The poems of Mrs. Emma Catherine Embury

He was a slender boy; his coal black hair
Hung in thick masses o'er his brow so fair.
His cheek was pale and sunken, and the light
Of his dark eye seemed as it had been bright,
Though now its flashing glance was quenched in tears,
And grief seemed preying on his early years.
O'erspent with toil he stood; his native land
Lay far beyond the ken of that low vale
Whose gentle breezes now his hot cheek fanned;
And when he strove to tell his simple tale,
It was in broken accents, but with tone
Sweet as love's whisper: he was all alone
In the wide world, and now he sought a home
Where coldness or unkindness could not come.

Four changeful seasons now had rolled away
Since first Celesto dwelt within that vale,
An humble shepherd boy, and yet no ray
Of joy e'er visited his cheek so pale.
He shunned the crowd of gay ones that were met
Upon the green at summer eve; nor yet
Did he e'er seek to win a maiden's smile:
It seemed that nought on earth had power to 'guile
His wretchedness. He loved alone to sit
And watch the bright and various clouds that flit

Across the sunset sky, or stretched beneath
The fragrant orange groves, to list the breath
Of Zephyr sweeping o'er the leaves that sigh
In answer and return sweet melody.
Once, and once only, did the sad boy quit
His lonely haunts and join the festive throng;
And then he seized the light guitar and wove,
In broken strains, a melancholy song,
Breathing of blighted hope and hapless love:—

They called her fair; and she oft had heard
The voice of song in the moon-lit grove;
But O! how wildly her pulses stirred
When first she bent to the voice of love!

Like heaven's sweet breath o'er the wind god's lyre,
It woke its tones in her guileless heart;
But scarcely can heaven itself inspire
Such joy as dwells in love's witching art.

To him who wakened each sleeping string
She gave her heart; but be this the token
How well he valued the fragile thing,—
The music has ceased! the heart is broken!

There was a young, fair girl with sunny brow,
And cheek where smiles were ever wont to glow,
The gayest 'mid the gay ones, but her eye
Lost its bright gladness, and despondency
Marked her once laughing face; her faded cheek
Was pale, save when she heard Celesto's name,

And then quick deepening blushes o'er it came—
Those tell-tales that a maiden's fondness speak.
The boy knew that she loved him, but he felt
That none would love him long; for grief had dwelt
Within his heart until it wore away
His life. Although his eye and cheek grew bright,
Yet 'twas the soul's last effort to give light
And beauty to the wasting frame's decay,
And steal from death part of its agony.
Soon, very soon, the boy knew he must die,
And then he sought the pale girl, and unrolled
The tablets of sad memory; then he told
His mournful tale. From that time, though the trace
Of tears was often left on Annette's face,
Yet was her spirit calm.

At length, one morn,
In that bright season when earth seems new born,
She sought the spot Celesto loved to tread,
And there she saw the fair boy lying—dead!
They came to robe him in funereal vest,
And then they found a maiden's snowy breast
Beneath the shepherd's coat. The imaged form
Of one whose eye possessed the serpent's charm,
Hung from her neck—a dark-browed cavalier.
They sought from sad Annette the tale to hear,
But she was silent: thus by all unknown
The hapless maiden lies. A solitary stone,
Graved with the name Celesta, marks her tomb,
The only relic of her mournful doom.

University of Virginia Library

THE SHEPHERD BOY.