Geraldine Poem by John Critchley Prince

There thou goest, there thou goest,
In thy virgin robes arrayed,
Pale and drooping, for thou knowest,
What true heart thou hast betrayed.
Hark! thy bridal bells are ringing!
Do they waken happy tears?
Their exulting peal is flinging
Torture, discord in my ears.
Are they tuneful unto thine,
Fair and fickle Geraldine?

Now thou standest at the altar,
Where truth only should be heard;
Dost not inly feel, and falter
To pronounce one fateful word?
No! I hear thy lips of beauty
Utter the degrading 'yes,'
And the pastor, as in duty,
Stretches forth his hands to bless.
Can such compact be divine,
Fair, false-hearted Geraldine?

Of the tender vows we plighted
Thine were flung in empty air,
And my spirit is benighted
In the darkness of despair!
Gold has bought thee; will it bless thee?
Wilt thou find it ought but dross?
Will the hands that now caress thee
Pay thee for a true heart's loss?
Time, perchance, will show the sign,
Fair and faithless Geraldine!

Go, and may all ill betide thee!
Go, to splendid misery led,
With that mindless worm beside thee,—
Him whom thou hast dared to wed!
May the ring that rounds thy finger
Seem a serpent to thy gaze,
And a sense of loneness linger
With thee all thy coming days;
Loveless, childless, may'st thou pine,
Fair, false-hearted Geraldine!

Frenzied words! I will not blame thee,
I whose soul thy beauty won;
Sense of duty overcame thee
In the wrong which thou hast done.
Thou has left a grief within me,—
Grief which time may yet repress,
But let sweet forgiveness win me
To desire thy happiness.
Whatsoe'er of pain be mine,
Peace be with thee, Geraldine.