A sworded man whose trade is blood,
 In grief, in anger, and in fear,
Thro' jungle, swamp, and torrent flood,
 I seek the wealth you hold so dear!
The dazzling charm of outward form,
 The power of gold, the pride of birth,
Have taken Woman's heart by storm—
 Usurp'd the place of inward worth.
Is not true Love of higher price
 Than outward Form, though fair to see,
Wealth's glittering fairy-dome of ice,
 Or echo of proud ancestry?—
O! Asra, Asra! couldst thou see
 Into the bottom of my heart,
There's such a mine of Love for thee,
 As almost might supply desert!
(This separation is, alas!
 Too great a punishment to bear;
O! take my life, or let me pass
 That life, that happy life, with her!)
The perils, erst with steadfast eye
 Encounter'd, now I shrink to see—
Oh! I have heart enough to die—
 Not half enough to part from Thee!