The fair Isabel of Cotehele a Cornish romance, in six cantos. By the author of Local attachment, and translator of Theocritus [i.e. Richard Polwhele] |
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 | The fair Isabel of Cotehele |  |
VII.
Her chamber had she pac'd in vain,Then sought her troubled couch again;
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Seal'd were at length her wearied eyes.
Her right hand, on the pillow laid,
Seem'd to support a throbbing head.
Her fingers, erst of roseate hue,
The ebbing blood left pale and blue.
Loosen'd from its silken braid,
A lock had down her bosom stray'd,
And on that pure illumin'd breast
Wav'd light, as if it lov'd to rest;
Tho to the bosom-fall or swell
As sighs were breath'd, it rose or fell!
For with a sigh, a shriek, a start,
Was flush'd her cheek, or throbb'd her heart
Where care or sorrow quickly pass'd—
The summer-shadow, fleeting fast,
So dims the golden air!
Till, as her lips with brighter glow
Half-opening shew'd each pearly row,
O'er her sweet features stole the while
Calm and more calm a lovely smile,
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That smile so lovely triumph'd there.
It was a precious dream, I ween,
Weaving some tender faery scene—
Some form, to scatter every grief,
As May's young morn in mild relief—
It was a dream which, all the while,
Created that transcendant smile!
| The fair Isabel of Cotehele | |