 | Stanzas, by the Author of "Dunluce Castle" |  |
8
THE DREAM.
I had laid down my head on the pallet of slumber,
But Affliction's oblivion had courted in vain;
For Sleep only came new afflictions to number,
Came loaded with misery, burthen'd with pain.
Ah! why did I hope a suspension to borrow,
With the wand of the night, from the woe of the morrow?
For she rose in my Dream, like the Angel of Sorrow;
She eyed me with pity, but not with disdain.
But Affliction's oblivion had courted in vain;
For Sleep only came new afflictions to number,
Came loaded with misery, burthen'd with pain.
Ah! why did I hope a suspension to borrow,
With the wand of the night, from the woe of the morrow?
For she rose in my Dream, like the Angel of Sorrow;
She eyed me with pity, but not with disdain.
It was Zelia! my life for a moment adorning,
My curse and my blessing, my pain and my pride;
Who, the cloud of my noon, though the star of my morning,
In the morn was my Hope, and at noon was a Bride:
She look'd with the aspect of gentle concession,
Her eye wore a sweet but a touching expression;
It was sorrowful Beauty's reluctant confession,
That the colours were false which her fancy had dy'd.
My curse and my blessing, my pain and my pride;
Who, the cloud of my noon, though the star of my morning,
In the morn was my Hope, and at noon was a Bride:
She look'd with the aspect of gentle concession,
Her eye wore a sweet but a touching expression;
It was sorrowful Beauty's reluctant confession,
That the colours were false which her fancy had dy'd.
And a tear slowly stole down the pale cheek of Zelia,
The pale cheek o'er-wreath'd with the dark-flowing hair;
It flow'd down that cheek, and then drop'd on her bosom,
And mix'd with the sighs that were murmuring there.
I strove not to check the effusion of feeling;
The wounds of the heart but grow worse with concealing;
And Tears, though they have not the power of healing,
Are a soul-soothing balm, in the moments of care.
The pale cheek o'er-wreath'd with the dark-flowing hair;
It flow'd down that cheek, and then drop'd on her bosom,
And mix'd with the sighs that were murmuring there.
10
The wounds of the heart but grow worse with concealing;
And Tears, though they have not the power of healing,
Are a soul-soothing balm, in the moments of care.
And I thought I could hear the low echoes repeating:
“How falsely the promise of Hymen beguiles!
Like the arch of the Rainbow, as bright and as fleeting;
An age of regret for a moment of smiles!
Thou lovely Deplorer! unbless'd was the day,
That gave thee so young and so artless away;
Love's Lottery tempted Thee giddy and gay,
And despair was thy prize as the fruit of his wiles!”
“How falsely the promise of Hymen beguiles!
Like the arch of the Rainbow, as bright and as fleeting;
An age of regret for a moment of smiles!
Thou lovely Deplorer! unbless'd was the day,
That gave thee so young and so artless away;
Love's Lottery tempted Thee giddy and gay,
And despair was thy prize as the fruit of his wiles!”
“Is it thus!” I exclaim'd, in the choak'd voice of anguish;
“Ah! would the blest right to protect Thee were mine;
Then, the flower of my fondness, thou never should'st languish,
The pride of my honour, thou never should'st pine:
At the breath of thy whisper I'd fly but to hear Thee,
And the long lapse of time should but serve to endear Thee,
And in weal or in woe, by my soul I would cheer Thee;
Ah! would the blest right to protect Thee were mine!”
“Ah! would the blest right to protect Thee were mine;
Then, the flower of my fondness, thou never should'st languish,
The pride of my honour, thou never should'st pine:
At the breath of thy whisper I'd fly but to hear Thee,
And the long lapse of time should but serve to endear Thee,
And in weal or in woe, by my soul I would cheer Thee;
Ah! would the blest right to protect Thee were mine!”
Such, such was the Dream that my fancy deluded;
I awoke, and bless'd Heaven it was only a Dream:
For rather than Sorrow one moment intruded,
To dim the dark eyes that so tenderly beam:
All the hopes of my soul would I willingly barter,
To establish Her peace on inviolate charter:
In the pride of its love let my Heart die a martyr,
If I'd cause Her the pain of one sorrowful Dream.
I awoke, and bless'd Heaven it was only a Dream:
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To dim the dark eyes that so tenderly beam:
All the hopes of my soul would I willingly barter,
To establish Her peace on inviolate charter:
In the pride of its love let my Heart die a martyr,
If I'd cause Her the pain of one sorrowful Dream.
| Stanzas, by the Author of "Dunluce Castle" | |