Works of the Hon. and Very Rev. William Herbert ... Excepting those on botany and natural history. With additions and corrections by the author |
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JULIA MONTALBAN. |
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 | Works of the Hon. and Very Rev. William Herbert |  |
JULIA MONTALBAN.
[_]
The story upon which this Tale is founded is altered from that of Julia de Roubigny. The subject was taken from a general recollection of that interesting little volume, to which I have not had an opportunity of referring. Some important alterations have been intentionally made in the story, and perhaps others inadvertently, as I had no particular wish to adhere to it.
Sweet bird of night, that on the loneliest spray
Like an inthralled angel pour'st thy lay,
Earth has no strain to match thy plaintive notes,
Whose mournful tone upon the moonbeam floats.
Near thee, all other warbling of the grove
Seems heartless; thine the very soul of love.
Some secret tie thro' nature's spacious bounds
Unites the sweetest with the saddest sounds,
And gives to sorrowing loveliness a spell,
Which in its radiance mirth can ne'er excel.
Thee, first, and fairest of the nine I woo,
Majestic Muse, to sorrow ever true!
Thee oft entranced my fancy has descried,
Thy stately mien, thy step of graceful pride;
The shape of perfect mould, the glossy hair,
The forehead smooth, the neck of beauty rare;
The robe of jet that girds thy breast of snow,
Making the whitest bosom whiter glow;
The witching eloquence of thy dark eyes,
Where the love-lighted smile half-kindled dies;
And from thy coral lip the melting strain
That makes grief bliss, and lighter pleasures vain.
Long shall the mind's rapt eye enamour'd dwell
On thee, chaste Muse, and own thy powerful spell.
From thee my verse proceeds; O be it thine
To fill the fancy, and exalt the line!
Stamp thou thine own bright image on my page,
And it shall live beyond Time's latest age!
Like an inthralled angel pour'st thy lay,
Earth has no strain to match thy plaintive notes,
Whose mournful tone upon the moonbeam floats.
Near thee, all other warbling of the grove
Seems heartless; thine the very soul of love.
Some secret tie thro' nature's spacious bounds
Unites the sweetest with the saddest sounds,
And gives to sorrowing loveliness a spell,
Which in its radiance mirth can ne'er excel.
Thee, first, and fairest of the nine I woo,
Majestic Muse, to sorrow ever true!
Thee oft entranced my fancy has descried,
Thy stately mien, thy step of graceful pride;
25
The forehead smooth, the neck of beauty rare;
The robe of jet that girds thy breast of snow,
Making the whitest bosom whiter glow;
The witching eloquence of thy dark eyes,
Where the love-lighted smile half-kindled dies;
And from thy coral lip the melting strain
That makes grief bliss, and lighter pleasures vain.
Long shall the mind's rapt eye enamour'd dwell
On thee, chaste Muse, and own thy powerful spell.
From thee my verse proceeds; O be it thine
To fill the fancy, and exalt the line!
Stamp thou thine own bright image on my page,
And it shall live beyond Time's latest age!
Wintry and bleak was the Sierra's brow,
And, Cordova, thy mountains capp'd with snow.
Deep sigh'd the gale; thro' swift-borne clouds, serene
The moonlight stream'd upon that lonely scene,
Silvering the glens beneath; while far and wide
Night's shadows flitted o'er the mountain's side.
Full on a cheerless chamber fell its ray,
Where, pale and almost spent, a matron lay.
Mournful her look; upon her bosom prest
Both hands were clasp'd; the breath scarce heaved her breast.
Fixt upon one, who neither moved nor spoke,
Her eyes seem'd heaven's last blessing to invoke.
One painful thought alone appear'd to stay
The parting soul, and crave some brief delay;
While he, her partner in each earthly care,
Sat chain'd to grief, and conquer'd by despair.
Behind stood one, whose mien some pity wore,
And, though unblest his office, still forebore,
By his sad prisoner, waiting for the close
Of life's last scene in that abode of woes.
E'en the hard hand of justice dared not strive
To break that tie which nature soon must rive.
Nor long the pause; her glass was nearly run,
Her limbs unnerved, her strength almost foredone.
'Tis said, strong wishes can in Death's despight
Arrest the spirit and deny his right;
But soon that spell must pass; the weak pulse ceased;
Without a groan her spirit was released.
Then rose the shriek of one, to whom the view
Of death and the heart's agony were new,
Her own young Julia; she who o'er her bed
Had watch'd desponding, and now saw her dead.
Each moment had foretold it: but that grief,
So sure and present, now was past belief.
Say ye, who early o'er a mother's grave
Have seen the plumed pomp of burial wave,
How oft your fancy unconstrain'd by wo
Has seem'd to hear her cherish'd accents flow!
View'd her loved couch, void room, or wonted chair,
And almost thought to see her image there!
Perchance that incredulity of grief
To desolation brings some faint relief,
Deludes the pang, and soothes the youthful heart
With the fond hope from which it will not part.
And, Cordova, thy mountains capp'd with snow.
Deep sigh'd the gale; thro' swift-borne clouds, serene
The moonlight stream'd upon that lonely scene,
Silvering the glens beneath; while far and wide
Night's shadows flitted o'er the mountain's side.
Full on a cheerless chamber fell its ray,
Where, pale and almost spent, a matron lay.
Mournful her look; upon her bosom prest
Both hands were clasp'd; the breath scarce heaved her breast.
Fixt upon one, who neither moved nor spoke,
Her eyes seem'd heaven's last blessing to invoke.
One painful thought alone appear'd to stay
The parting soul, and crave some brief delay;
While he, her partner in each earthly care,
Sat chain'd to grief, and conquer'd by despair.
Behind stood one, whose mien some pity wore,
And, though unblest his office, still forebore,
26
Of life's last scene in that abode of woes.
E'en the hard hand of justice dared not strive
To break that tie which nature soon must rive.
Nor long the pause; her glass was nearly run,
Her limbs unnerved, her strength almost foredone.
'Tis said, strong wishes can in Death's despight
Arrest the spirit and deny his right;
But soon that spell must pass; the weak pulse ceased;
Without a groan her spirit was released.
Then rose the shriek of one, to whom the view
Of death and the heart's agony were new,
Her own young Julia; she who o'er her bed
Had watch'd desponding, and now saw her dead.
Each moment had foretold it: but that grief,
So sure and present, now was past belief.
Say ye, who early o'er a mother's grave
Have seen the plumed pomp of burial wave,
How oft your fancy unconstrain'd by wo
Has seem'd to hear her cherish'd accents flow!
View'd her loved couch, void room, or wonted chair,
And almost thought to see her image there!
Perchance that incredulity of grief
To desolation brings some faint relief,
Deludes the pang, and soothes the youthful heart
With the fond hope from which it will not part.
Sweet childhood, in the lap of kindness rear'd,
How are thy careless sports by love endear'd!
Thine is the love, that knows no timid blush,
The heedless brow, which changeful pleasures flush:
The gentle confidence, that fears no harm;
The breast, which gaily throbs without alarm!
O that so manhood could securely sail
On the smooth tide adown life's pleasant vale!
O that the dreams of childhood could remain,
When years steal on and reason grows with pain!
How are thy careless sports by love endear'd!
Thine is the love, that knows no timid blush,
The heedless brow, which changeful pleasures flush:
The gentle confidence, that fears no harm;
The breast, which gaily throbs without alarm!
27
On the smooth tide adown life's pleasant vale!
O that the dreams of childhood could remain,
When years steal on and reason grows with pain!
Joys cheerful as the spring had o'er the head
Of infant Julia their best influence shed.
There was a light of mirth in her blue eyes,
The liquid azure of her native skies;
Her cheek was radiant with the hue of joy,
Unmixt enchantment, hope without alloy.
Young Roderic, by her parent's bounty rear'd,
Her toils partook, and every sport endear'd;
Together did their opening minds explore
The sage's precepts, and the poet's lore:
So closely link'd in infantine delight,
They were but happy in each other's sight.
No tremulous thought (if such they knew) of care,
No bliss had one, the other did not share.
Of infant Julia their best influence shed.
There was a light of mirth in her blue eyes,
The liquid azure of her native skies;
Her cheek was radiant with the hue of joy,
Unmixt enchantment, hope without alloy.
Young Roderic, by her parent's bounty rear'd,
Her toils partook, and every sport endear'd;
Together did their opening minds explore
The sage's precepts, and the poet's lore:
So closely link'd in infantine delight,
They were but happy in each other's sight.
No tremulous thought (if such they knew) of care,
No bliss had one, the other did not share.
Time fled too swiftly, bearing in its flight
Those precious days of sunshine ever bright.
The sylphlike form grew ripe with woman's charms,
The bosom throbb'd with undefined alarms;
That eye of cloudless mirth now veil'd its gleam,
And bashful mildness shed a gentler beam.
The hour of parting came, and keenly proved
To each pain'd breast how tenderly it loved.
That love was mute; not e'en Rodrigo dared
Outpour the thought, which both in silence shared.
Call'd in youth's morning to a foreign clime,
He then first learnt that poverty was crime.
A noble orphan by Velasquez fed,
His lot seem'd cast to press a barren bed.
Till wealth, hard-earn'd by toilsome length of years,
Should raise him to a level with his peers.
Forth he must fare, where fortune's smiles invite,
While richer suitors woo his lost delight.
But though that pang had well nigh forced the blood
From his life's fountain, still it was withstood.
Love spoke in the flush'd cheek; it lit the eyes;
It pour'd the soul's strong passion in its sighs;
But, unrecorded by one daring word,
Its vows were breathed in silence, and unheard.
To Cuba's coast he went, and with him bore
A mind as ardent to that burning shore.
Those precious days of sunshine ever bright.
The sylphlike form grew ripe with woman's charms,
The bosom throbb'd with undefined alarms;
That eye of cloudless mirth now veil'd its gleam,
And bashful mildness shed a gentler beam.
The hour of parting came, and keenly proved
To each pain'd breast how tenderly it loved.
That love was mute; not e'en Rodrigo dared
Outpour the thought, which both in silence shared.
Call'd in youth's morning to a foreign clime,
He then first learnt that poverty was crime.
A noble orphan by Velasquez fed,
His lot seem'd cast to press a barren bed.
28
Should raise him to a level with his peers.
Forth he must fare, where fortune's smiles invite,
While richer suitors woo his lost delight.
But though that pang had well nigh forced the blood
From his life's fountain, still it was withstood.
Love spoke in the flush'd cheek; it lit the eyes;
It pour'd the soul's strong passion in its sighs;
But, unrecorded by one daring word,
Its vows were breathed in silence, and unheard.
To Cuba's coast he went, and with him bore
A mind as ardent to that burning shore.
But Julia, from Valentia's beauteous vale,
With mournful eye beheld his gliding sail.
Her troubled bosom heaved; a busy thought
Rose in her heart, by treacherous fancy brought,
Which murmur'd painful doubts within her breast
Of cold unkindness or of love supprest.
In him had all emotion seem'd to sleep;
She long'd to fall upon his neck and weep;
There was reserve and pride in his adieu,
And something to her feelings strange and new;
And yet, before he bounded from the strand,
His quick convulsive grasp had press'd her hand;
And one last look seem'd rashly to confess
What the proud soul had labor'd to repress.
She gazed upon the flowers, whose laughing birth
Show'd as if bliss alone were upon earth,
The trees in stateliest beauty round her growing,
The sea so clear, the hills with sunshine glowing,
And the unclouded firmament on high,
The pure immeasurable depth of sky;
But the world seem'd untenanted and lone,
And she amidst that bliss the only one,
The lorn, the hopeless. He, whose breath had given
To earthly joys a sweet foretaste of heaven,
Was floating fast upon the perilous wave
To other climes, perchance a foreign grave;
And there was none beside to understand
The voice that whispers from sky, sea, and land,
The secret charm which from thebreeze's wing
Steals o'er the heart mid nature's blossoming.
With mournful eye beheld his gliding sail.
Her troubled bosom heaved; a busy thought
Rose in her heart, by treacherous fancy brought,
Which murmur'd painful doubts within her breast
Of cold unkindness or of love supprest.
In him had all emotion seem'd to sleep;
She long'd to fall upon his neck and weep;
There was reserve and pride in his adieu,
And something to her feelings strange and new;
And yet, before he bounded from the strand,
His quick convulsive grasp had press'd her hand;
And one last look seem'd rashly to confess
What the proud soul had labor'd to repress.
She gazed upon the flowers, whose laughing birth
Show'd as if bliss alone were upon earth,
The trees in stateliest beauty round her growing,
The sea so clear, the hills with sunshine glowing,
And the unclouded firmament on high,
The pure immeasurable depth of sky;
29
And she amidst that bliss the only one,
The lorn, the hopeless. He, whose breath had given
To earthly joys a sweet foretaste of heaven,
Was floating fast upon the perilous wave
To other climes, perchance a foreign grave;
And there was none beside to understand
The voice that whispers from sky, sea, and land,
The secret charm which from thebreeze's wing
Steals o'er the heart mid nature's blossoming.
Time pass'd, and yet arose no blither view;
Her eye its lustre, her cheek lost its hue.
Why was she sad? She knew not; this alone
Her bosom felt, that all its mirth was flown.
But soon with weightier blow substantial care
Made her of that grief's vanity aware.
Man little prizes what each day bestows,
While fancy builds a frightful pile of woes;
Till, reft of joys that were his daily food,
He learns by loss that what he held was good.
Her eye its lustre, her cheek lost its hue.
Why was she sad? She knew not; this alone
Her bosom felt, that all its mirth was flown.
But soon with weightier blow substantial care
Made her of that grief's vanity aware.
Man little prizes what each day bestows,
While fancy builds a frightful pile of woes;
Till, reft of joys that were his daily food,
He learns by loss that what he held was good.
The wheels slow rolling thro' Valentia's walls
Bore her for ever from her native halls.
Law, like a harpy, with its ravenous train,
Had stripp'd her father of his rich domain,
Remote from splendor now, and doom'd to hide
His sorrows near the dark Sierra's side.
There yet one humble mansion own'd him lord,
But sorrow scowl'd upon his frugal board.
Bore her for ever from her native halls.
Law, like a harpy, with its ravenous train,
Had stripp'd her father of his rich domain,
Remote from splendor now, and doom'd to hide
His sorrows near the dark Sierra's side.
There yet one humble mansion own'd him lord,
But sorrow scowl'd upon his frugal board.
O sweet Contentment, what art thou, and where?
In what wild covert is thy tangled lair,
That man can never reach thee? Dost thou dwell
In the low cabin or the rocky cell,
Or lay thee stretch'd beneath some gilt alcove,
Where perfumes breathe and music whispers love?
Art thou the proud concomitant of wealth,
The prize of beauty, or the child of health?
Say, dost thou lavish in the peasant's cot
Thy cherub smiles to cheer his rugged lot,
And are the rich, the honor'd, and the gay,
In fruitless search for ever doom'd to stray?
Or, still to place and fortune unconfined,
Is thy sole harbour in the peaceful mind?
Those vales are fair, those hills are evergreen,
The careless rustic joys that lovely scene.
Why does Velasquez scorn his humble hall?
Why is the bread, that daily feeds him, gall?
Save that, regardless of what sweets remain,
His bosom turns unto the past with pain.
Two years dragg'd slowly on with heavy wing,
And Julia's fondness could no comfort bring.
Peevish and doubly jealous of respect,
He seem'd past hope, and all his pleasures wreck'd.
The wife, who with him trod the summer ways
Of fortune, soothed him in his wintry days,
Watch'd o'er his fretful mood with patient love,
Too sad to cheer, too gentle to reprove.
Grief was young Julia's portion, and she seem'd
As one who woo'd not pleasure, but had dream'd
Unutterable bliss, whose radiance spread
Peace in her soul, to worldly wishes dead:
But still her pensive smile might cast a shade
On Seville or Valentia's sprightliest maid;
And, as if born to deck some higher sphere,
She trod life's walk with little hope or fear.
For all her griefs were certain; in her sire
The mind's adversity had quell'd its fire;
Her mother, stricken by that helpless doom,
Look'd to the peaceful haven of the tomb;
And he had vanish'd as a morning dream,
Who held the dearest place in her esteem.
Herself, that lightsome child of infant mirth,
Seem'd now unfitted for the joys of earth;
Like those pure sylphs, that bend in mild distress
Over the couch of dying loveliness,
And, school'd in that unfriended house of wo,
Sat patience, like a glory, on her brow.
In what wild covert is thy tangled lair,
That man can never reach thee? Dost thou dwell
In the low cabin or the rocky cell,
30
Where perfumes breathe and music whispers love?
Art thou the proud concomitant of wealth,
The prize of beauty, or the child of health?
Say, dost thou lavish in the peasant's cot
Thy cherub smiles to cheer his rugged lot,
And are the rich, the honor'd, and the gay,
In fruitless search for ever doom'd to stray?
Or, still to place and fortune unconfined,
Is thy sole harbour in the peaceful mind?
Those vales are fair, those hills are evergreen,
The careless rustic joys that lovely scene.
Why does Velasquez scorn his humble hall?
Why is the bread, that daily feeds him, gall?
Save that, regardless of what sweets remain,
His bosom turns unto the past with pain.
Two years dragg'd slowly on with heavy wing,
And Julia's fondness could no comfort bring.
Peevish and doubly jealous of respect,
He seem'd past hope, and all his pleasures wreck'd.
The wife, who with him trod the summer ways
Of fortune, soothed him in his wintry days,
Watch'd o'er his fretful mood with patient love,
Too sad to cheer, too gentle to reprove.
Grief was young Julia's portion, and she seem'd
As one who woo'd not pleasure, but had dream'd
Unutterable bliss, whose radiance spread
Peace in her soul, to worldly wishes dead:
But still her pensive smile might cast a shade
On Seville or Valentia's sprightliest maid;
And, as if born to deck some higher sphere,
She trod life's walk with little hope or fear.
31
The mind's adversity had quell'd its fire;
Her mother, stricken by that helpless doom,
Look'd to the peaceful haven of the tomb;
And he had vanish'd as a morning dream,
Who held the dearest place in her esteem.
Herself, that lightsome child of infant mirth,
Seem'd now unfitted for the joys of earth;
Like those pure sylphs, that bend in mild distress
Over the couch of dying loveliness,
And, school'd in that unfriended house of wo,
Sat patience, like a glory, on her brow.
But other pangs drew nigh: fate had not shed
Its utmost malice on Velasquez' head.
E'en on that night of mourning, while his wife
Still press'd the fatal couch, just reft of life,
Stern justice dragg'd him from the house of gloom,
To linger cheerless in a living tomb;
And Julia shared his lot, content to dwell
A self-devoted victim in his cell.
With none but her, his sufferings to assuage,
Disease fell heavy on the brow of age.
His pallet was of straw, and Julia hung
O'er his uneasy sleep. Carelessly flung
On her white bosom, the dishevell'd hair
Made her more beauteous even in despair.
She sat entranced, while memory round her drew
Forms of the past in long and sad review.
In her heart graven with unerring truth
She traced each pastime of her earliest youth;
And, in that dungeon, free and unconfined
Valentia's charms came beaming on her mind:
Rodrigo's smile; the mutual joys and fears
Which had endear'd him in her infant years;
And then the clouded brow, the constrain'd look;
The pleading eye, when that last leave he took;
The hasty pressure of her yielded hand;
The barque, that bore him from his native land.
Next rose the grief, that reft her of her home,
Torn from the shades where once she loved to roam;
Her mother's failing strength, her kind caress
Foreboding thoughts which she would fain repress;
The paleness that betray'd life's dwindling flame,
The slow decay of that exhausted frame.
Then keener thoughts arose; the pang, that prey'd
Like poison on her heart, to none bewray'd;
The tale, which dagger-like had pierced her soul,
“Rodrigo wedded to a rich Creole.”
Faithless she fain would hold him, and forsworn;
Was not his image in her bosom worn?
Had she not scorn'd for him all wealth beside,
Montalban's rank, Montalban's honest pride?
But of reproach the comfort was denied;
How had he woo'd her? by what promise tied?
Her tears stole slow, and that heart-humbling thought
To its sad home her sickening memory brought.
Her eyes were fixt upon her father's face,
On which despair had stamp'd its fatal trace.
Its hue was alter'd, and approaching death
Was almost striving with his smother'd breath.
Her heart was well nigh bursting, as she saw
His grey hairs sunk upon that couch of straw.
Deep self-reproof assail'd her; and a pang,
That roused her, through the conscious bosom rang.
Her mother lay unburied, and her sire
In his damp prison ready to expire;
Yet she, his only solace, for the toy
Of fancy lavish'd on a reckless boy,
Had scorn'd the good, the glorious and the brave,
Whose name might honor, and whose wealth might save.
She had forbade Montalban, though her mind
Judged him the best and noblest of mankind.
How now recall him? how her wish unfold,
And seem to sell her loveliness for gold?
She look'd upon her father, and his fate
Seem'd past relief, and penitence too late.
She gazed, and even then steps hurrying broke
His unrefreshing sleep, and he awoke.
His debts were cancell'd; but the call in vain
Roused him to freedom, and he stirr'd with pain.
Then pale and half-upraised, with earnest look
Foreboding death, his Julia's hand he took.
Its utmost malice on Velasquez' head.
E'en on that night of mourning, while his wife
Still press'd the fatal couch, just reft of life,
Stern justice dragg'd him from the house of gloom,
To linger cheerless in a living tomb;
And Julia shared his lot, content to dwell
A self-devoted victim in his cell.
With none but her, his sufferings to assuage,
Disease fell heavy on the brow of age.
His pallet was of straw, and Julia hung
O'er his uneasy sleep. Carelessly flung
On her white bosom, the dishevell'd hair
Made her more beauteous even in despair.
She sat entranced, while memory round her drew
Forms of the past in long and sad review.
In her heart graven with unerring truth
She traced each pastime of her earliest youth;
And, in that dungeon, free and unconfined
Valentia's charms came beaming on her mind:
32
Which had endear'd him in her infant years;
And then the clouded brow, the constrain'd look;
The pleading eye, when that last leave he took;
The hasty pressure of her yielded hand;
The barque, that bore him from his native land.
Next rose the grief, that reft her of her home,
Torn from the shades where once she loved to roam;
Her mother's failing strength, her kind caress
Foreboding thoughts which she would fain repress;
The paleness that betray'd life's dwindling flame,
The slow decay of that exhausted frame.
Then keener thoughts arose; the pang, that prey'd
Like poison on her heart, to none bewray'd;
The tale, which dagger-like had pierced her soul,
“Rodrigo wedded to a rich Creole.”
Faithless she fain would hold him, and forsworn;
Was not his image in her bosom worn?
Had she not scorn'd for him all wealth beside,
Montalban's rank, Montalban's honest pride?
But of reproach the comfort was denied;
How had he woo'd her? by what promise tied?
Her tears stole slow, and that heart-humbling thought
To its sad home her sickening memory brought.
Her eyes were fixt upon her father's face,
On which despair had stamp'd its fatal trace.
Its hue was alter'd, and approaching death
Was almost striving with his smother'd breath.
Her heart was well nigh bursting, as she saw
His grey hairs sunk upon that couch of straw.
Deep self-reproof assail'd her; and a pang,
That roused her, through the conscious bosom rang.
33
In his damp prison ready to expire;
Yet she, his only solace, for the toy
Of fancy lavish'd on a reckless boy,
Had scorn'd the good, the glorious and the brave,
Whose name might honor, and whose wealth might save.
She had forbade Montalban, though her mind
Judged him the best and noblest of mankind.
How now recall him? how her wish unfold,
And seem to sell her loveliness for gold?
She look'd upon her father, and his fate
Seem'd past relief, and penitence too late.
She gazed, and even then steps hurrying broke
His unrefreshing sleep, and he awoke.
His debts were cancell'd; but the call in vain
Roused him to freedom, and he stirr'd with pain.
Then pale and half-upraised, with earnest look
Foreboding death, his Julia's hand he took.
“One friend alone,” he said, “of human kind
“Sought me when fallen, to my failings blind;
“And, proud himself, yet strove to be allied
“To me, who, wreck'd in fortune, still had pride.
“The secret bounty, which unbars my chains,
“Flows from that fountain, and the debt remains.
“One gift I have; one only can repay
“The heart-felt boon, and that vast debt outweigh.”
“Sought me when fallen, to my failings blind;
“And, proud himself, yet strove to be allied
“To me, who, wreck'd in fortune, still had pride.
“The secret bounty, which unbars my chains,
“Flows from that fountain, and the debt remains.
“One gift I have; one only can repay
“The heart-felt boon, and that vast debt outweigh.”
He ceased; she hardly felt the young blood rush
Suffusing o'er her face the kindled blush,
Or how each nerve was to the utmost bent,
While hastily she pour'd her rash consent,
Her thoughts were so exalted; and her voice
Declared the boon she granted was her choice.
'Twas all Velasquez' lingering soul required;
Smiling he blest their union, and expired.
Suffusing o'er her face the kindled blush,
Or how each nerve was to the utmost bent,
While hastily she pour'd her rash consent,
Her thoughts were so exalted; and her voice
Declared the boon she granted was her choice.
34
Smiling he blest their union, and expired.
Montalban's prime was past, and days of ruth
Had cast some painful cloud upon his youth,
Which left a sad impression; and his mind
Was high and gloomy, but his feelings kind.
Adversity, the bane of blither cheer,
To him had made Velasquez doubly dear;
And, scarce perceived, fair Julia's influence stole
With undisputed empire o'er his soul.
Fixt in so proud a bosom, from that hour
Love sway'd his passions with resistless power.
Had cast some painful cloud upon his youth,
Which left a sad impression; and his mind
Was high and gloomy, but his feelings kind.
Adversity, the bane of blither cheer,
To him had made Velasquez doubly dear;
And, scarce perceived, fair Julia's influence stole
With undisputed empire o'er his soul.
Fixt in so proud a bosom, from that hour
Love sway'd his passions with resistless power.
O thou stern god! imperious, fearful Love!
In thy deceitful cradle as a dove,
Thro' the wide universe thy strength is spread,
And nature quivers underneath thy tread!
Whether a child of darkness or of heaven,
To thee strange power on this our world is given.
Bright hope, and pure delight, and fatal bane,
And bliss, and guilt, are mingled in thy reign.
The steps are viewless as the lapse of time,
By which thou lead'st from ecstacy to crime.
Thy lip thou clothest with an angel's smile,
Bewraying every charm that can beguile,
And gently lurest the wretch thou wilt destroy
With such sweet rapture, that to fall is joy.
But, in thy passion roused, thou art of might
To make man's essence shrink before thy sight.
And the mild look, which late serenely shone,
May like a gorgon turn his heart to stone.
In thy deceitful cradle as a dove,
Thro' the wide universe thy strength is spread,
And nature quivers underneath thy tread!
Whether a child of darkness or of heaven,
To thee strange power on this our world is given.
Bright hope, and pure delight, and fatal bane,
And bliss, and guilt, are mingled in thy reign.
The steps are viewless as the lapse of time,
By which thou lead'st from ecstacy to crime.
Thy lip thou clothest with an angel's smile,
Bewraying every charm that can beguile,
And gently lurest the wretch thou wilt destroy
With such sweet rapture, that to fall is joy.
But, in thy passion roused, thou art of might
To make man's essence shrink before thy sight.
And the mild look, which late serenely shone,
May like a gorgon turn his heart to stone.
The sun-beams dawn'd upon their bridal bed;
There all her youthful phantasies lay dead;
For love is wayward as the mountain flower,
Which blooms spontaneous on its rocky bower,
Sheds dewy odors on the barren earth,
Where, fann'd by fitful gales, it had its birth,
And first, amid wild glens and woodlands green,
It blossom'd in its loneliness unseen;
But sickening pines beneath the hand of care,
And yields no sweets, but in its native air.
Languid her look, and grief was at her heart,
Yet had not sorrow shot its keenest dart.
A letter came; she paused; her eyes grew dim,
The characters uncertain seem'd to swim.
Rodrigo's hand, Rodrigo's heart was there:
Read on, thou wretched victim, and despair!
Deep blush'd her cheek, but next a pallid hue
Death's veriest semblance o'er her features threw.
For her unheard beyond the Atlantic main,
His faithful wishes had been breathed in vain!
For her, though hopeless, and to fate resign'd,
The proffer'd hand of wealth he had declined.
Now lavish fortune his firm truth repaid,
And a rich heritage his will obey'd.
Again elate he trod the Spanish shore;
He came to sue; he came to part no more;
And high in hope, in ignorance still blest,
Unveil'd the rapturous passion of his breast.
There all her youthful phantasies lay dead;
35
Which blooms spontaneous on its rocky bower,
Sheds dewy odors on the barren earth,
Where, fann'd by fitful gales, it had its birth,
And first, amid wild glens and woodlands green,
It blossom'd in its loneliness unseen;
But sickening pines beneath the hand of care,
And yields no sweets, but in its native air.
Languid her look, and grief was at her heart,
Yet had not sorrow shot its keenest dart.
A letter came; she paused; her eyes grew dim,
The characters uncertain seem'd to swim.
Rodrigo's hand, Rodrigo's heart was there:
Read on, thou wretched victim, and despair!
Deep blush'd her cheek, but next a pallid hue
Death's veriest semblance o'er her features threw.
For her unheard beyond the Atlantic main,
His faithful wishes had been breathed in vain!
For her, though hopeless, and to fate resign'd,
The proffer'd hand of wealth he had declined.
Now lavish fortune his firm truth repaid,
And a rich heritage his will obey'd.
Again elate he trod the Spanish shore;
He came to sue; he came to part no more;
And high in hope, in ignorance still blest,
Unveil'd the rapturous passion of his breast.
As her heart shrunk, she met Montalban's eye;
The blush return'd, and she suppress'd a sigh:
Then shuddering started, and in haste conceal'd
The dangerous scroll, too dear to be reveal'd.
Tears had full scope within her secret bower,
And love resistless re-usurp'd its power.
Life was her bitterest burthen; but she stood
In her uprightness firm and unsubdued.
She dared not see Rodrigo: with the thought
Of what she was, her feelings were distraught.
The blush return'd, and she suppress'd a sigh:
Then shuddering started, and in haste conceal'd
The dangerous scroll, too dear to be reveal'd.
Tears had full scope within her secret bower,
And love resistless re-usurp'd its power.
36
In her uprightness firm and unsubdued.
She dared not see Rodrigo: with the thought
Of what she was, her feelings were distraught.
Then came another scroll; Rodrigo's ear
Had learnt her fate, had nothing left to fear.
How had he found her! to what fate consign'd!
Not in the grave; they might have there been join'd!
But spoil'd and fetter'd in a rival's bed,
More lost to love's embraces than the dead!
Few words to her the ill-omen'd scroll address'd,
Few, but with passion's burning touch impress'd.
By every joy which they had hoped or known,
She was adjured to meet him once alone.
From her she cast it shrinking and afraid,
Then bending meekly to her God she pray'd;
And sadly strengthen'd in her purpose rose,
Firm in her duty, calm amidst her woes.
Had learnt her fate, had nothing left to fear.
How had he found her! to what fate consign'd!
Not in the grave; they might have there been join'd!
But spoil'd and fetter'd in a rival's bed,
More lost to love's embraces than the dead!
Few words to her the ill-omen'd scroll address'd,
Few, but with passion's burning touch impress'd.
By every joy which they had hoped or known,
She was adjured to meet him once alone.
From her she cast it shrinking and afraid,
Then bending meekly to her God she pray'd;
And sadly strengthen'd in her purpose rose,
Firm in her duty, calm amidst her woes.
There is a spirit in each gloomiest wild,
To love allied, lone fancy's shadowy child;
And he, who mourns beneath the oak's broad arms,
Hath strange society with nature's charms.
The tangled brake, the waters still and clear,
The rock's deep shade, are to his humor dear;
Far from wealth's canopy and burnish'd dome
The interminable forest seems his home;
E'en the hoarse voices of the wave and wind
Speak a known language to his troubled mind;
In every moss-grown trunk he hails a friend,
And nature's rudest forms some solace lend.
Julia was flush'd with fever; all her frame
Quivering and parch'd with an internal flame.
She loathed her chamber, and, opprest with heat,
At evening sought the garden's still retreat.
A trelliced bower invited her; within,
Stood the loved youth, whom now to love was sin.
Seeing, she started; how could she foreknow,
Such rash intrusion on her secret wo?
Had Roderic named that place, she would have made
No dangerous visit to its lonely shade.
She wish'd to fly, but trembling (as her feet
Denied their office) sank upon a seat.
She would have bade him leave her, but each word
Died on her lips unfinish'd and unheard.
She would have struggled with the hand that squeezed
Her hand, which it had passionately seized;
But powerless, witless, on his neck she fell
With such a burst of sorrow, as might tell
The agony which swell'd within her breast,
Too strong to yield, too big to be represt.
To love allied, lone fancy's shadowy child;
And he, who mourns beneath the oak's broad arms,
Hath strange society with nature's charms.
The tangled brake, the waters still and clear,
The rock's deep shade, are to his humor dear;
Far from wealth's canopy and burnish'd dome
The interminable forest seems his home;
E'en the hoarse voices of the wave and wind
Speak a known language to his troubled mind;
In every moss-grown trunk he hails a friend,
And nature's rudest forms some solace lend.
Julia was flush'd with fever; all her frame
Quivering and parch'd with an internal flame.
37
At evening sought the garden's still retreat.
A trelliced bower invited her; within,
Stood the loved youth, whom now to love was sin.
Seeing, she started; how could she foreknow,
Such rash intrusion on her secret wo?
Had Roderic named that place, she would have made
No dangerous visit to its lonely shade.
She wish'd to fly, but trembling (as her feet
Denied their office) sank upon a seat.
She would have bade him leave her, but each word
Died on her lips unfinish'd and unheard.
She would have struggled with the hand that squeezed
Her hand, which it had passionately seized;
But powerless, witless, on his neck she fell
With such a burst of sorrow, as might tell
The agony which swell'd within her breast,
Too strong to yield, too big to be represt.
Montalban sought her at the fall of day;
The fatal scroll upon her pillow lay.
He saw, he read. A sudden film came o'er
His sight amazed; he judged not; he forbore.
With hasty voice he call'd, enquired her path,
And follow'd, more in wonder, than in wrath.
Just when broke forth her sorrow's whelming flood,
With startled horror by the seat he stood.
There Julia, clasp'd in young Rodrigo's arms,
Sobb'd on his bosom, heedless of her charms,
While the full soul seem'd pouring thro' his eyes,
And his delighted spirit drank her sighs.
Enough, enough! O too much had he seen!
O that impervious gloom had wrapp'd the scene!
Backward few steps he stagger'd, both hands clasp'd
Upon his forehead, and for breath he gasp'd.
Him they observed not, by one grief possest,
And in that throb of torment almost blest.
Rodrigo ask'd but that one short farewell,
That solace in despair, and he would dwell,
In wilds untrodden, of all joy forlorn,
And waste a life too blasted to be borne.
But Julia's heart was rived; she could not speak:
He press'd his burning face against her cheek,
And from that trance she started. One farewell,
One sad eternal parting! and the spell
Dropp'd from her eyes; stood sinful love unveil'd
In full deformity, and faith prevail'd;
As homeward like a panting dove she flew,
Scared from the peril of that last adieu.
The fatal scroll upon her pillow lay.
He saw, he read. A sudden film came o'er
His sight amazed; he judged not; he forbore.
With hasty voice he call'd, enquired her path,
And follow'd, more in wonder, than in wrath.
Just when broke forth her sorrow's whelming flood,
With startled horror by the seat he stood.
There Julia, clasp'd in young Rodrigo's arms,
Sobb'd on his bosom, heedless of her charms,
While the full soul seem'd pouring thro' his eyes,
And his delighted spirit drank her sighs.
Enough, enough! O too much had he seen!
O that impervious gloom had wrapp'd the scene!
38
Upon his forehead, and for breath he gasp'd.
Him they observed not, by one grief possest,
And in that throb of torment almost blest.
Rodrigo ask'd but that one short farewell,
That solace in despair, and he would dwell,
In wilds untrodden, of all joy forlorn,
And waste a life too blasted to be borne.
But Julia's heart was rived; she could not speak:
He press'd his burning face against her cheek,
And from that trance she started. One farewell,
One sad eternal parting! and the spell
Dropp'd from her eyes; stood sinful love unveil'd
In full deformity, and faith prevail'd;
As homeward like a panting dove she flew,
Scared from the peril of that last adieu.
Four things the wise man
knew not to declare,
The eagle's path athwart the fields of air;
The ship's deep furrow thro' the ocean's spray;
The serpent's winding on the rock; the way
Of man with woman. Into water clear
The jealous Indian rudely thrust his spear,
And, quick withdrawing, pointed how the wave
Subsided into stillness. The dark grave,
Which knows all secrets, can alone reclaim
The fatal doubt once cast on woman's fame.
Night's shade fell thick; the evening was far spent
Ere proud Montalban to her chamber went.
Slowly he enter'd, and with cautious glance
Cast his eye round, before he did advance;
Then placed a bowl of liquor by her side,
And thus severe address'd his sorrowing bride:
The eagle's path athwart the fields of air;
The ship's deep furrow thro' the ocean's spray;
The serpent's winding on the rock; the way
Of man with woman. Into water clear
The jealous Indian rudely thrust his spear,
And, quick withdrawing, pointed how the wave
Subsided into stillness. The dark grave,
Which knows all secrets, can alone reclaim
The fatal doubt once cast on woman's fame.
Night's shade fell thick; the evening was far spent
Ere proud Montalban to her chamber went.
Slowly he enter'd, and with cautious glance
Cast his eye round, before he did advance;
39
And thus severe address'd his sorrowing bride:
“The night advances, Julia: hast thou pray'd
“To Him whose eye can pierce the thickest shade.
“Who, robed in truth, is never slow to mark
“The hidden guilty secrets of the dark?”
“To Him whose eye can pierce the thickest shade.
“Who, robed in truth, is never slow to mark
“The hidden guilty secrets of the dark?”
“Yes, honor'd Albert, I have duly learn'd
“That prayer is sorrow's balm,” the wife return'd.
“The voice of God is awful, when the breast
“Of the weak sufferer is by guilt opprest;
“But mercy dawns upon the patient head,
“The peace of Him who for our failings bled.”
“That prayer is sorrow's balm,” the wife return'd.
“The voice of God is awful, when the breast
“Of the weak sufferer is by guilt opprest;
“But mercy dawns upon the patient head,
“The peace of Him who for our failings bled.”
Her words some tender sympathy awoke,
But he repress'd it, and thus sternly spoke.
“If morning's dawn must glimmer on our bier,
“Say, canst thou meet the future without fear?
“Is thy soul chasten'd, and resign'd to go
“This night to everlasting bliss or wo?”
But he repress'd it, and thus sternly spoke.
“If morning's dawn must glimmer on our bier,
“Say, canst thou meet the future without fear?
“Is thy soul chasten'd, and resign'd to go
“This night to everlasting bliss or wo?”
His accents falter'd; but unmoved he stood,
And, firm of heart, his beauteous victim view'd.
He wore the ghastly aspect of the dead,
But his lip quiver'd, and his eye was red;
And such dark feelings character'd his gaze,
That Julia shrunk with terror and amaze.
She paused; her eye fell doubtful on that bowl;
O'er all her frame a shuddering horror stole.
Then thus with downcast look; (she dared not raise
Her eye to meet again that fearful gaze:)
And, firm of heart, his beauteous victim view'd.
He wore the ghastly aspect of the dead,
But his lip quiver'd, and his eye was red;
And such dark feelings character'd his gaze,
That Julia shrunk with terror and amaze.
She paused; her eye fell doubtful on that bowl;
O'er all her frame a shuddering horror stole.
Then thus with downcast look; (she dared not raise
Her eye to meet again that fearful gaze:)
“Yes, Albert; I have made my peace with heaven,
“At whose pure shrine my secret thoughts are shriven.
“Whene'er fate calls, this humble soul obeys;
“The tear of sorrow asks no fond delays.
“With tremulous hope the lingering heart may cling
“To life's blest walks, illumed by pleasure's spring.
“Cold duty's path is not so blithely trod,
“Which leads the mournful spirit to its God.”
“At whose pure shrine my secret thoughts are shriven.
“Whene'er fate calls, this humble soul obeys;
“The tear of sorrow asks no fond delays.
40
“To life's blest walks, illumed by pleasure's spring.
“Cold duty's path is not so blithely trod,
“Which leads the mournful spirit to its God.”
She spoke, half timid, and presaging ill
From his knit brow and look severely still.
The thought of death came o'er her; and the mind
Disown'd her words, more fearful than resign'd.
Love's secret influence heaved the conscious breast
With fluttering pulse, that would not be at rest.
Stern Albert mark'd the tremor of her brow,
And the cheek's fitful colour come and go.
His eye was big with anguish, as it stray'd
O'er all the charms, which her thin robe betray'd;
The perfect loveliness of that dear form
In its full spring of beauty ripe and warm;
And never had she look'd so wonderous fair,
So precious, so surpassing all compare,
In blither hours, when innocent delight
Flush'd her young cheek and sparkled in her sight,
As languid, in that careless garb array'd,
Half lit by the pale lamp, half hid in shade.
He would have given health, life, eternity,
The joys that fleet, the hopes that never die,
Once more in tenderest rapture to have press'd
That shape angelic to his troubled breast;
But pride forbade, and from each living charm
Drew fiercer hate, which love could not disarm.
Upon that form of beauty, now his bane,
Pollution seem'd to have impress'd a stain.
Awhile he paced the floor with heavy stride,
Then gazed once more upon his sorrowing bride;
And, parting with his hands the glossy hair
On the white forehead of the silent fair,
Look'd wistfully; then, bending sad and slow,
Fix'd one long kiss upon that brow of snow.
It seem'd as if love's spirit in his soul
Was battling with his passion's fierce control.
He sat before her; on one hand reclined
His face, which told the struggle of his mind;
The other held the bowl: she raised her head,
As, slow his hand extending, thus he said:
From his knit brow and look severely still.
The thought of death came o'er her; and the mind
Disown'd her words, more fearful than resign'd.
Love's secret influence heaved the conscious breast
With fluttering pulse, that would not be at rest.
Stern Albert mark'd the tremor of her brow,
And the cheek's fitful colour come and go.
His eye was big with anguish, as it stray'd
O'er all the charms, which her thin robe betray'd;
The perfect loveliness of that dear form
In its full spring of beauty ripe and warm;
And never had she look'd so wonderous fair,
So precious, so surpassing all compare,
In blither hours, when innocent delight
Flush'd her young cheek and sparkled in her sight,
As languid, in that careless garb array'd,
Half lit by the pale lamp, half hid in shade.
He would have given health, life, eternity,
The joys that fleet, the hopes that never die,
Once more in tenderest rapture to have press'd
That shape angelic to his troubled breast;
But pride forbade, and from each living charm
Drew fiercer hate, which love could not disarm.
Upon that form of beauty, now his bane,
Pollution seem'd to have impress'd a stain.
Awhile he paced the floor with heavy stride,
Then gazed once more upon his sorrowing bride;
41
On the white forehead of the silent fair,
Look'd wistfully; then, bending sad and slow,
Fix'd one long kiss upon that brow of snow.
It seem'd as if love's spirit in his soul
Was battling with his passion's fierce control.
He sat before her; on one hand reclined
His face, which told the struggle of his mind;
The other held the bowl: she raised her head,
As, slow his hand extending, thus he said:
“Drink, Julia; pledge me in this cup of peace;
“Drink deep, and let thy tears of sorrow cease.”
“Drink deep, and let thy tears of sorrow cease.”
Her eye was fixt and motionless; her cheek
Had lost its changeful hue; she did not speak.
Her nerves seem'd numb'd, and icy horror press'd,
Like a cold weight of lead, upon her breast.
Had lost its changeful hue; she did not speak.
Her nerves seem'd numb'd, and icy horror press'd,
Like a cold weight of lead, upon her breast.
“Drink, Julia;” spoke again that dreadful voice:
“Drink, Julia, deep; for thou hast now no choice.”
“Drink, Julia, deep; for thou hast now no choice.”
A fatal shiver seem'd to reach her soul,
And her hand trembled, as it touch'd the bowl;
But duty's call prevail'd o'er shapeless dread;
She look'd with silent terror, and obey'd.
I know not, whether it was fancy's power
Which smote each conscious sense in that dread hour,
Or whether, doom'd at mortal guilt to grieve,
Thus his good angel sadly took his leave;
But he half started, and in truth believed
That a deep lengthen'd sob was faintly heaved,
And some dark shuddering form behind him pass'd,
Which o'er her shape its fearful shadow cast.
Breathless he listen'd by his thoughts appall'd;
(The hour of mercy could not be recall'd.)
Then to his lips in turn the draught applied,
Which should in death unite him with his bride.
And her hand trembled, as it touch'd the bowl;
But duty's call prevail'd o'er shapeless dread;
She look'd with silent terror, and obey'd.
I know not, whether it was fancy's power
Which smote each conscious sense in that dread hour,
Or whether, doom'd at mortal guilt to grieve,
Thus his good angel sadly took his leave;
But he half started, and in truth believed
That a deep lengthen'd sob was faintly heaved,
And some dark shuddering form behind him pass'd,
Which o'er her shape its fearful shadow cast.
Breathless he listen'd by his thoughts appall'd;
(The hour of mercy could not be recall'd.)
42
Which should in death unite him with his bride.
'Twas done; a long, and solemn pause ensued,
While Albert speechless his sad victim view'd.
There was not in her chamber sound or breath,
But all was hush'd and ominous of death;
The very lustre, which the dim light shed,
Was like a watchfire burning by the dead.
The darksome tapestry heaved not on the wall,
And like night's spectres stood its figures tall;
They seem'd in shadowy stillness to survey
The twain illumed by the lamp's pallid ray:
And Julia, half suspicious of her fate,
Mark'd the stern aspect of her ghastly mate.
At length with steady voice Montalban broke
That awful silence, and more mildly spoke.
While Albert speechless his sad victim view'd.
There was not in her chamber sound or breath,
But all was hush'd and ominous of death;
The very lustre, which the dim light shed,
Was like a watchfire burning by the dead.
The darksome tapestry heaved not on the wall,
And like night's spectres stood its figures tall;
They seem'd in shadowy stillness to survey
The twain illumed by the lamp's pallid ray:
And Julia, half suspicious of her fate,
Mark'd the stern aspect of her ghastly mate.
At length with steady voice Montalban broke
That awful silence, and more mildly spoke.
“The hour of thy deceitfulness is past;
“Our lives are waning, and the die is cast.
“Let thy mind turn from frailty, and the heart
“Unveil its bitter secret, ere we part.
“But first, O Julia, once my hope and pride,
“By thine own voice let Albert's deeds be tried.
“Sad memories of earlier years may lend
“My brow a gloom which fondness should unbend:
“Perchance it wants the soft and winning grace,
“The smiling vermeil of a younger face;
“But in what chaste endearment couldst thou find
“Or love more warm, or kindness more refined?
“Have not my cares, with anxious pleasure fraught,
“Outsped thy wishes and forerun thy thought?
“Speak thou my sentence; this lorn heart appeals
“To thine own thoughts and what thy conscience feels.
“O in thy treason, Julia, madly prized
“Above all joys which ever love devised,
“Even in thy guilt so excellently fair,
“'Tis bliss to gaze on thee in this despair!
“Speak, thou frail angel! be in death forgiven!
“That sinful breast is Albert's only heaven!”
“Our lives are waning, and the die is cast.
“Let thy mind turn from frailty, and the heart
“Unveil its bitter secret, ere we part.
“But first, O Julia, once my hope and pride,
“By thine own voice let Albert's deeds be tried.
“Sad memories of earlier years may lend
“My brow a gloom which fondness should unbend:
“Perchance it wants the soft and winning grace,
“The smiling vermeil of a younger face;
“But in what chaste endearment couldst thou find
“Or love more warm, or kindness more refined?
“Have not my cares, with anxious pleasure fraught,
“Outsped thy wishes and forerun thy thought?
“Speak thou my sentence; this lorn heart appeals
“To thine own thoughts and what thy conscience feels.
43
“Above all joys which ever love devised,
“Even in thy guilt so excellently fair,
“'Tis bliss to gaze on thee in this despair!
“Speak, thou frail angel! be in death forgiven!
“That sinful breast is Albert's only heaven!”
He stopp'd; for passion's overwhelming tide
Rose like a deluge, and bore down his pride;
Full swell'd the flood of agonizing grief,
And in deep sobs his suffering forced relief.
On either hand with strength he press'd his brow,
Torn by remorse his lips would not avow.
Julia rose quick and startled; she had heard
With strange amazement each appalling word.
Her mind misgave her, but she dared not think
That the sad peace of death was in that drink.
How could she dread from him that deed of hell,
Who, to her sorrow, had but loved too well!
Yet conscious thoughts awoke some secret fear;
The deep reproof fell painful on her ear:
For in her heart, tho' innocent of sin,
Vain wishes dwelt, and peace was not within.
Rose like a deluge, and bore down his pride;
Full swell'd the flood of agonizing grief,
And in deep sobs his suffering forced relief.
On either hand with strength he press'd his brow,
Torn by remorse his lips would not avow.
Julia rose quick and startled; she had heard
With strange amazement each appalling word.
Her mind misgave her, but she dared not think
That the sad peace of death was in that drink.
How could she dread from him that deed of hell,
Who, to her sorrow, had but loved too well!
Yet conscious thoughts awoke some secret fear;
The deep reproof fell painful on her ear:
For in her heart, tho' innocent of sin,
Vain wishes dwelt, and peace was not within.
“Forbear, my lord,” the trembling mourner cried,
“Forbear, nor deem thus harshly of thy bride!
“Thou wilt not kill me? I have chastely worn
“The bonds of duty, and am not forsworn.
“O Albert, thou didst take my hand alone,
“And all I had to yield thee is thine own!
“If, yet unmaster'd, some vain dreams arise,
“Forgive the tears, that trembling veil my eyes.
“The struggling soul shall every wish subdue;
“Thy mournful Julia to her vows is true.
“Believe me, Albert, though the suffering mind
“Pour some weak sighs, the spirit is resign'd.
“No thought lurks there, which needs to be forgiven;
“All that of life remains, to thee is given.”
“Forbear, nor deem thus harshly of thy bride!
“Thou wilt not kill me? I have chastely worn
“The bonds of duty, and am not forsworn.
“O Albert, thou didst take my hand alone,
“And all I had to yield thee is thine own!
“If, yet unmaster'd, some vain dreams arise,
“Forgive the tears, that trembling veil my eyes.
“The struggling soul shall every wish subdue;
“Thy mournful Julia to her vows is true.
44
“Pour some weak sighs, the spirit is resign'd.
“No thought lurks there, which needs to be forgiven;
“All that of life remains, to thee is given.”
“Short space, dissembler!” wrathful Albert cried;
“Think'st thou, that night thy guilty loves can hide?
“Rodrigo!—Traitress, does the color rise
“To those white cheeks, which thy calm speech belies?”
“Think'st thou, that night thy guilty loves can hide?
“Rodrigo!—Traitress, does the color rise
“To those white cheeks, which thy calm speech belies?”
A sudden blush o'erran her ivory cheek,
As thus with trembling voice she strove to speak.
As thus with trembling voice she strove to speak.
“Thou wrong'st me! e'en now, exiled from his land
“By hapless love, he seeks a foreign strand.”
“By hapless love, he seeks a foreign strand.”
“'Tis false,” said Albert, and his brow grew dark;
“The moonlight gleams upon him cold and stark.”
“The moonlight gleams upon him cold and stark.”
Uprose the wrathful husband; as he stood,
The lamp's ray shone upon the clotted blood
Staining his garment, and the baleful glow
Of such fierce passion lighten'd from his brow,
That Julia shriek'd, as if his vengeful arm
Had split before her eyes the life-blood warm
Of him her soul adored. A dizzy pain
More sharp than death shot keenly thro' her brain.
And “Hast thou kill'd him, Albert?” loud she scream'd,
Gazing where on that blood the radiance gleam'd.
“I thank thy jealous rage; thro' all my veins
“I feel thy fatal draught and death-like pains,
“The last fell gift of mercy to thy bride,
“First of thy love, now victim of thy pride.
“I do not curse thy phrensy! Canst thou bear
“Of thine own soul the weight and deep despair?
“Albert, I do not curse thee for the slain!
“Two hopeless spirits thou hast loosed from pain.”
The lamp's ray shone upon the clotted blood
Staining his garment, and the baleful glow
Of such fierce passion lighten'd from his brow,
That Julia shriek'd, as if his vengeful arm
Had split before her eyes the life-blood warm
Of him her soul adored. A dizzy pain
More sharp than death shot keenly thro' her brain.
And “Hast thou kill'd him, Albert?” loud she scream'd,
Gazing where on that blood the radiance gleam'd.
“I thank thy jealous rage; thro' all my veins
“I feel thy fatal draught and death-like pains,
“The last fell gift of mercy to thy bride,
“First of thy love, now victim of thy pride.
“I do not curse thy phrensy! Canst thou bear
“Of thine own soul the weight and deep despair?
“Albert, I do not curse thee for the slain!
“Two hopeless spirits thou hast loosed from pain.”
45
She said, and sunk in anguish on the floor,
Her white hands wildly clasp'd, to rise no more;
And never did a child of earthly woes
Such loveliness in hour of death disclose.
Her eyes upon the fretted ceiling fix'd
A look of hope with such sharp suffering mixt,
That the pure soul seem'd striving thro' the sight
To find its God, and win its way to light.
Her white hands wildly clasp'd, to rise no more;
And never did a child of earthly woes
Such loveliness in hour of death disclose.
Her eyes upon the fretted ceiling fix'd
A look of hope with such sharp suffering mixt,
That the pure soul seem'd striving thro' the sight
To find its God, and win its way to light.
Thy thoughts of joy, Montalban, all are past;
And this still hour of murder is thy last!
But canst thou gaze unmoved upon that form?
Those youthful limbs are beauteous yet, and warm;
The eyes, which sparkled once with free delight,
Speak yet the feeling soul, and still are bright;
But thy swift poison spreads thro' every vein,
That tender shape must writhe with inward pain;
Cold and unconscious shall that blushing face,
Which met thy love, lie sunk in death's embrace;
The unzoned breast, which heaves so smooth and white,
Shall be ere morning loathsome to the sight.
Gaze, gaze, thou rash despoiler, till thine eyes
Grow dim with grief, and thine heart burst with sighs!
For thou hast madly dash'd away in scorn
That matchless jewel which thou might'st have worn;
Look on that work of vengeance with despair,
And read the sentence of thy Maker there.
And this still hour of murder is thy last!
But canst thou gaze unmoved upon that form?
Those youthful limbs are beauteous yet, and warm;
The eyes, which sparkled once with free delight,
Speak yet the feeling soul, and still are bright;
But thy swift poison spreads thro' every vein,
That tender shape must writhe with inward pain;
Cold and unconscious shall that blushing face,
Which met thy love, lie sunk in death's embrace;
The unzoned breast, which heaves so smooth and white,
Shall be ere morning loathsome to the sight.
Gaze, gaze, thou rash despoiler, till thine eyes
Grow dim with grief, and thine heart burst with sighs!
For thou hast madly dash'd away in scorn
That matchless jewel which thou might'st have worn;
Look on that work of vengeance with despair,
And read the sentence of thy Maker there.
The morn dawn'd glorious upon vale and hill,
But Julia's chamber was all hush'd and still.
The noonday's sultry beam gilt spire and tower,
But no sound stirr'd within her peaceful bower.
Its casements close remain'd in quiet gloom;
Its dark alcove was silent as the tomb.
At length strange whispers ran, that voice or word
Was not return'd by Julia or her lord;
That one who pass'd the garden's private door
Had found a fair youth slain and stiff in gore:
And some within had listen'd with affright
Sounds like last agonies in dead of night:
The bodeful tale grew rife, and at late hour
With anxious fear they burst the nuptial bower.
There, all untenanted the bridal bed,
Upon the floor the twain were stiff and dead.
Loved Julia lay, upon her graceful arm
The cheek reclined, as if in life yet warm;
But cold death's livid hue upon her skin
Show'd what a piteous waste was wrought within.
Her features seem'd, tho' now in slumber deep,
After some painful struggle sunk to sleep.
The aspect of her lip serene and mild,
Perchance death's last convulsion, sadly smiled.
Montalban's strength appear'd more lately spent;
O'er her pale corse his lifeless form was bent,
And inward agony still seem'd to strain
His ghastly features, as if wrung by pain.
His bloody glove, yet clench'd, appear'd to hold
Her hand still press'd unto his visage cold,
As if, deep striving with his latest breath,
His lips convulsed had clung to it in death.
His throes were strong and fierce; and he that slew
That form of loveliness, had most to rue.
Her soul, to bliss awaken'd from despair,
In mild forgiveness pour'd its latest prayer;
It breathed no thought, which angels would deny;
A beam of glory lit her dying eye:
The patient spirit from its frail abode,
By faith upraised, stole gently to its God.
But Julia's chamber was all hush'd and still.
The noonday's sultry beam gilt spire and tower,
But no sound stirr'd within her peaceful bower.
Its casements close remain'd in quiet gloom;
Its dark alcove was silent as the tomb.
At length strange whispers ran, that voice or word
46
That one who pass'd the garden's private door
Had found a fair youth slain and stiff in gore:
And some within had listen'd with affright
Sounds like last agonies in dead of night:
The bodeful tale grew rife, and at late hour
With anxious fear they burst the nuptial bower.
There, all untenanted the bridal bed,
Upon the floor the twain were stiff and dead.
Loved Julia lay, upon her graceful arm
The cheek reclined, as if in life yet warm;
But cold death's livid hue upon her skin
Show'd what a piteous waste was wrought within.
Her features seem'd, tho' now in slumber deep,
After some painful struggle sunk to sleep.
The aspect of her lip serene and mild,
Perchance death's last convulsion, sadly smiled.
Montalban's strength appear'd more lately spent;
O'er her pale corse his lifeless form was bent,
And inward agony still seem'd to strain
His ghastly features, as if wrung by pain.
His bloody glove, yet clench'd, appear'd to hold
Her hand still press'd unto his visage cold,
As if, deep striving with his latest breath,
His lips convulsed had clung to it in death.
His throes were strong and fierce; and he that slew
That form of loveliness, had most to rue.
Her soul, to bliss awaken'd from despair,
In mild forgiveness pour'd its latest prayer;
It breathed no thought, which angels would deny;
A beam of glory lit her dying eye:
The patient spirit from its frail abode,
By faith upraised, stole gently to its God.
| Works of the Hon. and Very Rev. William Herbert | |