The bard, and minor poems By John Walker Ord ... Collected and edited by John Lodge |
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 | The bard, and minor poems |  |
I.
“Within a grotto of the ancient wood,
With my beloved at even-tide I lay:
Soon must I leave this cherish'd solitude,
And to the distant city wend my way,”
I said,—“And though 'twill break this trusting heart,
To leave those landscapes in their beauteous prime,
And from thine own beloved self to part,—
Oh! there are other cliffs than these to climb,—
And other walks, where flowers as fragrant grow,—
And other skies, than where yon eaglets soar,—
And other boundless space, than this resounding shore.”
With my beloved at even-tide I lay:
Soon must I leave this cherish'd solitude,
And to the distant city wend my way,”
I said,—“And though 'twill break this trusting heart,
To leave those landscapes in their beauteous prime,
And from thine own beloved self to part,—
Oh! there are other cliffs than these to climb,—
And other walks, where flowers as fragrant grow,—
And other skies, than where yon eaglets soar,—
And other boundless space, than this resounding shore.”
She bow'd her forehead down upon my breast,
And her sweet eyes look'd upward into mine;
Then softly murmur'd, and more closely prest,—
“But I, my love, for ever more am thine!
Old Autumn hath put on his crown, and, lo!
The forest robed in all its thousand dyes;
The stormy winds their trumpet-chorus blow,
In chant unearthly, where the pine-grove lies:
But my Love's autumn never can arise.
Like yon bright star thy memory still shall be;
Affection's dreams, hope's raptures yet shall rise,
To fill my soul with constant dreams of thee.
And her sweet eyes look'd upward into mine;
Then softly murmur'd, and more closely prest,—
“But I, my love, for ever more am thine!
Old Autumn hath put on his crown, and, lo!
The forest robed in all its thousand dyes;
The stormy winds their trumpet-chorus blow,
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But my Love's autumn never can arise.
Like yon bright star thy memory still shall be;
Affection's dreams, hope's raptures yet shall rise,
To fill my soul with constant dreams of thee.
“But, oh! I feel, as if I never more—
Shall never more caress this blessed head:
When thou returnest from the distant shore,
I shall be slumbering with the silent dead.
For, oh, beloved! strange dreams disturb my sight:
And once I saw thee, dearest, wan and ill,
Driven by a horrid spectre, ghastly bright,
With cutting sword, o'er river, field, and hill.
No cliff so fearful, where thou didst not go,—
No hot, nor cold, too terrible for thee;
And down thy limbs I saw the hot blood flow,
And long red wounds most pitiful to see.”
Shall never more caress this blessed head:
When thou returnest from the distant shore,
I shall be slumbering with the silent dead.
For, oh, beloved! strange dreams disturb my sight:
And once I saw thee, dearest, wan and ill,
Driven by a horrid spectre, ghastly bright,
With cutting sword, o'er river, field, and hill.
No cliff so fearful, where thou didst not go,—
No hot, nor cold, too terrible for thee;
And down thy limbs I saw the hot blood flow,
And long red wounds most pitiful to see.”
I kiss'd her snow-white brow, I kiss'd her eyes;
And pointing upward to the evening star:
“Sooner,” I said, “from yon embracing skies,
From their enduring and immortal car,
The beams of liquid light shall die away,
Than shall my heart's eternal love decay!
I swear by the great ocean, changing never;
I swear by the far mountains, rear'd sublime;
I swear by the bright moon, still young for ever,
That I must love thee to remotest time!
Listen ye glimmering stars, and hear my vow,—
Spirits that haunt the moonbeams, come and hear:
These all are mine,—this face, these eyes, this brow;
And when I love not, come thou mournful bier!”
And pointing upward to the evening star:
“Sooner,” I said, “from yon embracing skies,
From their enduring and immortal car,
The beams of liquid light shall die away,
Than shall my heart's eternal love decay!
I swear by the great ocean, changing never;
I swear by the far mountains, rear'd sublime;
I swear by the bright moon, still young for ever,
That I must love thee to remotest time!
Listen ye glimmering stars, and hear my vow,—
Spirits that haunt the moonbeams, come and hear:
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And when I love not, come thou mournful bier!”
Now fell the shadows over ocean old;
Each star-like ship, each rainbow-colour'd hull,
And streamy pennant that in ether roll'd,
Return'd the waves their colours beautiful.
Sleep held the slumbering giant by the throat,
So sullen, like a dying thing it lay:
High o'er the trees, swell'd every sweetest note,
A requiem for the sun, at close of day—
Anon, chimed forth o'er heaven of stars the bright array!
Each star-like ship, each rainbow-colour'd hull,
And streamy pennant that in ether roll'd,
Return'd the waves their colours beautiful.
Sleep held the slumbering giant by the throat,
So sullen, like a dying thing it lay:
High o'er the trees, swell'd every sweetest note,
A requiem for the sun, at close of day—
Anon, chimed forth o'er heaven of stars the bright array!
| The bard, and minor poems | |