EARL HENRY. Loved ? Relapses, into blessedness, I vow'd it: A murmur breathed against a lady's ear. SANDOVAL Did you not say you woo'd her ? SANDOVAL EARL HENRY. SANDOVAL (with a sarcastic smile). Once I loved No other than as eastem sages paint, Her whom I dared not woo! The God, who Noats upon a lotos leaf, Dreams for a thousand ages ; then awaking, Creates a world, and smiling at the bubble, And wood, perchance, Relapses into bliss. One whom you loved not ! EARL HENRY. Ah! was that bliss Fear'd as an alien, and too vast for man? Oh! I were most base, For suddenly, impatient of its silence, Did Oropeza, starting, grasp my forehead. I caught her arms; the veins were swelling on them That kindled love with love. And when her sire, Oh! what if all betray me? what if thou? Through the dark bower she sent a hollow voice, Who in his dream of hope already grasp'd I swore, and with an inward thought that seemd The golden circlet in his hand, rejected My suit with insult, and in memory The purpose and the substance of my being, of ancient feuds pour'd curses on my head, I swore to her, that were she red with guilt, Her blessings overlook and baffled them! I would exchange my unblench'd state with herBut thou art stern, and with unkindly countenance Friend ! by that winding passage, to that bower I now will go—all objects there will teach me Art inly reasoning whilst thou listenest to me. Unwavering love, and singleness of heart. Say nothing of me-I myself will seek herAnxiously, Henry! reasoning anxiously. Nay, leave me, friend! I cannot bear the torment But Oropeza And keen inquiry of that scanning eye- [Earl HENRY relires into the work Blessings gather round her! Within this wood there winds a secret passage, SANDOVAL (alone). Beneath the walls, which opens out at length O Henry! always strivest thou to be great Into the gloomiest covert of the garden By thine own act—yet art thou never great The night ere my departure to the army, But by the inspiration of great passion. She, nothing trembling, led me through that gloom, The whirl-blast comes, the desert-sands rise up And to that covert by a silent stream, And shape themselves : from Earth to Heaven they Which, with one star rellected near its marge, stand, Was the sole object visible around me. As though they were the pillars of a temple, No leaflet stirr'd; the air was almost sultry; Built by Omnipotence in its own honor ! So deep, so dark, so close, the umbrage o'er us ! But the blast pauses, and their shaping spirit No leaflet stirr'd ;-yet pleasure hung upon Is fled : the mighty columns were but sand, And lazy snakes trail o'er the level ruins' TO AN UNFORTUNATE WOMAN, HER INNOCENCE. SANDOVAL A rude and scaring note, my friend ! MYRTLE-LEAF that, ill besped, Pinest in the gladsome ray, Far from thy protecting spray' EARL HENRY. Oh! no! When the Partridge o'er the sheaf Whirr'd along the yellow vale, Love the dalliance of the gale Lightly didst thou, foolish thing . Heave and flutter to his sighs, Wood and whisper'd thee to rise. Gaily from thy mother-stalk O give me, from this heartless scene released, Wert thou danced and wafted high To hear our old musician, blind and gray Soon on this unshelter'd walk (Whom stretching from my nurse's arms I kiss'd), Flung to fade, to rot and die. His Scottish tunes and warlike marches play By moonshine, on the balmy summer-night, The while I dance amid the ledded hay With merry maids, whose ringlets toss in light TA AN UNFORTUNATE WOMAN AT THE Or lies the purple evening on the bay THEATRE. Of the calm glossy lake, O let me hide Unheard, unseen, behind the alder-trees For round their roots the fisher's boat is tied, On whose trim seat doth Edmund stretch at ease, Like a scorch'd and mildew'd bough, And while the lazy boat sways to and fro, Leafiess 'mid the blooms of May! Breathes in his flute sad airs, so wild and slow, That his own cheek is wet with quiet tears. But 0, dear Anne! when midnight wind careers, Fearful saw his pleading look, And the gust pelting on the out-house shed Makes the cock shrilly on the rain-storm crow, To hear thee sing some ballad full of woe, Soft the glances of the youth, Ballad of shipwreck'd sailor floating dead, Soft his speech, and soft his sigh ; Whom his own true-love buried in the sands! But no sound like simple truth, Thee, gentle woman, for thy voice remeasures But no true love in his eye. Whatever tones and melancholy pleasures The things of Nature utter; birds or trees, Lothing thy polluted lot, Or moan of ocean-gale in weedy caves, Hie thee, Maiden, hie thee hence! Or where the stiff grass 'mid the heath-plant waves. Seek thy weeping Mother's cot, Murmur and music thin of sudden breeze. With a wiser innocence. TIE KEEPSAKE. Thou hast known deceit and folly, Thou hast felt that vice is woe : With a musing melancholy Inly arm’d, go, Maiden! go. Firm thy steps, O Melancholy! Is the memory of past folly. While she moults the firstling plumes, That had skimm'd the tender corn, Or the bean-field's odorous blooms : THE tedded hay, the first fruits of the soil, The tedded hay and corn-sheaves in one field, Nor can I find, amid my lonely walk loved), Soon with renovated wing Shall she dare a loftier flight, Upward to the day-star spring, And embathe in heavenly light. LINES COMPOSED IN A CONCERT-ROOM. In the cool morning twilight, early waked By her full bosom's joyous restlessness, Nor cold, nor stern, my soul ! yet I detest Softly she rose, and lightly stole along, These scented Roorns, where, to a gaudy throng, Down the slope coppice to the wood bine bower, Heaves the proud Harlot her distended breast, Whose rich flowers, swinging in the morning breeze, In mtricacies of laborious song. Over their dim fast-moving shadows hung, Making a quiet image of disquiet To melt at Nature's passion-warbled plaint; There, in that bower where first she own'd her love From off her glowing cheek, she sate and stretch'd * One of the names (and meriting to be the only one) of the My lady eyes some maid of humbler state, Myosotis Scorpioides Palustris, a flower from six to twelve inches high, with blue blossom and bright yellow eye. It has While the pert Captain, or the primmer Priest, the same name over the whole Empire of Germany (Vergiss Prattles accordant scandal in her ear. mein nicht) and, we believe, in Denmark and Swedre The silk upon the frame, and work'd her name Believe me, while in bed you lay, You made us grow devouter! How can we do without her? Besides, what vex'd us worse, we knew, They have no need of such as you In the place where you were going; This World has angels all too few, And Heaven is overflowing ! SOMETHING CHILDISH, BUT VERY NATURAL TO A LADY. WITH FALCONER'S “SHIPWRECK." WRITTEN IN GERMANY. Ah, not by Cam or Isis, famous streams, In arched groves, the youthful poet's choice; Nor while half-listening, 'mid delicious dreams, To harp and song from lady's hand and voice ; Nor yet while gazing in sublimer mood On cliff, or cataract, in Alpine dell; Nor in dim cave with bladdery sea-weed strew'd, Framing wild fancies to the ocean's swell; Our sea-bard sang this song! which still he sings, And sings for thee, sweet friend! Hark, Pity, hark! Now mounts, now totters on the Tempest's wings, Now groans, and shivers, the replunging Bark! Cling to the shrouds !” In vain! The breakers If I had but two little wings, To you I'd fly, my dear! And I stay here. The world is all one's own. All, all alone. For though my sleep be gone, Yet, while 't is dark, one shuts one's lids, And still dreams on. roar Death shrieks! With two alone of all his clan Forlorn the poet paced the Grecian shore, No classic roamer, but a shipwreck'd man ! Say then, what muse inspired these genial strains, And lit his spirit to so bright a flame? The elevating thought of suffer'd pains, Which gentle hearts shall mourn; but chief, the HOME-SICK. WRITTEN IN GERMANY. name Of Gratitude ! Remembrances of Friend, Or absent or no more! Shades of the Past, Which Love makes Substance! Hence to thee I send, O dear as long as life and memory last ! I send with deep regards of heart and head, Sweet maid, for friendship form'd' this work to thee : And thou, the while thou canst not choose but shed A tear for Falconer, wilt remember me. "T is sweet to him, who all the week Through city-crowds must push his way, To stroll alone through fields and woods, And hallow thus the Sabbath-Day Sincere, affectionate, and gay, To celebrate one's marriage-day. Who having long been doom'd to roam, Throws off the bundle from his back, Before the door of his own home? Home-sickness is a wasting pang ; This feel I hourly more and more : There 's Healing only in thy wings, Thou Breeze that playest on Albion's shore! TO A YOUNG LADY. ON HER RECOVERY FROM A FEVER. Why need I say, Louisa dear! A lovely convalescent ; And feverish heat incessant l'he sunny Showers, the dappled Sky, The little Birds that warble high, Their vernal loves commencing, Will better welcome you than I With their sweet influencing. ANSWER TO A CHILD'S QUESTION. Do you ask what the birds say? The Sparrow, she Dove, The Linnet and Thrush, say, “I love and I love!" In the winter they 're silent—the wind is so strong, What it says, I don't know, but it sings a loud song. But green leaves, and blossoms, and sunny warm weather, And singing, and loving-all come back together Its own sweet self-a love of Thee That seems, yet cannot greater be! But the Lark is so brimful of gladness and love, RECOLLECTIONS OF LOVE. THE VISIONARY HOPE. How warm this woodland wild Recess! Love surely hath been breathing here, And this sweet bed of heath, my dear! Swells up, then sinks, with faint caress, As to have you yet more near. Eight springs have flown, since last I lay On seaward Quantock's heathy hills, Where quiet sounds from hidden rills Float here and there, like things astray, And high o'erhead the sky-lark shrills Sad lot, to have no Hope! Though lowly kneeling That Hope, which was his inward bliss and boast, No voice as yet had made the air Be music with your name; yet why That asking look ? that yearning sigh? That sense of promise every where? Beloved! flew your spirit by? As when a mother doth explore The rose-mark on her long-lost child I met, I loved you, maiden mild ! As whom I long had loved before So deeply, had I been beguiled. You stood before me like a thoughi, A dream remember'd in a dream. But when those meek eyes first did seem To tell me, Love within you wrought O Greta, dear domestic stream! Has not, since then, Love's prompture deep, Has not Love's whisper evermore, Been ceaseless, as thy gentle roar! Sole voice, when other voices sleep, Dear under-song in Clamor's hour. THE HAPPY HUSBAND. A FRAGMENT. A more precipitated vein Of notes, that eddy in the flow Of smoothest song, they come, they go, And leave the sweeter under-strain Me a thousand hopes and pleasures, A thousand recollections bland, Thoughts sublime, and stately measures Revisit on thy echoing strand: Dreams (the soul herself forsaking), On thy bald awful head, O sovran Blanc ! The Arve and Arveiron at thy base Rave ceaselessly ; but thou, most awful foria A blessed shadow of this Earth! Risest from forth thy silent Sea of Pines, How silently! Around thee and above Oye hopes, that stir within me, Deep is the air and dark, substantial, black, As with a wedge! But when I look again, It is thine own calm home, thy crystal shrine, Till thou, still present to the bodily sense, Didst vanish from my thought: entranced in prayer Cupid, if storying legends* tell aright, I worshipp'd the Invisible alone. Yet, like some sweet beguiling melody, So sweet, we know not we are listening to it, With these the magic dews, which evening brings, Thou, the meanwhile, wast blending with my Thought Brush'd from the Idalian star by faery wings : Yea with my Life and Life's own secret Joy : Each tender pledge of sacred faith he join'd, Till the dilating Soul, enrapt, transfused, Each gentler pleasure of the unspotted mind Into the mighty vision passing--there Day-dreams, whose tints with sportive brightness glow. As in her natural form, swelld vast to Heaven! And Hope, the blameless parasite of woe. The eyeless Chemist heard the process rise, The steamy chalice bubbled up in sighs; Awake, my soul! not only passive praise Sweet sounds transpired, as when th'enamour'd dove Thou owest! not alone these swelling tears, Pours the soft murm’ring of responsive love. Mute thanks and secret ecstasy! Awake, Green vales and icy cliffs, all join my Hymn. Thou first and chief, sole Sovereign of the Vale! And visited all night by troops of stars, Companion of the Morning-Star at dawn, Thyself earth's rosy star, and of the dawn Co-herald: wake, () wake, and utter praise ! Who sank thy sunless pillars deep in earth? Who fill'd thy countenance with rosy light? Who made thee Parent of perpetual streams ? And you, ye five wild torrents fiercely glad! Who call'd you forth from night and utter death, From dark and icy caverns call’d you forth. For ever shatter'd and the same for ever? Your strength, your speed, your fury, and your joy Besides the Rivers Arve and Arveiron, which have their Unceasing thunder and eternal foam ? sources in the foot of Mont Blanc, five conspicuous torrents And who commanded (and the silence came), rush down its sides, and within a few paces of the Glaciers. Here let the billows stiffen, and have rest ? the Gentiana Major grows in immense numbers, with its "flowers of loveliest blue." Ye Ice-falls ! ye that from the mountain's brow Adown enormous ravines slope amainI last thou a charm to stay the Morning-Star Torrents, methinks, that heard a mighty Voice, In als steep course ? So long he seems to pause And stopp'd at once amid their maddest plunge! Who made you glorious as the Gates of Heaven * Effinxit quondam blandum meditata laborem Beneath the keen full Moon ? Who bade the Sun Clothe you with rainbows ? Who, with living flowen Of loveliest blue, spread garlands at your feet Sufficit et partem mellis, quod subdolus olim God! let the torrents, like a shout of nations, Answer! and let the ice-plains echo, God! God! sing ye meadow-streams with gladsome voice Addit et illecebras et mille et mille lepores, Ye pine-groves, with your soft and soul-like sounds Et quot Acidalius gaudia Cestus habet. And they too have a voice, yon piles of snow, And in their perilous fall shall thunder, God! 46 |
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