Heartache

“ Each furlong of the road of past distress.
—Ah, Faithful, tell me for what rest and peace,
What length of happy days and world's increase,
What hate of wailing, and what love of laughter,
What hope and fear of worlds to be hereafter,
Would ye cast by that crown of bitter leaves?
And yet, ye say, our very heart it grieves
To see him lying there: how may he save
His life and love if he more pain must have?
And she—how fares it with her? is not earth
From winter's sorrow unto summer's mirth
Grown all too narrow for her yearning heart?
We pray thee, Love, keep these no more apart. ”

“ What secret misery was thine, Which set a bar 'twixt thee and me? Alas, I suffer from it still; What was this grief, this unknown ill, Which I have wept so bitterly? POET. 'T was but a common grief, well known of men. But, look you, when our heavy heart is sore, Fond wretches that we are! we fancy then That sorrow never has been felt before. MUSE. There cannot be a common grief, Save that of common souls; my friend, Speak out, and give thy heart relief, Of this grim secret make an end. Confide in me, and have no fear. The God of silence, pale, austere, Is younger brother unto death. ”

“ The shadows darken and passion stirs up my sickness amain And longing rouses within me the old desireful pain.
The anguish of parting hath taken its sojourn in my breast And love and longing and sorrow have maddened heart and brain.
Passion hath made me restless and yearning consumes my soul And tears discover my secret, that else concealed had lain.
I know of no way to ease me of sickness and care and woe; Nor can my weak endeavour reknit Love’s severed skein.
My heart is a raging furnace, because of the heat whereof My entrails are racked with anguish, that nothing can assain. ”

“ Truly, my own bosom contains the source of all my sorrow, as it previously contained the source of all my pleasure. Am I not the same being who once enjoyed an excess of happiness, who, at every step, saw paradise open before him, and whose heart was ever expanded toward the whole world? And this heart is now dead, no sentiment can revive it; my eyes are dry; and my senses, no more refreshed by the influence of soft tears, wither and consume my brain. I suffer much, for I have lost the only charm of life: that active, sacred power which created worlds around me,—it is no more. ”

“ Oh, because in its anguish the heart is weak, and I needed to tell myself that I was not going for ever.
To walk through the crowded streets, with a horrible grief in one's heart, and a dizzy aching in one's head; to push by happy, careless, busy creatures, and have a dreadful question shoot across one's brain of eternity,—of infinity,—which is answered by nothing but a vague though acute sense of suffering;—to meet the vacant stare, or the bow of recognition, when the head is splitting and the heart breaking;—who is there that has known all this? ”

“ No, there was no feeling there !
From that gloomy trance of sorrow When you woke to pangs unknown;
How unwelcome was the morrow, For it rose on you alone.
Sunk in self-consuming anguish Can the poor heart always ache 1
No, the tortur'd nerve will languish, Or the strings of life must break.
O'er the yielding brow of sadness, One faint smile of comfort stole,
One soft pang of tender gladness, Exquisitely thrill'd your soul.
While the wounds of woe are healing, While the heart is all resign'd,
'Tis the solemn feast of feeling, Tis the sabbath of the mind. ”

“ Surely, however broad the view we take of the universe, a real woe, a veritable experience of suffering, amidst this boundless benificence, reaching as deep as the heart's core, is this old and common sorrow;—the sorrow of woman for her babes, and of man for his helpmate, and of age for its prop, and of the son for the mother that bore him, and of the heart for the hearts that once beat in sympathy, and of the eyes that hide vacancies with tears. ”

“ MISERY his heart hath broken—
Misery is mystery!
Let the sad one lonely be;
As the Ancients shunned the token
Of a lightning-blasted tree.
II.
Breathe no word, his doom is spoken—
Misery is mystery!
By its scathing lightning fated,
Human hearts are consecrated,
For a higher destiny.
[Pg 110]
FAREWELL
LET mine eyes the parting take,
Which my faint lips never can;
Moments such as these might break
Even the sternest heart of man.
Mournfully doth Joy's eclipse,
Shroud in grief Love's sweetest sign;
Cold the pressure of thy lips,
Cold the hand that rests in mine. ”

“ Tarry and list, whilst I their names to thee declare.
Memory, solicitude, sighing and languishment, Love-longing in excess and all-engrossing care,
Affliction, strangerhood and passion and lament And griefs that never cease to stir me to despair.
Patience and fortitude desert me for desire, Whose hosts, when patience fails, beset me everywhere.
Yea, passion’s troubles wax for ever on my heart. O thou that ask’st what is the fire at heart I bear,
What ails my tears a flame to kindle in my blood? ”

“ I write with a heart devoted to thee and the thought of thee And an eyelid, wounded for weeping tears of the blood of me.
And a body that love and affliction and passion and long desire Have clad with the garment of leanness and wasted utterly.
I plain me to thee of passion, for sore hath it baffled me Nor is there a corner left me where patience yet may be.
Wherefore, have mercy, I prithee, show favour unto me, For my heart, my heart is breaking for love and agony.
The cure of hearts is union with the beloved and whom his love maltreateth, God is his physician. ”

“ Death came on rapidly in deep, resounding roars, and the misery of the cringing, suffering brute was unfolded—told in heart-rending intonations, until at last he gave up his breath in one terror-stricken cry. ”

“ Then, also, the tears caused by this suffering flow abundantly, and without any trouble; the soul is disposed to the most touching emotions of pity, or is full of commiseration and of love; in a word, all misfortunes are the cherished and respected sisters of our misfortune.
On the contrary, if you suffer for an unworthy cause, your heart is drowned in hatred; your concentrated grief resembles dumb fury which shame bridles with a sharp bit that vanity conceals; envy and hatred gnaw you, but your eyes are dry, and the unhappiness of others can alone draw from you a sad and mournful smile. ”

“ And when the overwhelming burst of grief is calmed into the gentle tear of recollection, when the sudden anguish and the convulsive agony over the present ruins of all that we most loved, is softened away into pensive meditation on all that it was in the days of its loveliness, who would root out such a sorrow from the heart? ”

“ But need I confess this to you, my dear friend, who have so often endured the anguish of witnessing my sudden transitions from sorrow to immoderate joy, and from sweet melancholy to violent passions? I treat my poor heart like a sick child, and gratify its every fancy. ”

“ I have an eye, that testifies unto my sore disease, And eke a heart with parting wrung, a-throb for love and dole.
Indeed, I cannot hide the love that frets my life away; Longing increases still on me, my tears for ever roll. ”

“ For your pain was like mine, and exceeded mine, and no soul could measure it, therefore in the hunger of your heart you looked far off into the future, where some one would perhaps have a like affliction, and suffer without hope, as you suffered, and measure your pain, and love your memory, and feel united with you, even over the gulf of long centuries of time. ”

“ Love, hatred, sorrow, and joy—every passion that enters into the complex structure of the human heart even here, in this scene of sadness and despair, was playing apparently as freely as where misfortune and disease had never crossed the portals of life. ”

“ That is the use of dreary days, on which we’re all inclined to raise a yell of bitter grief; they fill us up with woe and dread, so when the gloomy clouds are sped, we’ll feel a big relief. That is the use of every care that fills your system with despair, and rends your heart in twain; for when you see your sorrow waltz, you’ll turn three hundred somersaults, and say life’s safe and sane. ”

“ Her happy soul now feels to be sublime.
[Pg 172] How fair upon the human face appears
A kindling smile! how idle all our tears!
Short-sighted still the moisten'd eyes of sorrow:
To-day our woes can never end,
Think we!—returns a long-lost friend,
And we are blest to-morrow.
Her anguish, and her wish to die,
Now seem like worst impiety,
For many a year she hopeth now to live;
And God, who sees the inmost breast,
The vain repining of the sore-distrest,
In mercy will forgive. ”

“ Though in vain is my sorrow, Though in vain my tears fall,— Though the dead from their slumbers They ne'er can recall, Yet no balm is so sweet to the desolate heart, When love its soft pleasures no more can impart, As the torments that love leaves behind it! ”

“ I gave you tears for drinking,
⁠And heart-sick sobs,
With brain too sick for thinking,
⁠And to the throbs
Of my sad heart I hushed you till I crushed you
Into rest for all your thorns.
Into my heart. Sorrow, too oft you came ”

“ Half-unbelieving doth my heart remain of its great woe;
I waken, and a dull dead sense of pain is all I know.
Then dimly in the darkness of my mind I feel about,
To know what 'tis that troubles me, and find my sorrow out. ”

“ As we recall it, we draw an inward fluttering breath, something grips our throats and makes them ache, our eyes blur, and a tear slips down upon the cheek, not of sorrow—God knows not all of sorrow—but if we had it all to live over again, how differently we—oh, well, it's too late now, but still. ”

“ When the heart is touched with feelings of pity and compassion, or deeply affected with grief, we press our hands upon our bosoms, with a distinct perception that the meltings of tenderness or the pangs of sorrow are within us. ”

“ A glad heart maketh a cheerful countenance; But by sorrow of heart the spirit is broken.
Better is a dinner of herbs, where love is, Than a stalled ox and hatred therewith.
—Proverbs 15. 13, 17.
Gracious Father, if I am sorrowing over disappointment and am forgetful, grant that I may see the things thou hast made, for which I should be thankful. Help me to so live that I may have a right to claim a cheerful heart. ”

“ Her anxious heart to joy can rise,
Or sink where anguish dwells!
Yet tho' her soul must griefs sustain
Which she alone, can know;
And feel that keener sense of pain
Which sharpens every woe;
Tho' she the mourner's grief to calm,
Still shares each pang they feel,
And, like the tree distilling balm,
Bleeds, others wounds to heal ”

“ When drooping pleasure turns to grief, And trembling faith is changed to fear, The murmuring wind, the quivering leaf Shall softly tell us, Thou art near! On Thee we fling our burdening woe, O Love Divine, forever dear, Content to suffer, while we know, Living and dying, Thou art near! ”

“ The sweet, sad wraith of my vanished bliss.
Heart clings to Heart – let the strange years sever
The fates of two who had met to part;
Love's strength survives, and the harsh world never
Shall crush the passion of heart for heart ”

“ Hearts that never knew the melting influence of pity, or experienced the thrill of fear, but met every vicissitude with a stern and unbending front, have been cowed and [283] overwhelmed by their first whispers, and have been hurried on, by an enlarged and more intimate fellowship, into distraction and despair. They are a sort of living death, enclosing the spark of life in a walled grave, where the air, so sweet and buoyant without, is pestilence, and one’s breath corruption. ”

“ In their touching pathos we seem to hear the sob of natural sorrow for the loved and lost, “the fall of kisses on unanswering clay,” the throbbings of the human heart in the hour of its deepest emotion, when the parting pang unseals the founts of feeling in the soul. ”

“ Thinking, unpained, of the sad surprise
⁠Of those who shall find me thus fall'n to rest;
And the grief in their looks when they learn no endeavor,
Can disturb my repose—for my sleep is forever.
I know that a smile will lie hid in my eyes,
⁠Even a soft throb of joy stir the pulse in my breast,
When they sit down to mourning, with tears and with sighs,
⁠And shudder at death, which to me is but rest. ”

“ My hands are slack; my blood is cold;
I marvel that my heart still beats.
I have no will to weep or sing,
No least desire to pray or curse;
The loss of love is a terrible thing;
They lie who say that death is worse. ”

“ A clasp of hands, a glance enfevers you;
Your heart appears so beautiful and such
That I do fear your eyes, your lips, and that
I am unworthy and you love too much.
Alas! the fire and tenderness too high
For beings who have only one poor heart,
Wet with regrets and thorny with its faults,
To find but tears to weep with when they part. ”

“ Carelessly and thoughtlessly your days pass with no regret for the past or anxiety for the morrow, while my sympathetic heart, actuated by an ingenious brain, dashes cold waves of sorrow against bleak rocks of cruel destiny. ”

“ How had his life been wasted; he had spent
⁠His youth, his manhood, all his young bright years,
In giving one poor passion its full vent,
⁠And it rewarded him with heart-wrung tears,
Till the slow fever sapped his veins all dry,
Nor blood refreshed his heart, nor tears his eye. ”