Valentine Verses or, Lines of Truth, Love, and Virtue. By the Reverend Richard Cobbold |
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THE MIDNIGHT TALE. |
 | Valentine Verses |  |
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THE MIDNIGHT TALE.
Young Allan wandered by the Orwell's wave:—
'Twas night, the moon was breaking from the bound
Of white clouds, sweeping o'er the sky concave,
And shed her lustre o'er the scene around;
The stars were twinkling, and the croaking sound
Of frogs saluting, and the owlet's cry,
And here and there was sparkling on the ground
The glow-worm's light, but something else was nigh;—
He saw a female seated near and mournfully.
'Twas night, the moon was breaking from the bound
Of white clouds, sweeping o'er the sky concave,
And shed her lustre o'er the scene around;
The stars were twinkling, and the croaking sound
Of frogs saluting, and the owlet's cry,
And here and there was sparkling on the ground
The glow-worm's light, but something else was nigh;—
He saw a female seated near and mournfully.
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She did not start,—she neither moved nor wept,
Her hand no token of dismay exprest;
She saw and heeded not, but silence kept,
A sigh alone escaping from her breast,
Bespake a spirit heavily deprest;
She sat regardless, seeming to be lost
In maze of wonder, whilst her simple vest,
By passing gale, flapt lightly as it tost.
Her did young Allan thus in feeling words accost.
Her hand no token of dismay exprest;
She saw and heeded not, but silence kept,
A sigh alone escaping from her breast,
Bespake a spirit heavily deprest;
She sat regardless, seeming to be lost
In maze of wonder, whilst her simple vest,
By passing gale, flapt lightly as it tost.
Her did young Allan thus in feeling words accost.
“O maiden, why thus sadly dost thou sit,
In mood of sorrow, on the Orwell's shore?
Hast aught afflicted thee? O tell me it,
Alike our troubles we may both deplore.
O maiden tell me!—We shall meet no more,—
To-morrow's dawn will see me far away
From this my birth-place, swiftly passing o'er,
To land less lov'd, the vast America:
Why this distress? O lovely maiden, confidently say.”
In mood of sorrow, on the Orwell's shore?
Hast aught afflicted thee? O tell me it,
Alike our troubles we may both deplore.
O maiden tell me!—We shall meet no more,—
To-morrow's dawn will see me far away
From this my birth-place, swiftly passing o'er,
To land less lov'd, the vast America:
Why this distress? O lovely maiden, confidently say.”
She turn'd her dark eyes from the sparkling wave,
And look'd on Allan. “Can the world possess,
Or sorrow, such another victim have
As her thou look'st upon? O yes! O yes!
The world has many. Yet the world's distress
On me sits heavy. Seest thou yonder Town!
How sleeps the being, I can hardly guess,
Who won my heart, yet never gave his own,
False is he now, unfeeling, cruel, haughty, grown.
And look'd on Allan. “Can the world possess,
Or sorrow, such another victim have
As her thou look'st upon? O yes! O yes!
The world has many. Yet the world's distress
On me sits heavy. Seest thou yonder Town!
How sleeps the being, I can hardly guess,
Who won my heart, yet never gave his own,
False is he now, unfeeling, cruel, haughty, grown.
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“Whene'er he saw me, he would look and smile,
Attentive be, and try ten thousands ways
To make me feel an interest the while
In all he did; no words of mortal praise
Could speak such pleasure, as his anxious gaze;
Where'er he saw me, ah! no matter where,
His countenance would brighten with amaze,
And tell a secret:—But he passes there!
And takes no notice, leaves me, drives me to despair.”
Attentive be, and try ten thousands ways
To make me feel an interest the while
In all he did; no words of mortal praise
Could speak such pleasure, as his anxious gaze;
Where'er he saw me, ah! no matter where,
His countenance would brighten with amaze,
And tell a secret:—But he passes there!
And takes no notice, leaves me, drives me to despair.”
“O leave me, leave me, never mind my lot!”
“I cannot leave thee till thou tell his name!”
“His name! O no, a traitor I am not,
I would not sully his increasing fame.”
Yet here she sigh'd, unwilling to proclaim,
And yet breathed softly as the Poet's spell;
“His name!—his name!—his name! O why for shame!
His name is ---! yet, I wish him well!”
Young Allan told me who it was.—I must not tell.
“I cannot leave thee till thou tell his name!”
“His name! O no, a traitor I am not,
I would not sully his increasing fame.”
Yet here she sigh'd, unwilling to proclaim,
And yet breathed softly as the Poet's spell;
“His name!—his name!—his name! O why for shame!
His name is ---! yet, I wish him well!”
Young Allan told me who it was.—I must not tell.
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