 | Landscapes in verse |  |
Lur'd by the song of Philomel, who pour'd
Into their souls her solitary chaunt,
(Which seem'd to mourn some dear Agenor lost)
The lovers wander'd long, and sighing drank
Each sorrowing plaint; but as the cadence clos'd,
Homeward they wended; yet whene'er the lay,
Responsive to the murm'ring of the stream
That flow'd beside, renew'd the tuneful woe,
As if by spell attracted tow'rds the spot,
They linger'd on the brink—when swift the clouds
Resum'd the sultry power—a dead'ning heat
Without a sound, and night without a star,
Its raven vest and raven omens spread;
Trembling the breeze, trembling the moon withdrew:
Big, burning drops, where clashing elements,
Water and fire, (as if incorporate)
Appear'd to blend—the storm's fierce ministers,
Wild, savage winds, fell lightnings, and the powers
Of rolling thunder, their dire pastime took
In the astonish'd air.—Of nature's works
Tremendous, these, to Fanny's gentle soul
The most—her soul tho' innocent and pure
As skies without a cloud—from the dread shock
Of sulphurous combustion she shrunk appall'd.
Loud rav'd the hurricane: the first keen flash,
Shuddering she saw descend in spiral flame,
Then mount and settle on Agenor's breast,
Which like a comet stream'd:—a second came,
And 'thwart his visage shot a livid glare
Corse-like and horrible to human view.
“Have mercy, heav'n,” she cried:—“he dies!—he dies!”
Then shriek'd and ran—ran whither? darkness wrapt
The troubled pool, save when at intervals,
The lightning blaz'd—Agenor mad'ning call'd
Th'affrighted fugitive, but call'd in vain,
For soon a plunge in the contiguous stream
(That stream so placid late, where zephyr bath'd)
Was heard, and next a piteous voice that plain'd
For instant aid:—that instant aid to give,
Agenor dash'd into th'accursed brook,
With piercing tone exclaiming—“God of earth,
“Of waters, and of heav'n! O help to save
“This drowning lilly!”—Then with eager stretch
That shook the pool he swam, uttering more loud
“I come, my soul, I come! O hither turn—
“This faithful bosom be thy plank to shore,
“These arms extended to their utmost verge—
“Yet ah! they reach thee not—thy safeguard sure!”
Mysterious Providence! a different way
Poor Fanny floated!—but at length, with voice
Like dying martyr's sweet, she faintly cried,
“Where art thou, love? alas! thy Fanny dies,
“But dies Agenor's—on his bosom then,
“In his dear arms, O let me breathe my last!”
Directed by the sound, the youth now sprung
Swifter than light can travel thro' the flood;
Her shivering form—in agony of grief,
Mix'd with faint hope, he caught, he felt the heart
Beat in those faithful arms—those faithful arms
Held, as he reach'd the bank, his Fanny's corpse!
Then while he kiss'd the cold clay o'er and o'er,
Wild hurrying to the cot—raving, he cried,
“O that this vital warmth into thy frame
“Could be infus'd, my Fanny—that this air
“Which feeds my hated life could thine restore—
“Ah! as I breathe into thy pale, pale lip,
“Re-animated Being—dead! quite dead!”—
Into their souls her solitary chaunt,
(Which seem'd to mourn some dear Agenor lost)
The lovers wander'd long, and sighing drank
Each sorrowing plaint; but as the cadence clos'd,
Homeward they wended; yet whene'er the lay,
Responsive to the murm'ring of the stream
That flow'd beside, renew'd the tuneful woe,
As if by spell attracted tow'rds the spot,
42
Resum'd the sultry power—a dead'ning heat
Without a sound, and night without a star,
Its raven vest and raven omens spread;
Trembling the breeze, trembling the moon withdrew:
Big, burning drops, where clashing elements,
Water and fire, (as if incorporate)
Appear'd to blend—the storm's fierce ministers,
Wild, savage winds, fell lightnings, and the powers
Of rolling thunder, their dire pastime took
In the astonish'd air.—Of nature's works
Tremendous, these, to Fanny's gentle soul
The most—her soul tho' innocent and pure
As skies without a cloud—from the dread shock
Of sulphurous combustion she shrunk appall'd.
43
Shuddering she saw descend in spiral flame,
Then mount and settle on Agenor's breast,
Which like a comet stream'd:—a second came,
And 'thwart his visage shot a livid glare
Corse-like and horrible to human view.
“Have mercy, heav'n,” she cried:—“he dies!—he dies!”
Then shriek'd and ran—ran whither? darkness wrapt
The troubled pool, save when at intervals,
The lightning blaz'd—Agenor mad'ning call'd
Th'affrighted fugitive, but call'd in vain,
For soon a plunge in the contiguous stream
(That stream so placid late, where zephyr bath'd)
Was heard, and next a piteous voice that plain'd
For instant aid:—that instant aid to give,
44
With piercing tone exclaiming—“God of earth,
“Of waters, and of heav'n! O help to save
“This drowning lilly!”—Then with eager stretch
That shook the pool he swam, uttering more loud
“I come, my soul, I come! O hither turn—
“This faithful bosom be thy plank to shore,
“These arms extended to their utmost verge—
“Yet ah! they reach thee not—thy safeguard sure!”
Mysterious Providence! a different way
Poor Fanny floated!—but at length, with voice
Like dying martyr's sweet, she faintly cried,
“Where art thou, love? alas! thy Fanny dies,
“But dies Agenor's—on his bosom then,
“In his dear arms, O let me breathe my last!”
45
Swifter than light can travel thro' the flood;
Her shivering form—in agony of grief,
Mix'd with faint hope, he caught, he felt the heart
Beat in those faithful arms—those faithful arms
Held, as he reach'd the bank, his Fanny's corpse!
Then while he kiss'd the cold clay o'er and o'er,
Wild hurrying to the cot—raving, he cried,
“O that this vital warmth into thy frame
“Could be infus'd, my Fanny—that this air
“Which feeds my hated life could thine restore—
“Ah! as I breathe into thy pale, pale lip,
“Re-animated Being—dead! quite dead!”—
| Landscapes in verse | |