 | The Naiad |  |
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THE NAIAD.
A TALE.
The gold sun went into the west,
And soft airs sang him to his rest;
And yellow leaves all loose and dry,
Play'd on the branches listlessly:
The sky wax'd palely blue; and high
A cloud seem'd touch'd upon the sky—
A spot of cloud,—blue, thin, and still,
And silence bask'd on vale and hill.
'Twas autumn-tide,—the eve was sweet,
As mortal eye hath e'er beholden;
The grass look'd warm with sunny heat,—
Perchance some fairy's glowing feet
Had lightly touch'd,—and left it golden:
A flower or two were shining yet;
The star of the daisy had not yet set,—
It shone from the turf to greet the air,
Which tenderly came breathing there:
And in a brook, which lov'd to fret
O'er yellow sand and pebble blue,
The lily of the silvery hue
All freshly dwelt, with white leaves wet.
Away the sparkling water play'd,
Through bending grass, and blessed flower;
Light, and delight seem'd all its dower:
Away in merriment it stray'd,—
Singing, and bearing, hour after hour,
Pale, lovely splendour to the shade.
Ye would have given your hearts to win
A glimpse of that fair willow'd brook:
The water lay glistening in each leafy nook,
And the shadows fell green and thin.
As the wind pass'd by—the willow trees,
Which lov'd for aye on the wave to look,
Kiss'd the pale stream,—but disturb'd and shook,
They wept tears of light at the rude, rude breeze.
At night, when all the planets were sprinkling
Their little rays of light on high,
The busy brook with stars was twinkling,—
And it seemed a streak of the living sky;
'Twas heavenly to walk in the autumn's wind's sigh,
And list to that brook's lonely tinkling.
And soft airs sang him to his rest;
And yellow leaves all loose and dry,
Play'd on the branches listlessly:
The sky wax'd palely blue; and high
A cloud seem'd touch'd upon the sky—
A spot of cloud,—blue, thin, and still,
And silence bask'd on vale and hill.
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As mortal eye hath e'er beholden;
The grass look'd warm with sunny heat,—
Perchance some fairy's glowing feet
Had lightly touch'd,—and left it golden:
A flower or two were shining yet;
The star of the daisy had not yet set,—
It shone from the turf to greet the air,
Which tenderly came breathing there:
And in a brook, which lov'd to fret
O'er yellow sand and pebble blue,
The lily of the silvery hue
All freshly dwelt, with white leaves wet.
Away the sparkling water play'd,
Through bending grass, and blessed flower;
Light, and delight seem'd all its dower:
Away in merriment it stray'd,—
Singing, and bearing, hour after hour,
Pale, lovely splendour to the shade.
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A glimpse of that fair willow'd brook:
The water lay glistening in each leafy nook,
And the shadows fell green and thin.
As the wind pass'd by—the willow trees,
Which lov'd for aye on the wave to look,
Kiss'd the pale stream,—but disturb'd and shook,
They wept tears of light at the rude, rude breeze.
At night, when all the planets were sprinkling
Their little rays of light on high,
The busy brook with stars was twinkling,—
And it seemed a streak of the living sky;
'Twas heavenly to walk in the autumn's wind's sigh,
And list to that brook's lonely tinkling.
O pleasant is the water's voice,
And pleasant is the water's smile,—
The one doth bid the heart rejoice,
The other lulls the eye the while.
And fresh it is, in the bright breathing day
Of the gallant, the lovely, the youthful May;
To pass adown banks where the primrose peeps,
And watch the young waves with their silver leaps.
And lovely is Summer, when Spring is gone by;
The light is more constant and rich in the sky,
The day is more balmy, the night is more soft,
And louder the lark's song is heard up aloft.
But how am I wandering,—and what do I sing,
I have nothing to do with the Summer or Spring;
My season is Autumn,—I may not say,
Of the showers of April, or sunlight of May.
And pleasant is the water's smile,—
The one doth bid the heart rejoice,
The other lulls the eye the while.
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Of the gallant, the lovely, the youthful May;
To pass adown banks where the primrose peeps,
And watch the young waves with their silver leaps.
And lovely is Summer, when Spring is gone by;
The light is more constant and rich in the sky,
The day is more balmy, the night is more soft,
And louder the lark's song is heard up aloft.
But how am I wandering,—and what do I sing,
I have nothing to do with the Summer or Spring;
My season is Autumn,—I may not say,
Of the showers of April, or sunlight of May.
Yes! Autumn was the tide:—the time
Was somewhat past the evening's prime;
The clouds were in the gloom declining;
The leaves gave up their glossy shining;
Low in her nest the skylark crept,
And mid the dew in silence slept;
All save the running brook was still,
And that kept on humming its wild song at will.
Was somewhat past the evening's prime;
The clouds were in the gloom declining;
The leaves gave up their glossy shining;
Low in her nest the skylark crept,
And mid the dew in silence slept;
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And that kept on humming its wild song at will.
“The waters are merry and pleasant, my page!
“The waters are merry and bright;
“Now tell me at once, thou youthful sage,
“What is so lovely to sight?—
“What is so mirthful, and mild also,
“What is so graceful, I fain would know?
“See, the moon is rising—a pale young thing!—
“Nay, do not give her in thy answering;
“But bid thy fancy a new image bring:
“Now speak me, young page, outright.”
“The waters are merry and bright;
“Now tell me at once, thou youthful sage,
“What is so lovely to sight?—
“What is so mirthful, and mild also,
“What is so graceful, I fain would know?
“See, the moon is rising—a pale young thing!—
“Nay, do not give her in thy answering;
“But bid thy fancy a new image bring:
“Now speak me, young page, outright.”
Lord Hubert look'd o'er his courser's neck,
Which fretted like fire beneath the check;
He look'd upon the boy, and staid
To list the answer that he pray'd.
A smile was in his fine dark eye,
The white plume in his cap danced high;
His short cloak flutter'd fair behind,
Playing fantastic in the wind;
The steed so spirited, matchless, and fair,
Toss'd the white foam on the evening air.
Which fretted like fire beneath the check;
He look'd upon the boy, and staid
To list the answer that he pray'd.
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The white plume in his cap danced high;
His short cloak flutter'd fair behind,
Playing fantastic in the wind;
The steed so spirited, matchless, and fair,
Toss'd the white foam on the evening air.
“The waters are merry, my Lord Hubert!
“The waters are merry and bright;—
“But the lady whose heart is pure as the day,
“Whose soul is framed of the breath of May,
“Is as lovely and mirthful to sight:
“Her form is as graceful, her spirit as gay,
“Her eye is as tenderly light.
“I see the moon will be breaking soon,
“But I will not liken the lovely moon;—
“The evening star, is beaming far,
“But what to me is the evening star?
“Lord Hubert! the lady we ride to greet,
“Is as fair as the wave, and as passingly sweet.”
“The waters are merry and bright;—
“But the lady whose heart is pure as the day,
“Whose soul is framed of the breath of May,
“Is as lovely and mirthful to sight:
“Her form is as graceful, her spirit as gay,
“Her eye is as tenderly light.
“I see the moon will be breaking soon,
“But I will not liken the lovely moon;—
“The evening star, is beaming far,
“But what to me is the evening star?
“Lord Hubert! the lady we ride to greet,
“Is as fair as the wave, and as passingly sweet.”
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Up to Lord Hubert the page rais'd his look,
While his palfrey play'd, and its trappings shook;
Up to Lord Hubert with laughing eye,
The young boy glanced right cunningly:
The moon shone down on his countenance fair,
There was tenderness mix'd with gaiety there.
While his palfrey play'd, and its trappings shook;
Up to Lord Hubert with laughing eye,
The young boy glanced right cunningly:
The moon shone down on his countenance fair,
There was tenderness mix'd with gaiety there.
Lord Hubert look'd down—but without a frown,—
With a quicken'd smile he look'd adown;
At first he was silent, and idly leant
O'er the neck of his courser, all proudly bent;
His hand hung loose in his sword's fretted chain,
And his cheek reclin'd on the proud steed's mane.
But anon he exclaimed—and his wild eye flamed
With a free delight, as he gaily exclaim'd:—
“Now fair fall thy lip—thou page of my heart,—
“That tone on my ear all sweetly fell,
“Like the greeting of lovers long torn apart,
“Like, touch'd to nun's ear, the convent bell;
“Ne'er may thy breast feel affliction's smart,
“For, in sooth, fair boy! thou hast spoken well.”
With a quicken'd smile he look'd adown;
At first he was silent, and idly leant
O'er the neck of his courser, all proudly bent;
His hand hung loose in his sword's fretted chain,
And his cheek reclin'd on the proud steed's mane.
But anon he exclaimed—and his wild eye flamed
With a free delight, as he gaily exclaim'd:—
“Now fair fall thy lip—thou page of my heart,—
“That tone on my ear all sweetly fell,
“Like the greeting of lovers long torn apart,
“Like, touch'd to nun's ear, the convent bell;
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“For, in sooth, fair boy! thou hast spoken well.”
For a moment with pleasure his bridle hand shook,
And the steed in its joy mock'd the wave on the brook,
It play'd—and danced up for a moment—no more—
Then gently glided on as before.
Now forth they rode all silently,
Beneath the broad and milky sky,
They kept their course by the water's edge,
And listen'd at times to the creeking sedge;
Or started from some rich fanciful dream,
At the sullen plunge of the fish in the stream;
Then would they watch the circle bright,—
The circle, silver'd by the moonlight,—
Go widening, and shining, and trembling on,
Till a wave leap'd up, and the ring was gone.
Or the otter would cross before their eyes,
And hide in the bank where the deep nook lies;
Or the owl would call out through the silent air,
With a mournful, and shrill, and tremulous cry;
Or the hare from its form would start up and pass by;
And the watch-dog bay them here and there.
The leaves might be rustled—the waves be curl'd—
But no human foot appear'd out in the world.
And the steed in its joy mock'd the wave on the brook,
It play'd—and danced up for a moment—no more—
Then gently glided on as before.
Now forth they rode all silently,
Beneath the broad and milky sky,
They kept their course by the water's edge,
And listen'd at times to the creeking sedge;
Or started from some rich fanciful dream,
At the sullen plunge of the fish in the stream;
Then would they watch the circle bright,—
The circle, silver'd by the moonlight,—
Go widening, and shining, and trembling on,
Till a wave leap'd up, and the ring was gone.
Or the otter would cross before their eyes,
And hide in the bank where the deep nook lies;
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With a mournful, and shrill, and tremulous cry;
Or the hare from its form would start up and pass by;
And the watch-dog bay them here and there.
The leaves might be rustled—the waves be curl'd—
But no human foot appear'd out in the world.
Now they rode them on, serene and slow,
Through a still valley,—all green and low;
They look'd about with a passionless eye,
At the sleeping grass and the sleeping sky;
And felt, as they pass'd through this exquisite part,
A slumb'rous melody steal to the heart.
Their steeds seem'd patting the turfy ground,
Soft, to the water's lulling sound;
And they mov'd their heads up and down in the air,
As tho' they caught something that gladden'd them there;
The steel of their bridles kept playing and ringing,
And the airs around them low music were bringing.
Up rose the scent of the gentle flowers,
As freshly as though they deck'd lady's bowers;
In sooth, we may grieve that odours so fair,
Are lavish'd so sweetly, when no one is there.
The wild rose dwelt on the water's side,
The lily shone out on the shivering tide;
Ah! who would go dreaming away the night,
When its hue is so fair, and its airs are so light.
Through a still valley,—all green and low;
They look'd about with a passionless eye,
At the sleeping grass and the sleeping sky;
And felt, as they pass'd through this exquisite part,
A slumb'rous melody steal to the heart.
Their steeds seem'd patting the turfy ground,
Soft, to the water's lulling sound;
And they mov'd their heads up and down in the air,
As tho' they caught something that gladden'd them there;
The steel of their bridles kept playing and ringing,
And the airs around them low music were bringing.
Up rose the scent of the gentle flowers,
As freshly as though they deck'd lady's bowers;
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Are lavish'd so sweetly, when no one is there.
The wild rose dwelt on the water's side,
The lily shone out on the shivering tide;
Ah! who would go dreaming away the night,
When its hue is so fair, and its airs are so light.
“A little while,”—Lord Hubert spoke
With a gentle sigh, which his musing broke,—
“A little while, my gallant boy!
“And we shall greet a home of joy.
“My bride in expectation waits,
“The torch of welcome is bright in her gates:
“A tear now dims her eye's fair ray,
“Which I alone can kiss away.
“A little while, and thou shalt press
“Thy lady's hand—thy own scarce less;—
“And with soft tales her heart engage,
“And chat with her, my pretty page!
With a gentle sigh, which his musing broke,—
“A little while, my gallant boy!
“And we shall greet a home of joy.
“My bride in expectation waits,
“The torch of welcome is bright in her gates:
“A tear now dims her eye's fair ray,
“Which I alone can kiss away.
“A little while, and thou shalt press
“Thy lady's hand—thy own scarce less;—
“And with soft tales her heart engage,
“And chat with her, my pretty page!
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“Alas! I leave her all too long,
“And do her gentle bosom wrong.
“Come, my fair courser, spurn the ground;
“Perchance she roams in her unrest,
“With scarf thrown heedless o'er her breast,
“And sandals left unbound;
“Perchance the comb no more caresses
“Her golden hair in sunny tresses,
“But leaves them wild and unwound;
“And her jewels and rings flung carelessly by,
“In dark and rude disorder lie;
“No gem left unmov'd,—save the tear in her eye.
“Oh! I will press her bosom to mine,
“The gentle, the lovely Angeline!”
“And do her gentle bosom wrong.
“Come, my fair courser, spurn the ground;
“Perchance she roams in her unrest,
“With scarf thrown heedless o'er her breast,
“And sandals left unbound;
“Perchance the comb no more caresses
“Her golden hair in sunny tresses,
“But leaves them wild and unwound;
“And her jewels and rings flung carelessly by,
“In dark and rude disorder lie;
“No gem left unmov'd,—save the tear in her eye.
“Oh! I will press her bosom to mine,
“The gentle, the lovely Angeline!”
Lord Hubert look'd forth;—say, what hath caught
The lustre of his large dark eye?
Is it the form he hath lov'd and sought?
Or is it some vision his fancy hath wrought?
He cannot pass it by.
It rises from the bank of the brook,
And it comes along with an angel look;
Its vest is like snow, and its hand is as fair,
Its brow seems a mingling of sunbeam and air,
And its eyes so meek, which the glad tear laves,
Are like stars beheld soften'd in summer waves;
The lily hath left a light on its feet,
And the smile on its lip is passingly sweet;
It moves serene, but it treads not the earth;—
Is it a lady of mortal birth?
Down o'er her shoulders her yellow hair flows,
And her neck through its tresses divinely glows;
Calm in her hand a mirror she brings,
And she sleeks her loose locks, and gazes, and sings.
The lustre of his large dark eye?
Is it the form he hath lov'd and sought?
Or is it some vision his fancy hath wrought?
He cannot pass it by.
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And it comes along with an angel look;
Its vest is like snow, and its hand is as fair,
Its brow seems a mingling of sunbeam and air,
And its eyes so meek, which the glad tear laves,
Are like stars beheld soften'd in summer waves;
The lily hath left a light on its feet,
And the smile on its lip is passingly sweet;
It moves serene, but it treads not the earth;—
Is it a lady of mortal birth?
Down o'er her shoulders her yellow hair flows,
And her neck through its tresses divinely glows;
Calm in her hand a mirror she brings,
And she sleeks her loose locks, and gazes, and sings.
THE NAIAD'S SONG.
‘My bower is in the hollow wave,
‘The water lily is my bed;
‘The brightest pearls the rivers lave
‘Are wreath'd around my breast and head.
‘The water lily is my bed;
‘The brightest pearls the rivers lave
‘Are wreath'd around my breast and head.
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‘The fish swims idly near my couch,
‘And twinkling fins oft brush my brow;
‘And spirits mutely to me crouch,
‘While waters softly o'er them flow.
‘And twinkling fins oft brush my brow;
‘And spirits mutely to me crouch,
‘While waters softly o'er them flow.
‘Then come thee to these arms of mine,
‘And come thee to this bosom fair;
‘And thou mid silver waves shalt twine
‘The tresses of my silky hair.
‘And come thee to this bosom fair;
‘And thou mid silver waves shalt twine
‘The tresses of my silky hair.
‘I have a ring of the river weed,
‘'Twas fasten'd with a spirit's kiss;
‘I'll wed thee in this moonlight mead,—
‘Ah! look not on my love amiss.’
‘'Twas fasten'd with a spirit's kiss;
‘I'll wed thee in this moonlight mead,—
‘Ah! look not on my love amiss.’
She play'd with her locks; and she sang to the night,
And her song came mellow'd through her eyes' light;
And ever her hand, with a graceful motion,
Like the rise and fall of a wave on the ocean,
Its pearly brightness was gently bringing,
Under the shade of that hair's silken stringing;
And still on she wander'd, tenderly singing.
And her song came mellow'd through her eyes' light;
And ever her hand, with a graceful motion,
Like the rise and fall of a wave on the ocean,
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Under the shade of that hair's silken stringing;
And still on she wander'd, tenderly singing.
'Lord Hubert check'd his steed—amaz'd—
And on that lovely lady gaz'd:
He doff'd his cap; and his open brow,
Shone nobly and purely like Heaven's own snow.
He held the feather, all shadowy white,
To screen his eye from the moon's still light;
And he gaz'd upon her, mute,—unmoving,—
And his bosom felt changing—and newly loving.
And on that lovely lady gaz'd:
He doff'd his cap; and his open brow,
Shone nobly and purely like Heaven's own snow.
He held the feather, all shadowy white,
To screen his eye from the moon's still light;
And he gaz'd upon her, mute,—unmoving,—
And his bosom felt changing—and newly loving.
“Trust not that figure, Lord Hubert, I pray thee;—”
With tears the pretty page intreated—
“A beauty at home is lingering, I say thee,
“And shall her lip be never greeted?
“Oh, dare not, my master dear, to kiss
“Aught so airy and fleeting as this;
“But haste thee home where a kind lip glows,
“As ruddy and fresh as the leaf of the rose.
“Trust not the eyes of that lovely spirit,
“Death doth their wooing light inherit;—
“Trust not those locks of the burning gold,
“They will twine round the heart 'till it's ruin'd and cold;—
“Trust not that hand, though a lily it seems,—
“It will trouble thy waking, and madden thy dreams.
“Lord Hubert! Lord Hubert! thy soul waxes idle;
“Dash thy spur deep,—shake thy long loosen'd bridle;
“Away to the heart that is earthly and dear!
“Fair love lies before thee—and ruin is here.”
With tears the pretty page intreated—
“A beauty at home is lingering, I say thee,
“And shall her lip be never greeted?
“Oh, dare not, my master dear, to kiss
“Aught so airy and fleeting as this;
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“As ruddy and fresh as the leaf of the rose.
“Trust not the eyes of that lovely spirit,
“Death doth their wooing light inherit;—
“Trust not those locks of the burning gold,
“They will twine round the heart 'till it's ruin'd and cold;—
“Trust not that hand, though a lily it seems,—
“It will trouble thy waking, and madden thy dreams.
“Lord Hubert! Lord Hubert! thy soul waxes idle;
“Dash thy spur deep,—shake thy long loosen'd bridle;
“Away to the heart that is earthly and dear!
“Fair love lies before thee—and ruin is here.”
“My page, be still!—there cannot be ill
“In aught so graceful, gentle, and bright;
“She moves more freely than that racing rill,
“And I must and will alight;
“And hap me death—or hap me good,
“I'll woo this fairy of the flood.”
“In aught so graceful, gentle, and bright;
“She moves more freely than that racing rill,
“And I must and will alight;
“And hap me death—or hap me good,
“I'll woo this fairy of the flood.”
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“Ah, pause—Lord Hubert, pause!—thou'rt dreaming;
“Nay follow not this form of seeming:
“And wilt thou imitate the moon,
“In looking kind, and changing soon?
“The stars of Heaven are on thee,—yet,
“Oh, yet retract, ere they be set.
“Alas!—the luckless, the beautiful bride!
“Her heart must break in its innocent pride;
“She may bend and pray to the Virgin Mother,—
“Her earth's Hope comes not—he woos another!”
“Nay follow not this form of seeming:
“And wilt thou imitate the moon,
“In looking kind, and changing soon?
“The stars of Heaven are on thee,—yet,
“Oh, yet retract, ere they be set.
“Alas!—the luckless, the beautiful bride!
“Her heart must break in its innocent pride;
“She may bend and pray to the Virgin Mother,—
“Her earth's Hope comes not—he woos another!”
“The Summer dews are shed,
“O'er earth's balmy slumber;—
“Her tears, by sorrow fed,
“Shall those dews out-number.
“The gentle gusts of wind,
“Through the branches dying;—
“Shall in sooth remind
“Of a young bride's sighing.”
“O'er earth's balmy slumber;—
“Her tears, by sorrow fed,
“Shall those dews out-number.
“The gentle gusts of wind,
“Through the branches dying;—
“Shall in sooth remind
“Of a young bride's sighing.”
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“Dear spirit! to thy breast I come,—
“Thy breast more white than water's foam;
“Open thy gentle arms, and take
“The heart that beats but for thy sake;
“I greet thy singing, and thy saying,—
“Oh! let me with thy locks be playing!”
“Thy breast more white than water's foam;
“Open thy gentle arms, and take
“The heart that beats but for thy sake;
“I greet thy singing, and thy saying,—
“Oh! let me with thy locks be playing!”
The words are past—the page is gone—
Lord Hubert hath alighted down:
The words are past—Lord Hubert's steed
Is from its master's pressure freed;
Loos'd to the wind—it will not stand,
But flies the check of mortal hand.
The page is fled—the steed is gone,
Lord Hubert lingers there alone;
Alone—save that light form that sleeks
Her tresses down her gleaming cheeks.
She woos him with her voice and look;—
Beside her crawls the enamour'd brook,
Touch'd with her eye's delicious ray,
And muttering a quiet delight on its way.
Lord Hubert hath alighted down:
The words are past—Lord Hubert's steed
Is from its master's pressure freed;
Loos'd to the wind—it will not stand,
But flies the check of mortal hand.
The page is fled—the steed is gone,
Lord Hubert lingers there alone;
Alone—save that light form that sleeks
Her tresses down her gleaming cheeks.
She woos him with her voice and look;—
Beside her crawls the enamour'd brook,
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And muttering a quiet delight on its way.
She put forth her hand, and the moonbeam fell
On a hue like its own,—and it slept there well;
She fix'd her fair eyes on Lord Hubert's face,
And look'd him to stillness in that pale place.
He paus'd—he fear'd—till her voice sigh'd along,
In the beautiful, soul-fed breath of song:—
Then he started, and clasp'd her lily white hand,
Oh! as sweet as the violet leaf, and as bland.
On a hue like its own,—and it slept there well;
She fix'd her fair eyes on Lord Hubert's face,
And look'd him to stillness in that pale place.
He paus'd—he fear'd—till her voice sigh'd along,
In the beautiful, soul-fed breath of song:—
Then he started, and clasp'd her lily white hand,
Oh! as sweet as the violet leaf, and as bland.
The scene—the music—that touch of her—
Gave his high soul a passionate stir;
He kiss'd her lips,—and that ardent kiss
Was sweeter than aught on earth, I wis;
It was long and silent, as though the soul chose
To linger for ever on that living rose:—
Yes! her lip was yielding, and glowing, and fresh,
And seem'd all of flowers, and not of flesh;—
And the breath that pass'd o'er it made him start,
Like the sudden full scent of the rose's heart.
Gave his high soul a passionate stir;
He kiss'd her lips,—and that ardent kiss
Was sweeter than aught on earth, I wis;
It was long and silent, as though the soul chose
To linger for ever on that living rose:—
Yes! her lip was yielding, and glowing, and fresh,
And seem'd all of flowers, and not of flesh;—
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Like the sudden full scent of the rose's heart.
She rubb'd his brow with her balmy finger,
And parted his curls with playful delight;
And idly and sweetly she sang,—and bright,
Ah bright—most bright shone her eyes, fair Singer!
She took a braid of her yellow hair,
And deck'd his forehead with graceful care;
She took a pearl from her floating vest,
And fix'd it fondly on his breast.
And parted his curls with playful delight;
And idly and sweetly she sang,—and bright,
Ah bright—most bright shone her eyes, fair Singer!
She took a braid of her yellow hair,
And deck'd his forehead with graceful care;
She took a pearl from her floating vest,
And fix'd it fondly on his breast.
He dallied with her dimpled cheek,
And wreath'd his hand in her tresses meek;
And leant his lip 'gainst her eyelids white,
And look'd on her eyes in their shadowy light.
He press'd her snowy bosom to his,
And dropt on its beauty many a kiss;
His heart was maddening—his eyes were reeling,
He was wild, I ween, with passionate feeling!
And wreath'd his hand in her tresses meek;
And leant his lip 'gainst her eyelids white,
And look'd on her eyes in their shadowy light.
He press'd her snowy bosom to his,
And dropt on its beauty many a kiss;
His heart was maddening—his eyes were reeling,
He was wild, I ween, with passionate feeling!
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“Wilt thou follow me now?’—said the spirit endearing;
“Is thy soul warmly loving, or coldly fearing?
“This placid earth, I leave for a while;
“The morning star will rise full soon,
“And fast will fade the fickle moon;
“And day will indolently break,
“With many a thin and ruddy flake:—”
She spake him with a smile.
“Oh! come, and we will hurry now
“To a noble crystal pile;
“Where the waters all o'er thee like music shall flow,
“And the lilies shall cluster around thy brow.
“We'll arise, my love! when morning dew
“Is on the rose-leaf, soft and new;
“We'll sit upon the tawny grass,
“And catch the west-winds as they pass;
“And list the wild birds while they sing,
“And kiss to the water's murmuring.
“Thou shalt gather a flower, and I will wear it;
“I'll find the wild bee's nest, and thou shalt share it;
“Thou shalt catch the bird, and come smiling to me,
“And I'll clasp its wing, and kiss it for thee;
“And oft thy arm shall be round my waist,
“And my hand on thy shoulder shall gently be plac'd.
“Thou shalt sleep mid my golden hair,
“Which shall shadow thine eyelids fair;
“Thine arms shall enwreathe my ivory form,
“All nestling near thee, white and warm;
“I will not sleep, unless thou'rt beside me,
“Here is the ring, now peace betide me;
“I take thy heart,—thou wilt not dissemble;
“Follow my steps,—the dews shall not tremble.”
“Is thy soul warmly loving, or coldly fearing?
“This placid earth, I leave for a while;
“The morning star will rise full soon,
“And fast will fade the fickle moon;
“And day will indolently break,
“With many a thin and ruddy flake:—”
She spake him with a smile.
“Oh! come, and we will hurry now
“To a noble crystal pile;
“Where the waters all o'er thee like music shall flow,
“And the lilies shall cluster around thy brow.
“We'll arise, my love! when morning dew
“Is on the rose-leaf, soft and new;
“We'll sit upon the tawny grass,
“And catch the west-winds as they pass;
“And list the wild birds while they sing,
“And kiss to the water's murmuring.
“Thou shalt gather a flower, and I will wear it;
“I'll find the wild bee's nest, and thou shalt share it;
21
“And I'll clasp its wing, and kiss it for thee;
“And oft thy arm shall be round my waist,
“And my hand on thy shoulder shall gently be plac'd.
“Thou shalt sleep mid my golden hair,
“Which shall shadow thine eyelids fair;
“Thine arms shall enwreathe my ivory form,
“All nestling near thee, white and warm;
“I will not sleep, unless thou'rt beside me,
“Here is the ring, now peace betide me;
“I take thy heart,—thou wilt not dissemble;
“Follow my steps,—the dews shall not tremble.”
On the lady glided slow,
Her feet on the grass left a moonlight glow;
On she went close to the water's side,
With a quiet, undulating pride.
The moon shone down upon her coldly,
Lord Hubert follow'd her course right boldly.
At the brink of the brook she paused awhile,
And turned to her earthly love with a smile:—
“Fear not to follow—thou'rt charm'd from death,
“The water will love thee, and lend thee breath.”
Her feet on the grass left a moonlight glow;
On she went close to the water's side,
With a quiet, undulating pride.
The moon shone down upon her coldly,
Lord Hubert follow'd her course right boldly.
22
And turned to her earthly love with a smile:—
“Fear not to follow—thou'rt charm'd from death,
“The water will love thee, and lend thee breath.”
She stept into the silver wave,—
And sank, like the morning mist, from the eye;
Lord Hubert paus'd with a misgiving sigh,
And look'd on the water as on his grave.
But a soften'd voice came sweet from the stream,
Such sound doth a young lover hear in his dream;
It was lovely, and mellow'd, and tenderly hollow:—
“Step on the wave, where sleeps the moon beam,
“Thou wilt sink secure through its delicate gleam,
“Follow, Lord Hubert!—follow!”
He started—pass'd on with a graceful mirth,
And vanish'd at once from the placid earth.
And sank, like the morning mist, from the eye;
Lord Hubert paus'd with a misgiving sigh,
And look'd on the water as on his grave.
But a soften'd voice came sweet from the stream,
Such sound doth a young lover hear in his dream;
It was lovely, and mellow'd, and tenderly hollow:—
“Step on the wave, where sleeps the moon beam,
“Thou wilt sink secure through its delicate gleam,
“Follow, Lord Hubert!—follow!”
He started—pass'd on with a graceful mirth,
And vanish'd at once from the placid earth.
The waters prattled sweetly, wildly,
Still the moonlight kissed them mildly;
All sounds were mute, save the screech of the owl,
And the otter's plunge, and the watch-dog's howl;
But from that cold moon's setting, never
Was seen Lord Hubert—he vanish'd for ever:
And ne'er from the breaking of that young day
Was seen the light form that had passed away.
Still the moonlight kissed them mildly;
23
And the otter's plunge, and the watch-dog's howl;
But from that cold moon's setting, never
Was seen Lord Hubert—he vanish'd for ever:
And ne'er from the breaking of that young day
Was seen the light form that had passed away.
But on Autumn evenings, some have said,
When the moon shines full on the hill's yellow head,
That the voice of a spirit rises slowly,
Chaunting a ditty, lovely and lowly:
It sings serenely, tenderly wild,
Like a mother lulling her rosy child;
It fascinates the soul of the hearer,
But dies off in distance when ye draw nearer.
No youth I ween hath ever listen'd,
But his heart hath hush'd,—and his eye hath glisten'd;
And he hath stood like breathless clay,
Smiling in stillness the hours away.
When the moon shines full on the hill's yellow head,
That the voice of a spirit rises slowly,
Chaunting a ditty, lovely and lowly:
It sings serenely, tenderly wild,
Like a mother lulling her rosy child;
It fascinates the soul of the hearer,
But dies off in distance when ye draw nearer.
No youth I ween hath ever listen'd,
But his heart hath hush'd,—and his eye hath glisten'd;
And he hath stood like breathless clay,
Smiling in stillness the hours away.
24
Like a fair bride, young Angeline
Walks in her hall,—and beauty dwells
Bright on her brow, as on a shrine,
Yet mournfully her bosom swells;
And though she seems to smile, and say
Light words,—her breast is far from gay:
Sorrow is hid in that fair part,
The lone companion of her heart.
Those who will watch her cheek and eye,
Her hush'd anxieties may 'spy;
She hath her griefs,—for she is tender,—
Her young heart aches beneath its splendour;
Its thoughts forsake that rich array,
In sooth they wander far away.
With smiles she strives to hide her fears,
And still her spirit drinks her tears.
The lamps are brightly burning o'er her,
The dancers thread their path before her;
The minstrels send their voices round her,
And beauty's graceful daughters bound her.
The fairest ones are near the bride,
In beauty's light, and splendour's pride;
But none is there whose features shine
So fair as those of Angeline.
Her cheek is like the blush which Even
Flings gently o'er the western heaven;
Her wreathed locks in clusters deck
Her brow, and shade her snowy neck;
The violet lustre of her eye,
Mocks a serene Italian sky;
And on her lips her voice reposes,
Like music in a bower of roses.
She stands within the circle there,
All mild, and beautifully fair;
Her light, the light of others mars,—
'Tis Hesperus amid the stars!
Walks in her hall,—and beauty dwells
Bright on her brow, as on a shrine,
Yet mournfully her bosom swells;
And though she seems to smile, and say
Light words,—her breast is far from gay:
Sorrow is hid in that fair part,
The lone companion of her heart.
Those who will watch her cheek and eye,
Her hush'd anxieties may 'spy;
She hath her griefs,—for she is tender,—
Her young heart aches beneath its splendour;
Its thoughts forsake that rich array,
In sooth they wander far away.
With smiles she strives to hide her fears,
And still her spirit drinks her tears.
The lamps are brightly burning o'er her,
The dancers thread their path before her;
The minstrels send their voices round her,
And beauty's graceful daughters bound her.
25
In beauty's light, and splendour's pride;
But none is there whose features shine
So fair as those of Angeline.
Her cheek is like the blush which Even
Flings gently o'er the western heaven;
Her wreathed locks in clusters deck
Her brow, and shade her snowy neck;
The violet lustre of her eye,
Mocks a serene Italian sky;
And on her lips her voice reposes,
Like music in a bower of roses.
She stands within the circle there,
All mild, and beautifully fair;
Her light, the light of others mars,—
'Tis Hesperus amid the stars!
The night wears late; Lord Hubert lingers:
Hush'd are the dancers and the singers;
The guests retire—and Angeline
Steals from the revels to repine.
Up to the loneliest tower she hies,
To watch beneath the midnight skies;
To wake and watch, while others sleep;
While others lightly dream,—to weep.
Her hair, disorder'd by the wind,
Floats long and mournfully behind;
The moon shines deeply from the sky,
She looks on it with silent eye,
And her bosom rises with a sigh.
She leans upon the turret cold,
Where twines the ivy thick and old;
And to the quiet of the night,
Thus tells her tale of lost delight.
Hush'd are the dancers and the singers;
26
Steals from the revels to repine.
Up to the loneliest tower she hies,
To watch beneath the midnight skies;
To wake and watch, while others sleep;
While others lightly dream,—to weep.
Her hair, disorder'd by the wind,
Floats long and mournfully behind;
The moon shines deeply from the sky,
She looks on it with silent eye,
And her bosom rises with a sigh.
She leans upon the turret cold,
Where twines the ivy thick and old;
And to the quiet of the night,
Thus tells her tale of lost delight.
“All other hearts are now at rest,
“But mine is breaking in my breast;
“Hubert woo'd me but to grieve me,
“Hubert won me but to leave me.
“The night is passing—comes he not?
“Is he betray'd?—am I forgot?
“At morn he left me, and he vow'd
“To see me, ere the evening cloud
“Crept over Heaven;—and night is here,
“And still his courser comes not near.
“Doth his young heart so lightly prize me?
“Oh! all too hastily he flies me!
“He knows not how my heart can love,
“Its feelings danger cannot move—
“Nor pain subdue—nor troubles calm,—
“Ever 'twould be his sorrow's balm.
“He knows me not—but now too late
“I murmur at the frown of fate:
“The morning star will quickly shine;
“Thou art forsaken, Angeline!”
“But mine is breaking in my breast;
“Hubert woo'd me but to grieve me,
“Hubert won me but to leave me.
27
“Is he betray'd?—am I forgot?
“At morn he left me, and he vow'd
“To see me, ere the evening cloud
“Crept over Heaven;—and night is here,
“And still his courser comes not near.
“Doth his young heart so lightly prize me?
“Oh! all too hastily he flies me!
“He knows not how my heart can love,
“Its feelings danger cannot move—
“Nor pain subdue—nor troubles calm,—
“Ever 'twould be his sorrow's balm.
“He knows me not—but now too late
“I murmur at the frown of fate:
“The morning star will quickly shine;
“Thou art forsaken, Angeline!”
As the light broke, she deem'd she heard
Her lover's voice in the starting bird;
She deem'd it was Lord Hubert's steed
That bridleless fed in the fresh green mead:
But no—and she left the pale chill air,
All sicken'd to see the day breaking fair.
And now within her chamber, she
Sank on her couch despairingly;
And bath'd her pillow with silent tears,
The gentle offspring of her fears.
The sky look'd keen through her window pane,
And cast on the floor a pallid stain:
The small bird chirp'd on the jasmine tree,
That up round her lattice grew green and free,
With flowery stars all fair to see.
She saw the rook go through the morning Heaven,
To return straight and happy at fall of even;
Her sobbing heart broke the silence now,
And she press'd her hand 'gainst her feverish brow:
She started—she shrunk—her shuddering breath
Shaped these words—the words of death.
Her lover's voice in the starting bird;
28
That bridleless fed in the fresh green mead:
But no—and she left the pale chill air,
All sicken'd to see the day breaking fair.
And now within her chamber, she
Sank on her couch despairingly;
And bath'd her pillow with silent tears,
The gentle offspring of her fears.
The sky look'd keen through her window pane,
And cast on the floor a pallid stain:
The small bird chirp'd on the jasmine tree,
That up round her lattice grew green and free,
With flowery stars all fair to see.
She saw the rook go through the morning Heaven,
To return straight and happy at fall of even;
Her sobbing heart broke the silence now,
And she press'd her hand 'gainst her feverish brow:
She started—she shrunk—her shuddering breath
Shaped these words—the words of death.
29
“What is this that coldly clings
“To my lip, and to my waist?
“Whence is that wild voice that sings?
“A spirit's breath around me rings,
“By marble I'm embraced!”
“To my lip, and to my waist?
“Whence is that wild voice that sings?
“A spirit's breath around me rings,
“By marble I'm embraced!”
She press'd her ears,—but the voice still sounded;
She struggled,—but still those arms surrounded
Her tender form; and she strove to pray,
But the prayer on her trembling lip melted away.
Death like a shadow came: her breast
Serenely heav'd itself to rest;
Like a wave that quietly
Swells, and dies upon the sea,
Ah! tenderly her blue eyes beam'd,
Of Heaven, ere life was past, they gleam'd;
And her lips resign'd the red,
Which youth had so profusely shed.
She spoke ere life was wholly past,
Her voice was lovely to the last;
It breath'd like youthful minstrel's lays,
The melody of other days!
She struggled,—but still those arms surrounded
Her tender form; and she strove to pray,
But the prayer on her trembling lip melted away.
Death like a shadow came: her breast
Serenely heav'd itself to rest;
Like a wave that quietly
Swells, and dies upon the sea,
Ah! tenderly her blue eyes beam'd,
Of Heaven, ere life was past, they gleam'd;
And her lips resign'd the red,
Which youth had so profusely shed.
She spoke ere life was wholly past,
Her voice was lovely to the last;
30
The melody of other days!
“Alas! then—thou art silent now,
“And the wave rocks upon thy brow;
“And these,—thy arms around me press'd
“Like bands of ice upon my breast,
“Are fresh now from the chilling water,
“To me they come like silent slaughter.
“My cheek with thine hath shuddering met,
“For thine is still—and cold—and wet.
“Where is thy page?—he ne'er return'd,
“Though the moon shone out—and the night torch burn'd.
“Thou art at rest in the faithless wave,
“And thy page is laid in a distant grave.
“I have felt no kiss since I wedded thee—no,
“Save this freezing kiss that aches on my brow:
“I have had no clasp from thy arms—save one,
“Which has chill'd my lonely bosom to stone.
“I lov'd thee while living and loving;—and still,
“Though thou hast heap'd on me falsehood and ill;
“Thy name lingers with me, and shapes my last breath,
“And I sigh it, Lord Hubert, and love thee in death!”
“And the wave rocks upon thy brow;
“And these,—thy arms around me press'd
“Like bands of ice upon my breast,
“Are fresh now from the chilling water,
“To me they come like silent slaughter.
“My cheek with thine hath shuddering met,
“For thine is still—and cold—and wet.
“Where is thy page?—he ne'er return'd,
“Though the moon shone out—and the night torch burn'd.
“Thou art at rest in the faithless wave,
“And thy page is laid in a distant grave.
“I have felt no kiss since I wedded thee—no,
“Save this freezing kiss that aches on my brow:
“I have had no clasp from thy arms—save one,
“Which has chill'd my lonely bosom to stone.
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“Though thou hast heap'd on me falsehood and ill;
“Thy name lingers with me, and shapes my last breath,
“And I sigh it, Lord Hubert, and love thee in death!”
| The Naiad | |