University of Virginia Library

CANTO I.

I.

'Tis the bridal of nature, the season of spring,
When Pleasure flits round on her diamond wing,
And the spirit plays brightly and softly and free,
Like gem-dropping beams on a boundless blue sea,
And the young heart is lit by the beams of love's eye,
Like an altar of perfume by fires of the sky.
'Tis the heart-blooming season of innocent love,
When the green growing mead and the whispering grove,
And the musical stream, as it purls o'er the dale,
And the flowers whose lips zephyr woos in the vale,
Are seen with the spirit of thrilling delight
As visions of beauty too passingly bright,
And heard like the songs that come o'er us in dreams
When the soul's magic light through infinity gleams.
The gay Earth is vestured with verdure and flowers,
And hope sings away the sweet sunny hours,
While bathing in sunbeams, or over the sky
Her star-pinions waving through glories on high.
The citron groves throw on the wings of the breeze
Their balm-breathing flowers, and the green orange trees
Harp sweetly in airs from the hill and the sea,
Like lyres heard unseen singing joys yet to be.
O Eden of beauty! Lusitania! the sun
Loves to linger a while, when his journey is done,
On the lofty twin Pillars, whose brows in the sky
Gleam bright when the sun-god rides flashingly by,
Which stand in their might 'mid the waves of the sea—
Abyla and Calpe—unconquered and free.
And Cintra's dark forests look smilingly on
Apollo descending from his chariot throne,
While Estrella's lagoon, green Escura receives
Sheen tints of his rays from the wood's gilded leaves,
And Tajo's broad bay like a mirror reposes
'Tween a heaven of light and a garden of roses.

II.

The sun's last beam of purple light
Blazons proud Calpe's castle height,
And over Lusitania's sea
Looks with a smile of melody.
The volcan fires of Ætna glow,
Brighter as sinks Hyperion low,
And, 'mid the gathering twilight high
Stromboli flames against the sky,
O'er dark-blue ocean's billowy foam,
To light the wandering sailor home.
Child of the sun, the dusky Moor
Watches the horizon, bright obscure,
And, while the proud muezzin calls
Devotion's hour from Ceuta's walls,
Throws his keen eye's far-searching glance
O'er the dark billows as they dance
Along the Mauritanian shore,
And listens to their surging roar
Around Abyla's basement deep,
Lest in tired nature's twilight sleep
The foe upon his guard should steal,
And gain the pass ere trumpet peal.
Adverse, the gallant Briton's eye,
From Calpe's height gleams o'er the sky,
And marks with all a sailor's pride
The vast sail gleaming o'er the tide,
While every breeze that comes from far
Wafts music from red Trafalgar.
Evening's dim shadow o'er the close,
Fair Lusitania! and the rose
Of morning blushes o'er thy plains
With the same rich and gorgeous light
As when his warlike, wild Alains,
O'er forest, flood, and vale, and height,
From Volga's banks Respedial led
To Tajo's darkly wooded shore,
Though where they warr'd or why they bled
None know or name forevermore.
And the sun rolls his last faint beam
O'er princely dome, rose-margined stream,
And almond grove and jasmine bower,
With the same smile as when the earth
Blushed in the beauty of her birth.

III.

The full-orbed moon is gleaming bright
On Cintra's dark and rocky height,
And on verandah, turret, tower,
Palace and fane at this still hour
Glows with a radiant smile of love,
And gilds the music-breathing grove
With those pure beams of light serene,
Which sanctify the peaceful scene.
From wave and dome and field and grove
Rise the soft notes of pleading love,
And many a strain is heard from far
Of wandering lover's sweet guitar,
And in the songs he fondly sings
His glowing heart finds rainbow wings,
Which bear his spirit's powers afar
Unto his being's guiding star.
Dian—the queen of sighs and tears,
Her richest robe of beauty wears,
And smiles to hear the vows that rise
Beyond her empire in the skies,
While still she weeps, in prescient pain,
That passioned love is worse than vain.

IV.

St. Clara's dark and massy pile,
Where sunbeams fall but never smile,
'Mid the dense cypress grove uprears
Its ivied turrets, gray with years,
And, where the shadowy moonlight falls,
Uplifts its blackened prison walls,
Within whose solitary cells
Tearless despair forever dwells,
And sin, beneath devotion's name,
Reposes in its sacred shame,
While deeds 'twould sear the tongue to tell
Are done in murder's fatal cell.
Within St. Clara's cloistered gloom,
A living grave, a vital tomb,
Two lovely vestals, young and fair,
In misery dwelt and dark despair.
Their loves and hopes and feelings chained,
Lone sorrow o'er their being reigned,
'Till hope arose upon their eye,
And love's ecstatic witchery
Woke the fond hearts that had been crushed,
And the soul's sunlight current gushed.
Like roses budding on one stem
Or blending hues of opal gem,
Lonely they sat within their cell,
Silent till expectation's swell
Burst o'er each thought and feeling high,
Like sunshowers from the azure sky.
Round them the full heart's stilness hung,
'Till Zulma's glowing feelings sprung
To words that flowed like morning's beam,
Or song from lips of seraphim.
“Sweet Inez! fast the fearful hour
“When we shall spurn monastic power,
“Doth hasten, and our spirits' might
“Must dare the ordeal of to-night.
“The church's power, or father's ire,
“And Heaven perchance, will all conspire
“To cloud young love's ascending sun;
“Then, Inez, 'til the deed is done,
“And we have passed their power's extent,
“Let not thy dove-like heart relent
“Nor fancy picture punishment.”
“Oh, lovely Zulma! hope is light
“Within my trembling heart to-night,
“And fain this bosom yet would prove
“The silent joys of blissful love.
“But, ah! my path in life hath been
“So full of grief, and every scene
“Of joy so soon hath changed to woe,
“Life's common bliss I ne'er shall know
“Till my lone heart hath ceased to beat
“Within the snow-white winding-sheet.”
On her pale cheek and blanching brow
Hope's feverish hectic ceased to glow
And o'er her bosom came the blight,
The darkness of perpetual night,
The gloom of days that long had vanished,
And thoughts, that never could be banished.

V.

Zulma's high spirit at the view
Of peril more undaunted grew,
And glowed 'mid sorrow's gathering gloom
Like angel faith above the tomb.
In danger's hour she stood alone,
'Mid fearful things the fearless one,
And, as her sunlight spirit burned
O'er the deep darkness of despair,
The trembling fears of all she turned
To hopes, and left them smiling there.
Her broad high brow the throne of thought,
And features into spirit wrought;
Her star-beam eye and face of light,
And moulded form that chained the sight,
And swan-like neck, and raven hair,
And swelling bosom, richly fair,
Which rose and sunk, like moonlight seas,
In its deep passion's ecstacies,
As if her mighty heart were swelling
In sun-waves for its heavenly dwelling;
All spake a spirit proud and high,
A wandering seraph of the sky,
And such was Zulma; sorrow's night
Might its dark shadows o'er her cast.
But the deep gloom her spirit's light
Changed into rose-beams as it past;
She had one aim, and none beside
Could bend her lofty lightning pride,
And, ere she drooped, she would have died.
Vemeira knew his daughter well,
And chained her spirit in a cell
Ere she could know the desolate
And hopeless woe of such a fate,
And 'twas to bless an elder child
He crushed that soul, so proud and wild.

VI.

Timid and fearful as the fawn,
That searches ere it treads the glade,
Yet lovely as a spring-time dawn
In robes of rosy light arrayed;
Warm, feeling, soft and delicate
As the last blush of summer eve,
Yet trembling at the frown of Fate,
Lest, while her heart did sadly grieve,
Sin should assume the garb of woe,
And shroud in gloom devotion's glow;
Inez, though fair as forms that rove
Round Fancy's fondest dream of love,
Was tender, gentle, fragile, frail,
And shrinking as the violet pale
Which blooms in solitary vale,
By zephyr fanned and breathed alone,
Unseen, unsought, unprized, unknown.
Feelings suppressed and thoughts untold
Flowed silently, like molten gold,
O'er her fond heart, while virtue's sun
Threw glory o'er them as they run.
Her smiles and tears alike were born
In purity of virgin love,
And, like bright Eos, child of morn,
She drank at streams that gush above:
For sweetness such to her was given,
Her faintest prayer was heard in heaven.

VII.

When Zulma heard her sister's plaint,
And saw her gentle spirit sink,
Her soul arose in power—“To faint
“While standing on dark ruin's brink
“Were madness worse than mirth in death
“When love and bliss our flight await
“To quail, to droop despair beneath
“Were folly that deserved the fate.”
“But if we fail”—“It cannot be!
“Love, like the mountain breeze, is free,
“And, amid peril, wrong and ill,
“Strong as the gale that sweeps the hill,
“Or severing ocean in its might,
“Brings long lost treasures into light.”
“But will beholding heaven approve
“Our broken vows for earthly love?”
“St. Mary shrive thee! would'st thou be
“A vestal in hypocrisy?
“Oh, gentle Inez, guard thy love!
“Count Dion's daring quest would prove
“But folly's dream in evil hour,
“If thou dost spurn the boy-god's power.”
Inez arose, her blue eye flowed
In gushing tears of pearly light—
“Zulma! my heart were ill-bestowed
“If Dion called me false to-night.”
“Vemeira's daughter still!—O Heaven!
“Love's messenger his call hath given!
“Inez! that rose, by Dion thrown,
“Lay on thy heart—it is thine own—
“And haste thee, for we must be gone!”
The soft strain of a sweet guitar
Now mellowed came as if from far,
But, skillful in its measured fall,
It rose by dark St. Clara's wall,
And, mastered by Prince Julian's hand,
Its sweet notes flowed so richly bland,
They told unseen the minstrel lover,
And Zulma's soaring spirit over
Threw breathless rapture as she fled
From her lone cell with footstep light,
While Inez' heart, at every tread,
Spake like deep voices of the night.

VIII.

Queen of the skies! why should the beams
Of thy soft eye so richly glow
O'er scenes that darkest gloom beseems,
As fitting their soul-harrowing woe?
Why should thy smile alike illume
Despair and Hope, and Love and Hate,
The bridal mansion and the tomb,
Hearts full of bliss and desolate?
Empress of Heaven! oh, thou wert made
For blooming hearts and tearless eyes,
To light the spirit's serenade,
And high-soul'd love's fond ecstacies;
And, when young Time in Eden's bowers
Wore radiant crowns of fragrant flowers,
While innocence with him would rove
In soothing shade of fair-leaved grove,
And love was bliss and truth its own
Blest guerdon in the morning's sight,
When angels looked from Glory's throne
And threw around her robes of light;
Ere woe was born of sin, and crime
Blotted from man's corrupted heart
The fairest name that youthful Time
Had written there with magic art;
Ere the sad hour man's father fell,
And o'er his fall rose shouts from hell,
Thou, sky-throned Isis! from above,
Saw'st nought but pure unconscious love
Beneath the azure sky—whose sun
Smiled on each deed by mortals done.
Alas! thou now art doomed to gaze
Upon a world so dark and fell,
That thy most pure and lovely rays
Reveal man's heart a living hell!

IX.

On the young vestals' desperate flight
Thou didst look down with smile as gay
As it had been their bridal night,
And they were led in fair array
O'er bright saloons and marbled halls;
And on St. Clara's prison walls
Thy gleaming radiance shone as fair
As if delight were smiling there;
And on the lovely Inez' eye
As she and Zulma fled in fear,
Thy rays were thrown from yon blue sky,
Unconscious that they lit a tear.
Crossing the cypressed cemetry,
They hurried on with unheard tread
'Till they had gained the boundary
Of the lone empire of the Dead,
When, ere the signal could be given
To those who watched beyond the wall,
Inez stretched forth her hands to Heaven,
Weeping as if the hour when all
Her hopes should die had come and spread
Its pall o'er life—and thus she said;—
“Now, ere we part, sweet Zulma, say
“Thou lov'st me as in childhood's day,
“When we together fondly strayed
“Through arboured groves and green-wood shade,
“Plucked roses on the mead to crown
“The hours we loved to call our own.
“And felt that heaven looked smiling down,
“When none beneath the laughing sky
“Were half so gay as thou and I.
“Tell me the bloom of life's young flowers
“Still lingers round thy changeless heart
“And that the joy of happier hours
“Will never from thy soul depart!”
“Now ere we part! a strange prelude,
“Fair sister! to the heart's high bliss;
“Thy very spirit is imbued
“With doubts and fears—away with this!
“Thou art MY sister! droop not now,
“Remember thine and Dion's vow!
“They hear our rustling in the shade—
“Here is the cord-wove escalade—
“Now, Inez, fearless follow me,
“Doubt not, we must and shall be free.”
Unfaltering Zulma scaled the height,
Cheering the lovely nun to speed,
And then flew down with footstep light
To Julian's arms, most blest indeed,
The solitary vestal stood
A moment ere she dared to climb,
And in that moment's solitude
Her stolen flight appeared like crime;
She was so pure, so lovely, sin
Tinged not a thought her soul within.
But Dion hung upon the height,
And step by step she climbed above,
Her hand was stretched, in wild delight,
To grasp that of her only love,
When fancied guilt and dark despair
Came o'er her as she lingered there,
And her brain reeled in dizziness;
She heeded not the cries below,
She could not see nor hear nor know
The insupportable distress
Of those who saw her form on high,
Delirium in her swimming eye!
One last shrill shriek of wild affright.
The falling form that met his sight,
The hollow groan, that rose and fell
Upon his heart like ruin's knell,

X.

“Away—away! Prince Julian, fly!
“The alarum bell is pealing high,
“And ruthless hordes of vestal fiends
“Are rushing hither!”—Who ascends
Again that dreadful wall, so late
Scaled with a look that smiled at Fate?
'Tis Zulma—“Julian! leave me now,
“For I must share the death I wrought,
“And consummate my vestal vow
“In pain and darkness as I ought.”
She rose to give her purpose deed,
When Dion barred her path and cried—
“Prince Julian! as thou would'st in need,
“And when despair hath humbled pride,
“Crave mercy of the Power on high,
“Seize Zulma quick, and fly, fly, fly!”
In passion wild and wildered fear
The Prince obeyed the wise behest,
And grasped the heroic maiden ere
Her deed had left him thrice unblest,
And, ere a moment more had flown,
The high-soul'd nun and Prince had gone.
Count Dion watched till they had fled,
Then sprung below among the dead,
Where headstones gleamed to mock the gloom,
The desolation of the tomb.
Gently he raised the unconscious nun,
And laid her bleeding on his breast,
Thus—even thus, a blessed one
To pillow such a form to rest;
While, as he gazed in speechless woe
On her soft, lovely features graven
With death's dark lines, he saw below
Nor love nor joy, nor hope in heaven.
But scarce the space of lightning's glare
Was left to muse of his despair,
Or soothe the suffering Inez there,
The cloister horde by Clotilde led,
Exulting that their holy hate
Could now be poured on beauty's head
And virtue's bosom desolate,
Rushed like hyena troops upon
The gallant Dion—but, appalled
By his proud port, though all alone
He stood—they paused and shrilly called
The faggot priest, their alguazil,
To guard the holy cloister's weal.
Folding his bosom's dying bride
With one strong arm unto his breast,
And with the other waving wide
Iberia's sword that many a crest
Had cloven in the deadly fray,
He bade the throng yield ample way,
And sprung upon the ladder's height;
Then came the alguazil, the light
Of hell was in his scowling eye,
Dashing the trembling host aside
Like war-ship rushing in its pride.
The lover there that moment stood,
Not like a warrior trained in blood,
But like that Spirit who on high
His four-edged sword flashed o'er the sky,
And bade the sinning mortal die.
“Yield thee, blasphemer! Heaven commands.”
“Chain, then, the bold blasphemer's hands,
“And bind his madden'd spirit down
“Low as thy master's and thine own.”
“Darest thou the monarch's alguazil?”
“Bid ye the whelp-robbed lion kneel!”
“Dark ruffian! thou wilt rue this hour.”
“Ruffian!—not while my sword hath power.”
And with the word the unfailing blade
Low at his feet the opposer laid,
And Dion seized the escalade.
He springs with more than mortal might,
He rises—almost gains the height—
His hand is on the moss-grown wall—
This moment saves or ruins all!
A word, a thought, a look, a dream
May ratify the doom of years;
One glance, one quick electric gleam
May lead unto an age of fears!
Oh! Dion, nerve thy heart again,
One minute—spring—and thou art free,
O think—thy love—'tis vain—'tis vain,
Despair hath sealed thy destiny!
They tear away the cord-wove frame,
And thou art doomed to woe and shame!
Still Dion bears the double weight
With one torn, bleeding, numbing hand
Awhile—he falls—the scroll of Fate
Hath rolled its darkest record! “Stand,
“Exulting demons, stand ye there,
“And o'er all earth your triumph yell,
“And laugh o'er death and life's despair,
“For than ye worse reign not in hell!”
[OMITTED]
[OMITTED]

XI.

'Tis joy to gaze, from the tall ships lee,
On the curling waves of the moonlight sea,
When the mellow airs of spring-time night
Come over the heart as it floats in light,
And the sleeping flowers exhale perfume,
Like a virgin's breath from lips of bloom,
And the dark-blue waters curl and gleam
In the diamond star-light's mirrored beam,
While the spirit burns o'er the glittering sea
'Till it longs a moonlight wave to be.
Oh, spirits that sail on the moonlight sea
Should have thoughts as vast as eternity,
And feelings as pure as the sleeping rose,
When its leaves in the dew of the sunset close.

XII.

XIII.

Before the rising, shrill-voiced gale
Flies the yard-stretching, mighty sail,
Swelling o'er broad Atlantic billow,
Like swan upon her wavy pillow,
Dashing aside from her high prow
The wave, whose hissing foam-wreaths glow
Like jewels thrown in floating snow,
And hurrying on her watery way,
Between two oceans, heaven and earth's,
Like war-horse through the battle fray,
Whose mighty heart would burst his girths
In its high swelling, should his lord
Or check his speed or sheathe his sword.
With a long sigh, as if from dream
Of pain and anguish slowly waking,
From Julian's breast, with sudden scream
Wild as her bleeding heart were breaking,
Zulma rose and gazed around
On ocean's sons, on wave and sky,
And then fell back and deeply groaned,
While gleamed through tears her eagle eye.
“Inez! sweet Inez!” Shudderings came
Over her like the sansar's breath,
As from her heart flowed that sweet name
Which now was linked with woe and death,
And, wrapt in silent suffering,
She saw nor wave nor sky nor lover,
Nor heard the light-winged breezes sing,
Like nymphs in sea-shells, ocean over;
All—all to her was pain and gloom,
Her thoughts of what she left behind
And o'er her angel sister's tomb
She heard the lonely wailing wind,
With spirit voice of wild distress,
Denouncing Inez' murderess!
Darkly with phantoms of her brain
Communing, o'er the billowy main
Zulma was hurried rapidly,
And the low murmuring of the sea
Seemed, when she heard the gulfing surge
Hymning the murdered vestal's dirge.

XIV.

The virgin huntress of the skies
With Ocean's daughters flies afar,
And Eos and her nymphs arise
Above the sun-god's throne, each star,
Orion's blazing sword of light,
And the twin-martyrs' glory bright,
And sea-born Beauty's radiance dimming,
While blue-zoned Tethys weaves a crown
Of pearls and corals brightly swimming
Through her vast empire fathoms down,
To deck Aurora's rosy brow
As her white steeds o'er ether fly,
And proud Hyperion, bright and slow,
Rolls unto heaven his glorious eye.
The bird of Jove his mighty wings
Waves o'er the crimson vault above,
And from his eye a radiance flings
Bright as the brightest glance of love.
The white-plumed sea-gull skims the sea,
The curlew sports around the bark,
And nature sings of liberty
And love as when from ancient ark
The beasts of earth and birds of heaven
To their bright fields and skies were given.

XV.

XVI.

The barque has passed the Tyrrhine sea
And anchored in the glorious bay
Of proud and base Parthenope,
Where perfumed gales with sunlight play
O'er antique temple, giant tower,
And palace proud, whose mirrored dome,
Like a bright heaven, o'er many a tomb
Of many a mighty one laid low
Gleams with a rich, refulgent glow,
Like Freedom o'er lost Power.
The barque is moored—the lovers gone
Beyond the once fair Lucrine lake,
Where dark-browed Ruin reigns alone
O'er Baiæ lost in marshy brake,
And all the fairy gardens, groves,
Meadows and dales erst loved so well
By him (so reckless luxury proves
In one a nation's ruin fell)
Who shunning Glory's shrine when he
Had gained the fane, left mighty Rome
The victim of fierce anarchy,
Dreading yet hurrying on her doom.
Lucrine—the haunt of mirth is gone,
And there volcanoes glare alone!
Baiæ hath sunk to dust, and she,
Earth's mistress stands, like ancestry,
Scowling o'er sons whose highest boast
Had been their fathers' deepest shame,
To pride, to truth, to glory lost,
To honest hearts and patriot fame.

XVII.

Days, weeks and months have been and gone,
And lovely Zulma dwells alone
In solitary castle high
Between fair earth and fairer sky.
Julian had been, all lovers are,
Had knelt and sworn his deathless love,
And, like a sky-throned, radiant star,
Thrown light and beauty from above;
He had been all that being is,
Whom kindoms wait—I dare not dwell
On man's intent to offer bliss
To one who had for him farewell
Bidden all thoughts of earth and heaven,
And sole to him her full heart given.
Prince Julian was Campania's heir,
And thus decreed his royal sire;—
“Thou wed'st proud Austria's daughter fair,
“Or never com'st the sceptre nigher.”
Julian was proud of pomp and fame—
The fair nun could nor trump his name
Nor plume his power—but she might be
The unseen queen of sovereignty,
The empress of his private hours—
The angel of his palace bowers.
So Julian thought, though he had tried
Her honest fame by speech oblique
And look lascivious, when his pride
And birth and state appeared most weak
Before wronged Zulma's Juno eye,
Whose glance spake pride and purity.
From day to day he talked of love,
While Zulma would not see his aim,
Save when the princely sophist strove
To prove all rites a needless name;
Then flashed her eye and glowed her brow,
Like sunbeams o'er the mountain snow.
On love I will not moralize;
It hath more wiles and snares than sighs;
Sooth be the tale and fair I tell—
His deeds are man's true chronicle.

XVIII.

XIX.

Bewildered, lost in guilt and shame,
And torrent passions wildly warring;
Defied, despised in deed and name,
Each wild-fire thought another marring;
Prince Julian stood unmoving where,
In all the grandeur of despair,
Zulma, like empress throned in power
More than deserted nun, had left
Her lover in that sundering hour
When her proud heart of hope was reft.
Zulma had hurried from his view—
Her form of love, her voice, her smile,
No more enchantment o'er him threw—
No more his sorrows could beguile;
She had been his—and now was not—
He had been hers in grief and woe—
Now she had gone—to be forgot—
And he was left alone to—“No!
“By Heaven! it cannot, shall not be!
“Crown, sceptre, kingdom—what are ye
“To love and love's true paradise?
The earth preferred unto the skies!
“Ambrose!” “My lord!”—“Caparison
“The fleetest steed in all my stalls,
“And bring the courser here anon—
“And guard thou well the castle walls!
“I will the maid regain or die,
“For Honour is man's majesty!”
He vaulted on his gallant steed,
And vanished in the forest dun,
Then rose the hill, and o'er the mead
Rushed 'neath the last beam of the sun.