Page images
PDF
EPUB

The summer's breath came o'er them-and they died!
Softly it came to give luxuriance birth,

Called forth young nature in her festal pride,
But bore to them their summons from the earth!
Again shall blow that mild, delicious breeze,
And wake to life and light all flowers-but these.

No sculptured urn, nor verse thy virtues telling,
O lost and loveliest one! adorns thy grave;
But o'er that humble cypress-shaded dwelling
The dewdrops glisten, and the wildflowers wave-
Emblems more meet, in transient light and bloom,
For thee, who thus didst pass in brightness to the tomb!

[graphic]
[graphic][merged small][merged small]

THE moonbeam, quivering o'er the wave,
Sleeps in pale gold on wood and hill,
The wild wind slumbers in its cave,

And heaven is cloudless-earth is still!
The pile, that crowns yon savage height
With battlements of Gothic might,
Rises in softer pomp arrayed,

Its massy towers half lost in shade,
Half touched with mellowing light!
The rays of night, the tints of time,
Soft-mingling on its dark-grey stone,
O'er its rude strength and mien sublime,
A placid smile have thrown;
And far beyond, where wild and high,
Bounding the pale blue summer sky,
A mountain vista meets the eye,
Its dark, luxuriant woods assume
A penciled shade, a softer gloom;
Its jutting cliffs have caught the light,
Its torrents glitter through the night,
While every cave and deep recess
Frowns in more shadowy awfulness.

Scarce moving on the glassy deep,
Yon gallant vessel seems to sleep,
But darting from its side,
How swifty does its boat design
A slender, silvery, waving line
Of radiance o'er the tide !
No sound is on the summer seas,

But the low dashing of the oar,

And faintly sighs the midnight breeze

Through woods that fringe the rocky shore.

That boat has reached the silent bay,

The dashing oar has ceased to play,

The breeze has murmured and has died

In forest shades, on ocean's tide.
No step, no tone, no breath of sound
Disturbs the loneliness profound;

And midnight spreads o'er earth and main
A calm so holy and so deep,
That voice of mortal were profane,

To break on nature's sleep!

It is the hour for thought to soar,

High o'er the cloud of earthly woes; For rapt devotion to adore,

For passion to repose;

And virtue to forget her tears,

In visions of sublimer spheres !

For oh! those transient gleams of heaven,
To calmer, purer spirits given,

Children of hallowed peace, are known
In solitude and shade alone!

Like flowers that shun the blaze of noon,
To blow beneath the midnight moon,
The garish world they will not bless,
But only live in loneliness !

Hark! did some note of plaintive swell
Melt on the stillness of the air?
Or was it fancy's powerful spell

That woke such sweetness there?

For wild and distant it arose,

Like sounds that bless the bard's repose,
When in lone wood or mossy cave
He dreams beside some fountain-wave,
And fairy worlds delight the eyes
Wearied with life's realities.
-Was it illusion?—yet again
Rises and falls the enchanted strain
Mellow, and sweet, and faint,
As if some spirit's touch had given
The soul of sound to harp of heaven
To soothe a dying saint!

Is it the mermaid's distant shell,

Warbling beneath the moonlit wave?

-Such witching tones might lure full well

The seaman to his grave!

Sure from no mortal touch ye rise,

Wild, soft, aerial melodies!

-Is it the song of woodland-fay

From sparry grot, or haunted bower?

Hark! floating on, the magic lay

Draws near yon ivied tower ! Now nearer still, the listening ear

May catch sweet harp-notes, faint, yet clear; And accents low, as if in fear,

Thus murmur, half suppressed :

"Awake! the moon is bright on high,
The sea is calm, the bark is nigh,

The world is hushed to rest!"
Then sinks the voice-the strain is o'er,
Its last low cadence dies along the shore.

Fair Bertha hears the expected song,
Swift from her tower she glides along ;
No echo to her tread awakes,
Her fairy step no slumber breaks,
And, in that hour of silence deep,
While all around the dews of sleep
O'erpower each sense, each eyelid steep,
Quick throbs her heart with hope and fear,
Her dark eye glistens with a tear.
Half-wavering now, the varying cheek
And sudden pause her doubts bespeak,
The lip now flushed, now pale as death,
The trembling frame, the fluttering breath!
Oh! in that moment, o'er her soul,
What struggling passions claim control!
Fear, duty, love, in conflict high,
By turns have won the ascendancy;
And as, all tremulously bright,

Streams o'er her face the beam of night,
What thousand mixed emotions play
O'er that fair face, and melt away:
Like forms whose quick succession gleams
O'er fancy's rainbow-tinted dreams;
Like the swift glancing lights that rise
'Midst the wild cloud of stormy skies,
And traverse ocean o'er ;

So in that full, impassioned eye
The changeful meanings rise and die,
Just seen-and then no more!
But oh! too short that pause-again
Thrills to her heart that witching strain:-
"Awake! the midnight moon is bright;
Awake! the moments wing their flight;
Haste! or they speed in vain!"

O, call of love! thy potent spell
O'er that weak heart prevails too well;
The "still small voice" is heard no more

That pleaded duty's cause before,
And fear is hushed, and doubt is gone,
And pride forgot, and reason flown!
Her cheek, whose colour came and fled,
Resumes its warmest, brightest red,
Her step its quick elastic tread,

Her eye its beaming smile!
Through lonely court and silent hall

Flits her light shadow o'er the wall,
And still that low, harmonious call
Melts on her ear the while!

Though love's quick ear alone could tell
The words its accents faintly swell:-
"Awake, while yet the lingering night
And stars and seas befriend our flight,
O haste, while all is well! '

The halls, the courts, the gates, are past,
She gains the moonlit beach at last.
Who waits to guide her trembling feet?
Who flies the fugitive to greet?
He, to her youthful heart endeared
By all it e'er had hoped and feared,

Twined with each wish, with every thought,
Each day-dream fancy e'er had wrought,
Whose tints portray, with flattering skill,
What brighter worlds alone fulfil!
-Alas! that aught so fair should fly,
Thy blighting wand, Reality!

A chieftain's mien her Osbert bore,
A pilgrim's lowly robes he wore,
Disguise that vainly strove to hide
Bearing and glance of martial pride;
For he in many a battle scene,
On many a rampart-breach had been;
Had sternly smiled at danger nigh,
Had seen the valiant bleed and die,
And proudly reared on hostile tower,
'Midst falchion-clash, and arrowy shower,
Britannia's banner high !

And though some ancient feud had taught
His Bertha's sire to loathe his name,
More noble warrior never fought

For glory's prize, or England's fame.
And well his dark, commanding eye,
And form and step of stately grace,
Accorded with achievements high,
Soul of emprise and chivalry,

Bright name, and generous race!
His cheek, embrowned by many a sun,
Tells a proud tale of glory won,
Of vigil, march, and combat rude,
Valour, and toil, and fortitude!

E'en while youth's earliest blushes threw
Warm o'er that cheek their vivid hue,
His gallant soul, his stripling form,
Had braved the battle's rudest storm;
When England's conquering archers stood,
And dyed thy plain, Poitiers, with blood,

« ՆախորդըՇարունակել »