The Fate of Adelaide :: :: University of Virginia Library

It was a night of gloom; strange shadowy forms
Rode on the dreary wind, which hoarsely blew
A prelude to the tempest's gathering.
Darkness was on the sky, and murky shades
Obscur'd the brightness of the rising moon,
Which, struggling, threw at times a silvery smile,
Soon disappearing, and rebellious clouds
Crowded around and mock'd their gentle queen;
The stars were hidden; one, and one alone,
Shed o'er the west her solitary ray;
And well that one might linger;—it had been,
In days which have a hallow'd memory,
The star peculiar to the smiling pow'r
Of love and beauty: never more than now

Could it seem Woman's emblem; so her light
Should shine 'mid darkness, and her loveliness
Cheer the dull hour of gloom:—e'en that is past,
A cloud like death came over it, and quench'd
Its tender beam; at once the storm pour'd forth
Its cup of fury, and the blasts arose,
Sweeping among the mountains with a sound
Of anger and of anguish, laughter, groans,
And shrieks as if of torture, and deep sobs
Mingled together; and at times the voice
Of thunder spake in wrath; and crashing woods,
Fierce gusts, and echoing caves, dread answers gave.
The Spirit of the lightning fiercely roll'd
His eyes of fire athwart the sky, and rent
The veil of blackness with his burning glance.
Dark lower'd the fearful night, but onwards still
The traveller urg'd his course; there was no light
To point the gloomy path, save when a flash

Glar'd its blue flame around. The wood is past,
And he has gain'd the steep ascent which leads
To Ethlin's Castle.—He has entered now;—
'Tis a young warrior, and his bosom wears
The red-cross. Instant cries of joy arise,
And words of greeting; one to meet him sprang,
And clasp'd him in her arms, while his warm cheek
Was wet with her sweet tears of tenderness—
My brother! oh, my brother! welcome home.
She started back, half sorrow half surprise,
From his averted clasp, and on him gaz'd
Almost reproachfully; and then her glance
Fell on a stranger's form: she turn'd and hid
Her gathering blushes in her father's arms.
The stranger spoke no word, but gave an urn
Unto that venerable chieftain's hand.
It told its tale too well; the dear, the lost,
For whom their lips yet trembled with the words
Of fond affection hailing his return,

He was gone from them, and the gates of death
Had clos'd for ever on their earthly love.