The legendary consisting of original pieces, principally illustrative of American history, scenery, and manners |
 |
LIONEL. |
 | LIONEL. The legendary |  |
84
LIONEL.
BY ROBERT MORRIS.
The brave, the bright, the beautiful have fallen,
By human passion, from the loftiest heights
Of honor and ripe intellect. The seers
Of former times, the Hercules of Gath,
The wisest and the wiliest of men,
Woman's light bonds have fettered.
Decrepid Archenessa, bent with years,
Possessed the heart of Plato. Socrates
Bowed down to lewd Alphasis, and bright Lais,
Corinthia's syren wanton, rioted
In princely Pyrrhus' soul. Alas! for man,
That he should be the slave of idle thoughts
And dream away his reason!
I 've a tale
That seems but as a thing of yesterday—
Its memory is so vivid. There was one
Whom I had known in boyhood. I can see
His glowing cheek, his rosy lip, e'en now—
An image of the past most beautiful.
His eye was a delicious thing of light,
And his glad voice and mellow utterance
Broke forth `like the wild carol of a bird.'
Lionel! with thy ample brow and flowing hair,
Standing bewildered by Niagara—
Gazing with breathless and intense delight
Into its boiling cauldron—Lionel!
Thou star that set in darkness! how can I
By human passion, from the loftiest heights
Of honor and ripe intellect. The seers
Of former times, the Hercules of Gath,
The wisest and the wiliest of men,
Woman's light bonds have fettered.
Decrepid Archenessa, bent with years,
Possessed the heart of Plato. Socrates
Bowed down to lewd Alphasis, and bright Lais,
Corinthia's syren wanton, rioted
In princely Pyrrhus' soul. Alas! for man,
That he should be the slave of idle thoughts
And dream away his reason!
I 've a tale
That seems but as a thing of yesterday—
Its memory is so vivid. There was one
Whom I had known in boyhood. I can see
His glowing cheek, his rosy lip, e'en now—
An image of the past most beautiful.
His eye was a delicious thing of light,
And his glad voice and mellow utterance
Broke forth `like the wild carol of a bird.'
Lionel! with thy ample brow and flowing hair,
Standing bewildered by Niagara—
Gazing with breathless and intense delight
Into its boiling cauldron—Lionel!
Thou star that set in darkness! how can I
85
Call back life's rosy images, when thou
That once wert bright and eloquent as youth,
Art folded in the grave. He was a child
Of a strange beauty. His red lip was thin,
But delicately curled, as a fine thought
Of scorn or passion touched it with a smile;
His brow was pale as marble, and as smooth
As the blue sea of summer. Early thought
Gave to its polish utterance, and a shade
Slept sadly o'er his eyelash, as if woe
Bore heavily on his spirit. He was one
To win you from your ordinary moods
To pause and contemplate. He had a soul
Delicate as perception, and a mind
Brilliant as meteors, but as erring too.
He loved the paths of nature—the green dell,
The fall of waters, and the raging sea—
Sunset was glorious, and starry eve
Could lead him up to high imaginings
Of God and his infinity of worlds.
A shade came o'er the young boy's destiny—
He suddenly was an orphan, and the world
Beckoned him to the conflict. He forsook
The haunts of youth's Arcadia—the green hills
And laughing brooks of summer, where his voice
Rung joyous cadences; and he forsook
His academic studies, and the one,
The kindred spirit of his early dreams,
Who shared romantic reveries with him
In life's unclouded morning. He forsook
The necromantic pageantry of dreams
For cold reality. The hollow world,
Drear as a desert, burst upon his view.
He was alone in spirit—a frail bark
That once wert bright and eloquent as youth,
Art folded in the grave. He was a child
Of a strange beauty. His red lip was thin,
But delicately curled, as a fine thought
Of scorn or passion touched it with a smile;
His brow was pale as marble, and as smooth
As the blue sea of summer. Early thought
Gave to its polish utterance, and a shade
Slept sadly o'er his eyelash, as if woe
Bore heavily on his spirit. He was one
To win you from your ordinary moods
To pause and contemplate. He had a soul
Delicate as perception, and a mind
Brilliant as meteors, but as erring too.
He loved the paths of nature—the green dell,
The fall of waters, and the raging sea—
Sunset was glorious, and starry eve
Could lead him up to high imaginings
Of God and his infinity of worlds.
A shade came o'er the young boy's destiny—
He suddenly was an orphan, and the world
Beckoned him to the conflict. He forsook
The haunts of youth's Arcadia—the green hills
And laughing brooks of summer, where his voice
Rung joyous cadences; and he forsook
His academic studies, and the one,
The kindred spirit of his early dreams,
Who shared romantic reveries with him
In life's unclouded morning. He forsook
The necromantic pageantry of dreams
For cold reality. The hollow world,
Drear as a desert, burst upon his view.
He was alone in spirit—a frail bark
86
Tossed on misfortune's tempest. Lionel!
Earth was too drear for thee, and darkness came
To clothe thy soul in weariness, before
The bud of thy creation was matured.
Poor and unknown, unfriended, and depressed,
His boyhood wasted on in bitterness;
And then another shadow dimmed his fate.
`Is there a God?' his evil demon cried.
`Creation's face is very beautiful,
The stars of heaven are glorious, and the sun
Rolls on a high career in heaven; but I—'
He gazed upon a mirror; his proud brow
Was white as alabaster; his bright eye
Flashed like a wild intelligence; his form
Was scarcely half concealed in tattered shreds—
He turned away in agony and raved.
A lofty spirit kindled in his soul;
But he was poor—most miserably poor,
And bitterly he cursed his destiny.
`Is there a God?' again the startling thought
Maddened his intellect; again the wrath
Of desperation kindled on his lip;
His form convulsed an instant; the cold dews
Rolled from his burning temples; a deep groan
Came from his beating bosom, and his brain
Was maddened by intensity of thought.
Another change came over him. He now
Had thrown his boyhood by, and the warm heart,
Pure as a crystal fountain, had been tinged
With the world's guiltiness. His face was pale;
His eye glared dark and scowling; his thin lip
Forever curled in mockery. Lionel
Was one who scoffed at Heaven. A fearful creed
Had blotted the bright promise of his youth.
Earth was too drear for thee, and darkness came
To clothe thy soul in weariness, before
The bud of thy creation was matured.
Poor and unknown, unfriended, and depressed,
His boyhood wasted on in bitterness;
And then another shadow dimmed his fate.
`Is there a God?' his evil demon cried.
`Creation's face is very beautiful,
The stars of heaven are glorious, and the sun
Rolls on a high career in heaven; but I—'
He gazed upon a mirror; his proud brow
Was white as alabaster; his bright eye
Flashed like a wild intelligence; his form
Was scarcely half concealed in tattered shreds—
He turned away in agony and raved.
A lofty spirit kindled in his soul;
But he was poor—most miserably poor,
And bitterly he cursed his destiny.
`Is there a God?' again the startling thought
Maddened his intellect; again the wrath
Of desperation kindled on his lip;
His form convulsed an instant; the cold dews
Rolled from his burning temples; a deep groan
Came from his beating bosom, and his brain
Was maddened by intensity of thought.
Another change came over him. He now
Had thrown his boyhood by, and the warm heart,
Pure as a crystal fountain, had been tinged
With the world's guiltiness. His face was pale;
His eye glared dark and scowling; his thin lip
Forever curled in mockery. Lionel
Was one who scoffed at Heaven. A fearful creed
Had blotted the bright promise of his youth.
87
She, the fair spirit of his early dreams,
He had betrayed and ruined. His fair fame
Was blackening in the shades of infamy.
A modern Cleopatra had called forth
His secret sympathies. Gay Adela
Was fair as ancient Hynes—raven hair
Fell o'er her polished shoulders, and wild eyes
Glanced through bewitching lashes. She was all
That Helen might have been in rosy youth,
Fresh from the babbling fountain. She was all
That would bewilder Antony again
To sacrifice ambition; and she came
A thing of startling beauty to despair,
And Lionel bowed down to her.
'T was night.
He stood beside a river. The bright stars
Were mirrored in its bosom; the pale moon
Moved silently through heaven. He cursed his fate,
And gazed upon the waters, with his brain
Revolving its mad impulses to leap.
A sweet, shrill voice fell on his pausing ear,
Staying his purpose. Lionel quickly turned,
And a fair girl stood trembling at his side.
`Who art thou,' he exclaimed, `thus lonely here,
Beneath the midnight moon?'
`A hated thing—
A bleeding-hearted woman! Who art thou?'
`A beggar with a mind, whose bitter hours
Creep on so laggardly towards the grave
That I would fain propel them.'
He had betrayed and ruined. His fair fame
Was blackening in the shades of infamy.
A modern Cleopatra had called forth
His secret sympathies. Gay Adela
Was fair as ancient Hynes—raven hair
Fell o'er her polished shoulders, and wild eyes
Glanced through bewitching lashes. She was all
That Helen might have been in rosy youth,
Fresh from the babbling fountain. She was all
That would bewilder Antony again
To sacrifice ambition; and she came
A thing of startling beauty to despair,
And Lionel bowed down to her.
'T was night.
He stood beside a river. The bright stars
Were mirrored in its bosom; the pale moon
Moved silently through heaven. He cursed his fate,
And gazed upon the waters, with his brain
Revolving its mad impulses to leap.
A sweet, shrill voice fell on his pausing ear,
Staying his purpose. Lionel quickly turned,
And a fair girl stood trembling at his side.
`Who art thou,' he exclaimed, `thus lonely here,
Beneath the midnight moon?'
`A hated thing—
A bleeding-hearted woman! Who art thou?'
`A beggar with a mind, whose bitter hours
Creep on so laggardly towards the grave
That I would fain propel them.'
88
Adela
Threw back her glossy tresses. A bright brow,
Lit by a gleam of moonlight, lay above
Two flashing gems of vision. Her frail hand
Trembled beneath the starlight, as she cast
One finger like an icicle to heaven,
And shrieked to Lionel, `Is there a God?'
He bowed himself and groaned; then took the hand
That trembled like an aspen leaf in his,
And gazed upon her earnestly, and mused.
Time's sands ran swiftly now. Lost Lionel
Forgot his early destinies, and she,
The ruined beauty, was the world to him,
And he was life to her. He now had been
Struggling for sustenance for her he loved.
His frame was wasted, and his sunken cheek
Was hollow with despair. He fell again!
And she for whom he had been urged to crime,
Shared every danger with him. Even when
Their cup of bitterness had reached the brim,
She came to him in prison, half insane,
And, plunging a cold poniard in his breast,
They yielded up life's miseries, and died!
Threw back her glossy tresses. A bright brow,
Lit by a gleam of moonlight, lay above
Two flashing gems of vision. Her frail hand
Trembled beneath the starlight, as she cast
One finger like an icicle to heaven,
And shrieked to Lionel, `Is there a God?'
He bowed himself and groaned; then took the hand
That trembled like an aspen leaf in his,
And gazed upon her earnestly, and mused.
Time's sands ran swiftly now. Lost Lionel
Forgot his early destinies, and she,
The ruined beauty, was the world to him,
And he was life to her. He now had been
Struggling for sustenance for her he loved.
His frame was wasted, and his sunken cheek
Was hollow with despair. He fell again!
And she for whom he had been urged to crime,
Shared every danger with him. Even when
Their cup of bitterness had reached the brim,
She came to him in prison, half insane,
And, plunging a cold poniard in his breast,
They yielded up life's miseries, and died!
| LIONEL. The legendary | |