VIII

O weary watches of the dismal night!
O lone, lone soul that staggers through the dark,
Sullen and moody, like a night-bound bark,
That feels opposing surges roughly smite
Her groaning prow, and hiss behind her flight;--
Where lies thy haven? Towards what scopeless mark
Dost thou direct thy desperate course? A spark
Gleams through the darkness; and the helmsman's sight
Broods o'er the trembling needle, which is shown
Within its circuit, and by that he steers.
So I, through doubt, dismay, rebuffs, and sneers,
Have fixed my eyes upon my heart alone,--
Yea, seen it clearly, spite of blinding tears,
In my love's light: by that my course is known.