 | Songs of the sea, with other poems |  |
123
ADELAIDE'S TRIUMPH
The narrative from which the main incident of this little ballad is drawn appeared, some time since, in a French journal, as I learn from a friend, to whose recollection I am indebted for the story. He will perceive that in giving it a poetical dress, I have materially altered it, and lost, I fear, much of the simple pathos which struck me in his oral narration.
The narrative from which the main incident of this little ballad is drawn appeared, some time since, in a French journal, as I learn from a friend, to whose recollection I am indebted for the story. He will perceive that in giving it a poetical dress, I have materially altered it, and lost, I fear, much of the simple pathos which struck me in his oral narration.
First Part.
“Adelaide, come stand beside me,
Stand beside my pillowed head;—
From my eyes the light is fading,
From my cheek the hue is fled:
Let me hold thy hand so dainty,
Let me touch thy silky hair;
Ringlets gray and fingers wasted
With them poorly may compare.
Stand beside my pillowed head;—
From my eyes the light is fading,
From my cheek the hue is fled:
Let me hold thy hand so dainty,
Let me touch thy silky hair;
Ringlets gray and fingers wasted
With them poorly may compare.
“Come, and let compassion summon
Thoughts of ruth to move thy heart,—
Gentle thoughts, that, full of pity,
Take the contrite sinner's part;
Reverential recollections
Of His words who came to save;
Of His words that breathed forgiveness,
Of His mercy that forgave.
Thoughts of ruth to move thy heart,—
Gentle thoughts, that, full of pity,
Take the contrite sinner's part;
124
Of His words who came to save;
Of His words that breathed forgiveness,
Of His mercy that forgave.
“Where a stately stream is gliding,
Near a slope of wooded ground,
Rises Lord De Warrene's mansion,
Fairest of the country round:
Eighteen summers have I counted,
Since its widowed master brought
To this roof a female infant,—
Here a foster-mother sought.
Near a slope of wooded ground,
Rises Lord De Warrene's mansion,
Fairest of the country round:
Eighteen summers have I counted,
Since its widowed master brought
To this roof a female infant,—
Here a foster-mother sought.
“‘Too much care thou canst not show her,’
Said he, with a heavy sigh;
‘For to give the dear one being
Did my noble lady die.’
‘Proud am I to tend thy daughter,’
Answered I with zealous tone;
But I started, on comparing
That sweet infant with my own.
Said he, with a heavy sigh;
‘For to give the dear one being
Did my noble lady die.’
‘Proud am I to tend thy daughter,’
Answered I with zealous tone;
But I started, on comparing
That sweet infant with my own.
125
“Child of health and matchless beauty,
Born to gladden, seemed the one;
While my own poor bud lay drooping,
Ere its morning was begun.
Lord De Warrene left his daughter;
But an evil thought had sway
In my soul, before he claimed her,
Two brief summers from that day.
Born to gladden, seemed the one;
While my own poor bud lay drooping,
Ere its morning was begun.
Lord De Warrene left his daughter;
But an evil thought had sway
In my soul, before he claimed her,
Two brief summers from that day.
“Do not clasp my hand so tightly;
Gaze not with an air so wild;
I'm thy forster-mother only—
Yes! thou art De Warrene's child!
In the scroll beneath my pillow,
Proofs that none will question find;—
All I can of reparation,
Dying, would I leave behind.”
Gaze not with an air so wild;
I'm thy forster-mother only—
Yes! thou art De Warrene's child!
In the scroll beneath my pillow,
Proofs that none will question find;—
All I can of reparation,
Dying, would I leave behind.”
Wonder at the strange disclosure,
Anguish at the sight of death,
In the maiden's heart contending,
Seemed to battle for her breath:
But a step was heard approaching,
And a distant door unlatched;
Shaking off those stiffening fingers,
Eagerly the scroll she snatched.
Anguish at the sight of death,
In the maiden's heart contending,
Seemed to battle for her breath:
126
And a distant door unlatched;
Shaking off those stiffening fingers,
Eagerly the scroll she snatched.
When the last sad rites were ended,
In that room she stood alone;
Bare the rafters, coarse the ceiling,
And the floor of naked stone.
And a smile of bitter meaning
O'er her clouded features passed,
As that treasured scroll she opened,
And a look around her cast.
In that room she stood alone;
Bare the rafters, coarse the ceiling,
And the floor of naked stone.
And a smile of bitter meaning
O'er her clouded features passed,
As that treasured scroll she opened,
And a look around her cast.
Then she read, and finished reading,
And her passion deeper grew;
To her brow the ruby mounted,
From her eyes the lightning flew.
“What!” she murmured, “was I cheated
Of my birth's exalted rights—
Of a lordly sire's affection,
Of a stately home's delights?
And her passion deeper grew;
To her brow the ruby mounted,
From her eyes the lightning flew.
“What!” she murmured, “was I cheated
Of my birth's exalted rights—
Of a lordly sire's affection,
Of a stately home's delights?
127
“Was I made to herd unduly
With the poor and lowly-bred;
Made to join in rustic labors—
Rise before the dawn from bed?
Was I clothed in homely raiment,
Fed on plain and frugal fare,
I, the Lord De Warrene's daughter,
I, the Lord De Warrene's heir?
With the poor and lowly-bred;
Made to join in rustic labors—
Rise before the dawn from bed?
Was I clothed in homely raiment,
Fed on plain and frugal fare,
I, the Lord De Warrene's daughter,
I, the Lord De Warrene's heir?
“Has, the while, a mere usurper—
A discarded peasant child—
Filled the station I was born to,
And my father's heart beguiled?
Has she been the mansion's lady,
Robed in silks with jewels rare,
While the whole of my adorning
Was a wild rose for my hair?
A discarded peasant child—
Filled the station I was born to,
And my father's heart beguiled?
Has she been the mansion's lady,
Robed in silks with jewels rare,
While the whole of my adorning
Was a wild rose for my hair?
“But the hour of retribution,
Long deferred, at length has come;
I will face this changeling lady,
And a word shall strike her dumb:
I will say to knights and servants,
‘Let the low impostor be!
And your true-born, lawful lady
Clad in these poor garments, see!’
Long deferred, at length has come;
I will face this changeling lady,
And a word shall strike her dumb:
128
‘Let the low impostor be!
And your true-born, lawful lady
Clad in these poor garments, see!’
“Then to Lord De Warrene turning,
Bold in my attested claim,
Will I lay the proof before him,—
Proof of her maternal shame!
Proudly will I wait his answer,
At his feet in reverence kneel;
Then my triumph, my requital,
She shall surely see and feel!”
Bold in my attested claim,
Will I lay the proof before him,—
Proof of her maternal shame!
Proudly will I wait his answer,
At his feet in reverence kneel;
Then my triumph, my requital,
She shall surely see and feel!”
Thus, in menaces impatient,
Forth the maiden's anger broke;
Eagerly she threw her mantle
O'er her shoulders, as she spoke;
Then, accoutred for a journey,
Hastened from that mean abode;
And threw back the whitewashed wicket,
Opening on the dusty road.
Forth the maiden's anger broke;
Eagerly she threw her mantle
O'er her shoulders, as she spoke;
Then, accoutred for a journey,
Hastened from that mean abode;
And threw back the whitewashed wicket,
Opening on the dusty road.
129
But not many steps she'd taken,
When she paused and looked behind;
There the rose-bush she had planted,
There the honey-suckle twined.
Do they mutely seem to chide her,
That she turns in friendly quest,
Gathers flowers and buds, and gives them
To her lily-shaming breast?
When she paused and looked behind;
There the rose-bush she had planted,
There the honey-suckle twined.
Do they mutely seem to chide her,
That she turns in friendly quest,
Gathers flowers and buds, and gives them
To her lily-shaming breast?
None could now dispute her beauty,
As affection lit the gloom
In those eyes, whose tender beaming
Fell upon her garden's bloom.
Shape, and mien, and chiselled feature,
Drooping lash, and affluent hair,—
All seemed fairer by the token,
In the heart was something fair.
As affection lit the gloom
In those eyes, whose tender beaming
Fell upon her garden's bloom.
Shape, and mien, and chiselled feature,
Drooping lash, and affluent hair,—
All seemed fairer by the token,
In the heart was something fair.
But she paused a moment only;
And, when she upraised her head,
Not the bough relieved from pressure
Springs more buoyant than her tread.
Why on yonder wooded mountain
Hath she fixed her straining eyes?
Close behind that purple summit
Lord De Warrene's mansion lies.
And, when she upraised her head,
Not the bough relieved from pressure
Springs more buoyant than her tread.
130
Hath she fixed her straining eyes?
Close behind that purple summit
Lord De Warrene's mansion lies.
Second Part.
In a parlor wide and lofty,
Where the summer breezes came,
Sat the lady of the mansion,—
Constance was the lady's name.
Covered were the walls with velvet,—
Blue the tint, but heavenly light;
Nailed with frequent stars, all golden,
Mimicking the stars of night.
Where the summer breezes came,
Sat the lady of the mansion,—
Constance was the lady's name.
Covered were the walls with velvet,—
Blue the tint, but heavenly light;
Nailed with frequent stars, all golden,
Mimicking the stars of night.
And a mirror reached, broad gleaming,
From the ceiling to the floor;
Set between two Gothic windows,
Fronting an emblazoned door;
And a carpet, rich and downy,
Toil of many a Turkish loom,
Leaf and bud and flower inwoven,
Lent its lustre to the room.
From the ceiling to the floor;
Set between two Gothic windows,
Fronting an emblazoned door;
131
Toil of many a Turkish loom,
Leaf and bud and flower inwoven,
Lent its lustre to the room.
Light the maiden's silken labor;
Yet she quickly threw it by,
And her weary hands enfolding,
Heaved a languor-laden sigh.
Tall and slender was her stature,—
Blue her eyes and pale her cheek,
And the language of her features,
Like Madonna's, pure and meek!
Yet she quickly threw it by,
And her weary hands enfolding,
Heaved a languor-laden sigh.
Tall and slender was her stature,—
Blue her eyes and pale her cheek,
And the language of her features,
Like Madonna's, pure and meek!
As she leaned, in idle dreaming,
Where the sunset breeze blew cool,
Came a mingled sound of voices
From the marble vestibule;
And a lackey, in attendance,
Uttered words as if to chide;
While a youthful female stranger
In a queenly tone replied.
Where the sunset breeze blew cool,
Came a mingled sound of voices
From the marble vestibule;
And a lackey, in attendance,
Uttered words as if to chide;
While a youthful female stranger
In a queenly tone replied.
132
With her words the door was opened;
And, in humble garb arrayed,
In the presence of the lady
Stood a fair and panting maid:
Of a long, unaided journey
Shoes and raiment bore the trace;
And exertion's humid crimson
Like a wet rose made her face.
And, in humble garb arrayed,
In the presence of the lady
Stood a fair and panting maid:
Of a long, unaided journey
Shoes and raiment bore the trace;
And exertion's humid crimson
Like a wet rose made her face.
With fatigue her limbs were failing,
Passion had her brain o'erwrought;
And she leaned against the wainscot
To recall the power of thought.
“Tell me,” said the Lady Constance,
“Whom, sweet maiden, would'st thou seek?
Tell me why thy breast is heaving;
Why this crimson paints thy cheek.
Passion had her brain o'erwrought;
And she leaned against the wainscot
To recall the power of thought.
“Tell me,” said the Lady Constance,
“Whom, sweet maiden, would'st thou seek?
Tell me why thy breast is heaving;
Why this crimson paints thy cheek.
“But I'll tax thee not to answer,
For thou'rt weak and trembling still;
Thou shalt come and rest beside me,
And instruct me at thy will.”
Then, her flexile waist encircling,
Constance led her to a chair,
And with kerchief fine and fragrant,
Wiped her cheek and forehead fair.
For thou'rt weak and trembling still;
Thou shalt come and rest beside me,
And instruct me at thy will.”
133
Constance led her to a chair,
And with kerchief fine and fragrant,
Wiped her cheek and forehead fair.
Adelaide, in silent wonder,
Every look and motion scanned;
Noted well the lady's features,
And her thin, transparent hand.
She had dreamed of glances haughty,
Listened for a scornful word;
But she saw an angel smiling,
And an angel's accents heard.
Every look and motion scanned;
Noted well the lady's features,
And her thin, transparent hand.
She had dreamed of glances haughty,
Listened for a scornful word;
But she saw an angel smiling,
And an angel's accents heard.
“I'll not chide her,” thought the maiden;
“Soft and mild shall be my tone;
For I should at least repay her
With a kindness like her own.”
Then, the lady's hand uplifting,
Thrice she strove to tell her tale;
Thrice her heart, the purpose stifling,
On the brink made utterance fail.
“Soft and mild shall be my tone;
For I should at least repay her
With a kindness like her own.”
Then, the lady's hand uplifting,
Thrice she strove to tell her tale;
Thrice her heart, the purpose stifling,
On the brink made utterance fail.
134
But she rose and looked around her,
Over all that rich saloon;
Round on many a gilded moulding,
And on many a silk festoon.
And the maiden stepped elated
O'er the carpet's gay design,
As the thought swelled in her bosom,
“All these glittering gauds are mine!”
Over all that rich saloon;
Round on many a gilded moulding,
And on many a silk festoon.
And the maiden stepped elated
O'er the carpet's gay design,
As the thought swelled in her bosom,
“All these glittering gauds are mine!”
With that glance and that reflection
Came her half-retreating mood;
And, with footstep light and hasty,
She returned where Constance stood.
But as words for vent were struggling,
In her better nature's spite,
Suddenly a beauteous vision
Rose before her wandering sight.
Came her half-retreating mood;
And, with footstep light and hasty,
She returned where Constance stood.
But as words for vent were struggling,
In her better nature's spite,
Suddenly a beauteous vision
Rose before her wandering sight.
'Twas the figure of a matron,
Who with mild and saint-like grace,
And all traits of mortal beauty,
Seemed to gaze into her face.
'Twas so lifelike that she started;
But the Lady Constance said,
“'Tis a painting of my mother,
Of my mother, who is dead.”
Who with mild and saint-like grace,
And all traits of mortal beauty,
Seemed to gaze into her face.
135
But the Lady Constance said,
“'Tis a painting of my mother,
Of my mother, who is dead.”
“Of thy mother?” sighed the maiden,
Gazing on the picture still.
“Ay, thou strange one,” answered Constance;
“Why do tears thy eyelids fill?”
“Ask not!” Adelaide besought her;
And upon her knees she fell,
Bowed upon her hands her forehead,
And let tears her passion tell.
Gazing on the picture still.
“Ay, thou strange one,” answered Constance;
“Why do tears thy eyelids fill?”
“Ask not!” Adelaide besought her;
And upon her knees she fell,
Bowed upon her hands her forehead,
And let tears her passion tell.
“Hark!” exclaimed the Lady Constance,—
“Hark! I hear my father's tread!”
And she glided from the parlor,
While her pallid cheek grew red.
Then uplooked the kneeling maiden,
On that pictured face once more:
“O, my mother dear,” she murmured,
“Hear me, guide me, I implore!
“Hark! I hear my father's tread!”
And she glided from the parlor,
While her pallid cheek grew red.
Then uplooked the kneeling maiden,
On that pictured face once more:
“O, my mother dear,” she murmured,
“Hear me, guide me, I implore!
136
“Well I know I may not meet thee
In thy happy home above,
Till each proud and selfish feeling
Is cast out by perfect love;
And I fear the thoughts are evil
Which within my bosom fight,
For thy smile hath waked my spirit,
And 'tis groping for the right.
In thy happy home above,
Till each proud and selfish feeling
Is cast out by perfect love;
And I fear the thoughts are evil
Which within my bosom fight,
For thy smile hath waked my spirit,
And 'tis groping for the right.
“Slender is my store of knowledge,
With the poor and simple bred;
But I know we live more fully
When this clog of flesh is dead;
And that God is just and gracious,
Every day I feel the more:
O, my mother, bid him help me,—
Hear me, guide me, I implore!”
With the poor and simple bred;
But I know we live more fully
When this clog of flesh is dead;
And that God is just and gracious,
Every day I feel the more:
O, my mother, bid him help me,—
Hear me, guide me, I implore!”
Rising then, she brushed the tear-drop
From her cheek's vermilion bloom,
As, with Constance, Lord De Warrene
Entered hand in hand the room.
Noble not in title only,
But in heart and form he seemed,
And the gentleness of manhood
From his open features beamed.
From her cheek's vermilion bloom,
As, with Constance, Lord De Warrene
Entered hand in hand the room.
137
But in heart and form he seemed,
And the gentleness of manhood
From his open features beamed.
To a dim recess withdrawing,
Adelaide observed him well;
Heard the fond paternal welcome
From his ready lips that fell;
Marked the love-lit glance responsive
In the lady's pleading eyes:
Were the twain not child and father,
Theirs were even holier ties.
Adelaide observed him well;
Heard the fond paternal welcome
From his ready lips that fell;
Marked the love-lit glance responsive
In the lady's pleading eyes:
Were the twain not child and father,
Theirs were even holier ties.
And a struggle, brief but bitter,
Shook the maiden's inmost soul;
And from her fast-heaving bosom
She half drew the fatal scroll.
But the memory of her mother
Came to save her on the verge;
And she hid the tell-tale parchment
With her humble scarf of serge.
Shook the maiden's inmost soul;
And from her fast-heaving bosom
She half drew the fatal scroll.
But the memory of her mother
Came to save her on the verge;
And she hid the tell-tale parchment
With her humble scarf of serge.
138
Of a clear and steadfast purpose
Now her kindling visage tells;
And the majesty of Conscience
Every recreant pleading quells.
Smile, ye ever watchful angels!—
She has won the heavenly palm;
And a peace the world can give not
Makes her confident and calm.
Now her kindling visage tells;
And the majesty of Conscience
Every recreant pleading quells.
Smile, ye ever watchful angels!—
She has won the heavenly palm;
And a peace the world can give not
Makes her confident and calm.
In his flaming bush, the martyr
May a lofty courage show;
With a pure, intrepid ardor,
Freedom's chief to battle go;
But, my maiden, in the combat
Of thy motives, good and bad,
Thou hast shown as true a mettle,
Thou as great a triumph had!
May a lofty courage show;
With a pure, intrepid ardor,
Freedom's chief to battle go;
But, my maiden, in the combat
Of thy motives, good and bad,
Thou hast shown as true a mettle,
Thou as great a triumph had!
139
Third Part.
And was this the end of trial?
Never more did pride assail?
Did her spirit, unrepining,
Never waver, never quail?
Ah! no lack of human leaven
Was there in the maiden's mould;
She could feel the charms of station,
She could prize the power of gold.
Never more did pride assail?
Did her spirit, unrepining,
Never waver, never quail?
Ah! no lack of human leaven
Was there in the maiden's mould;
She could feel the charms of station,
She could prize the power of gold.
Goodness is no stable treasure
You within the heart may lock;
Like the air, it groweth purer
From the wind, the thunder-shock.
All its life in action lieth;
Without evil thoughts to try,
Without buffets, without sorrows,
Ere maturing it would die.
You within the heart may lock;
Like the air, it groweth purer
From the wind, the thunder-shock.
All its life in action lieth;
Without evil thoughts to try,
Without buffets, without sorrows,
Ere maturing it would die.
140
Handmaid to the Lady Constance
Now had Adelaide become.
She was slighted by the many,
Noted for her face by some;
And at length a noble gallant—
How could such a gallant fail?—
Knelt, and, with a graceful candor,
Breathed a strangely-pleasing tale.
Now had Adelaide become.
She was slighted by the many,
Noted for her face by some;
And at length a noble gallant—
How could such a gallant fail?—
Knelt, and, with a graceful candor,
Breathed a strangely-pleasing tale.
“I was sent to woo thy mistress,”
Said he, with a gentle smile;
“And I might have loved her duly,
Had I not seen thee the while.
If, through lowly birth and station,
Thus thy modest graces shine,
How would'st thou adorn my household,
Could I make thee wholly mine!
Said he, with a gentle smile;
“And I might have loved her duly,
Had I not seen thee the while.
If, through lowly birth and station,
Thus thy modest graces shine,
How would'st thou adorn my household,
Could I make thee wholly mine!
“Much I may not boast of riches,—
Mine a younger son's estate;
And I brave a father's anger,
Asking thee to share my fate.
But a loving heart I bring thee,
And, wilt thou its love repay,
Hands to toil for thee I offer,
And a mind to win my way.”
Mine a younger son's estate;
And I brave a father's anger,
Asking thee to share my fate.
141
And, wilt thou its love repay,
Hands to toil for thee I offer,
And a mind to win my way.”
O, but then her courage tottered,
And hot tears her eyelids wet,
As new-springing Love with Duty
In a doubtful conflict met!
How one little word could level
All that barred her from his side!
But the word remained unspoken,
And his proffer she denied.
And hot tears her eyelids wet,
As new-springing Love with Duty
In a doubtful conflict met!
How one little word could level
All that barred her from his side!
But the word remained unspoken,
And his proffer she denied.
“Fare thee well!” he said, and parted,
Fame or fortune to pursue;
And the light that with him vanished,
Often, often did she rue.
Yet, upon her hours of grieving,
Peace would like a dove descend,
When her own true heart she questioned,
And found Conscience was her friend.
Fame or fortune to pursue;
And the light that with him vanished,
Often, often did she rue.
Yet, upon her hours of grieving,
Peace would like a dove descend,
When her own true heart she questioned,
And found Conscience was her friend.
142
But a change was now impending
In the maiden's outward lot;
For her chastened soul no longer
Showed the one corroding spot
Bleached beneath the winds of trial,
Washed by sorrow's clearing rain,
On its heavenly-shining raiment
Lay no trace of earthly stain.
In the maiden's outward lot;
For her chastened soul no longer
Showed the one corroding spot
Bleached beneath the winds of trial,
Washed by sorrow's clearing rain,
On its heavenly-shining raiment
Lay no trace of earthly stain.
So when use had made her happy
In her self-forgetful sphere,—
When no sigh for earthly grandeur
Wakened the regretful tear,—
Smitten by a mortal illness
Suddenly her mistress lay;
And the maiden watched beside her,
Ever fondly, night and day.
In her self-forgetful sphere,—
When no sigh for earthly grandeur
Wakened the regretful tear,—
Smitten by a mortal illness
Suddenly her mistress lay;
And the maiden watched beside her,
Ever fondly, night and day.
But it pleased our heavenly Father,
In his mercy, to dismiss
Constance to a brighter region,
To a world of purer bliss:
And to Adelaide she whispered,
Smiling with her latest breath,
“We shall meet again, my sister:
A sweet summoner is Death!”
In his mercy, to dismiss
Constance to a brighter region,
To a world of purer bliss:
143
Smiling with her latest breath,
“We shall meet again, my sister:
A sweet summoner is Death!”
When the bell had finished tolling,
And the sod had spread its green
Over all of form and feature
Mortal eye had ever seen,—
Where her flowers and birds seemed waiting
In that consecrated room,
Knelt the gray-haired Lord De Warrene,
Knelt in solitary gloom.
And the sod had spread its green
Over all of form and feature
Mortal eye had ever seen,—
Where her flowers and birds seemed waiting
In that consecrated room,
Knelt the gray-haired Lord De Warrene,
Knelt in solitary gloom.
“O, my gentle child,” he murmured,
“Can I see thy face no more?
Little did my heart conjecture,
Thou so soon wouldst go before!
All my age might hope of comfort
In thy fragile life was bound:
Where shall now Affection wander,
Where a love like thine be found?”
“Can I see thy face no more?
Little did my heart conjecture,
Thou so soon wouldst go before!
All my age might hope of comfort
In thy fragile life was bound:
Where shall now Affection wander,
Where a love like thine be found?”
144
Trembling in each limb and fibre,
Faltering as she slowly stept,
Adelaide approached her father,
Sank beside him as he wept;
And ere he could know her present,
Or could hear her timorous tread,
She had placed the scroll before him,
And all eagerly he read.
Faltering as she slowly stept,
Adelaide approached her father,
Sank beside him as he wept;
And ere he could know her present,
Or could hear her timorous tread,
She had placed the scroll before him,
And all eagerly he read.
With a cry of wild amazement,
Suddenly he stood upright;
On the maiden gazed, and drew her
Nearer, nearer to the light.
“Child!” he gasped, “thou bring'st a title
Such as scrolls could not contain;
In that smile thy mother liveth,
In that face thy rights are plain!”
Suddenly he stood upright;
On the maiden gazed, and drew her
Nearer, nearer to the light.
“Child!” he gasped, “thou bring'st a title
Such as scrolls could not contain;
In that smile thy mother liveth,
In that face thy rights are plain!”
And with tears of tender transport,
He beheld her and embraced;
Twined his fingers in her ringlets,
Each familiar charm retraced.
But when came the slow conception
Of her trial's full extent,
O'er and o'er again he clasped her,
And with love was reverence blent.
He beheld her and embraced;
Twined his fingers in her ringlets,
Each familiar charm retraced.
145
Of her trial's full extent,
O'er and o'er again he clasped her,
And with love was reverence blent.
“O, how blest beyond deserving,
Am I in this joy!” he said;
“I, who questioned Heaven's disposal,
I, who deemed all comfort fled!
How hath God's own hand repaid me
The bereavement I deplore!
If he took an angel from me,
'Twas a seraph to restore!”
Am I in this joy!” he said;
“I, who questioned Heaven's disposal,
I, who deemed all comfort fled!
How hath God's own hand repaid me
The bereavement I deplore!
If he took an angel from me,
'Twas a seraph to restore!”
Could another grace be added
To the triumph of the maid,
I might tell thee what befell her
As the Lady Adelaide;
How that belted earls and barons,
High in honor and command,
Came, with royal state to back them,
And were suppliants for her hand;
To the triumph of the maid,
I might tell thee what befell her
As the Lady Adelaide;
How that belted earls and barons,
High in honor and command,
Came, with royal state to back them,
And were suppliants for her hand;
146
How no hope, though e'er so distant,
Could the boldest of them gain;
When, at length, a youth unnoted
Sued, and did not sue in vain!
And, while belted earl and baron
Smothered as they might their gall,
How the rumor was repeated,
He had loved her first of all.
Could the boldest of them gain;
When, at length, a youth unnoted
Sued, and did not sue in vain!
And, while belted earl and baron
Smothered as they might their gall,
How the rumor was repeated,
He had loved her first of all.
But my tale is fitly ended.
We may safely trust her now.
Wealth and station cannot alter
That serenely radiant brow.
Sin may tempt and sorrow wound her,
Still she'll conquer in the strife;
And the self-denying maiden
Be transcended in the wife.
We may safely trust her now.
Wealth and station cannot alter
That serenely radiant brow.
Sin may tempt and sorrow wound her,
Still she'll conquer in the strife;
And the self-denying maiden
Be transcended in the wife.
| Songs of the sea, with other poems | |