve their rowing:

In fact, I knew a thing or two

Decidedly worth knowing.

But thou! - Fool, fool, I thought that thou

At least wert something glorious;

I saw thy polished ivory brow,

And could not feel censorious.

I thought I saw thee smile - but that

Was all imagination;

Upon the garden seat I sat,

And gazed in adoration.

I plucked a newly-budding rose,

Our lips then met together;

We spoke not - but a lover knows

How lips two lives can tether.

We parted! I believed thee true;

I asked for no love-token;

But now thy form no more I view -

My Pipe, my Pipe, thou'rt broken!

Broken! - and when the Sun's warm rays

Illumine hill and heather,

I think of all the pleasant days

We might have had together.

When Lucifer's phosphoric beam

Shines e'er the Lake's dim water,

O then, my Beautiful, I dream

Of thee, the salt sea's daughter.

O why did Death thy beauty snatch

And leave me lone and blighted,

Before the Hymeneal match

Our young loves had united?

I knew thou wert not made of clay,

I loved thee with devotion,

Soft emanation of the spray!

Bright, foam-born child of Ocean!

One night I saw an unknown star,

Methought it gently nodded;

I saw, or seemed to see, afar

Thy spirit disembodied.

Cleansed from the stain of smoke and oil,

My tears it bade me wipe,

And there, relieved from earthly toil,

I saw my Meerschaum pipe.

Men offer me the noisome weed;

But nought can calm my sorrow;

Nor joy nor misery I heed;

I care not for the morrow.

Pipeless and friendless, tempest-tost

I fade, I faint, I languish;

He only who has loved and lost

Can measure all my anguish.