University of Virginia Library

MALAVOLTI;

OR, THE DOWNFALL OF THE ALAMO.

I.

There are two bright stars in the clear blue sky,
And the east looks blue, and the west looks red,
Like the two first tears in an infant's eye,
Ere the rose-bud hues from its cheeks have fled.
They are rolling down to the dark blue sea,
As they mount aloft in the concave deep!
They are travelling now from eternity,
On the deep dark wings of the night to sleep!
They are rising now from the isles of love,
As they twinkle bright in the realms above!
They are wheeling now in the depths of heaven,
On the radiant hues of the vermil even!
For their tones are soft as the falling dews,
As an angel walks on the rainbow-hues!
And the aspen light of the eastern gleam
Shines brighter now than the brightest beam.
For the last bright steps of the day is fled,
And the stars are glad that they shine in stead,—
But the songs in heaven are joyous still,
For the morning laughs on the jocund hill.

II.

But away in the field afar,
Malavolti looks at the morning star!
He looks at the star for the face of one,
Who shall meet him there ere the day is done.
He looks at the star with the eyes of love,
As it twinkles bright in the realms above;
And his heart beats quick, and his eyes are wet,
For his soul must part from his Lena yet!
And he lifts his hands up to heaven in prayer—
But he sighs, Amen!—for the maid is there!

III.

Her eyes were bright with melody,
'Neath that dark fringe which hangs above,
Like heaven's pavilion guarding love;
And when her dark melodious eye
Illumed her bright cherubick thought,
It seemed as if by lightnings caught,
And tears came out like clouds on high!

IV.

He listened to her gentle strain,—
It thrilled him like an angel's voice!
And when she lisped the theme again,
It made his very heart rejoice.
The zephyrs combed her tangled hair,
Disheveled round her bosom bare,
As if some spirit lingered near,
To see her smile and shed a tear—
Like those upon her eyelids bright,
Like scattered stars through clouds at night,
That made his bosom overflow,
Which proves all weeping is not wo—
As evening's dewy mantle gray
Comes down from heaven on parting day.

V.

Her tranquil eyes were brighter far
Than evening's first-born, twilight star,
And shed, amid those lustres bright,
A more celestial, heavenly light,
Which shows how much above the skies
Is love, when seen in woman's eyes.
Her cloudy lashes' velvet fringes,
Through which her spirit lightened oft,
And caught her eyelids' snowy hinges,
And made her rosy cheeks so soft;
That turned her eyes like wild gazelles,
Like dew-drops on the lily-bells;
And like the dangling muscadine
Upon the placid waters near,
Or angels over truth divine
To wipe away each falling tear,—
They languid seemed above each lid,
That kept but half their spirit hid,
And beamed beneath each silken lash,
As lightnings when they gently flash;
As her white bosom heaved beneath,
As if her sighs could conquer death!
And over which her teeth were set.
And over which her lips were met,
With heaven's celestial nectar wet.

VI.

Her clustering locks, voluptuously,
Around her panting bosom lay,
And floated with such modesty,
That guile was turned away.
The winds were through her tresses flowing,
And roses on her cheeks were blowing,
As beautiful as ever shed
Their hues upon a violet bed.
And when her arms, distinctly bare,
But shone beneath her glossy hair,
And all their azure veins were flowing
Above her ruby rivers glowing,
Like vermeil lines bestreaking roses,
Before the dawn of beauty closes—
They looked more like an angel's fair,
Than any painting richly rare,—
As gently rounding, tapering, chaste,
As any antique beauty's waist,
As if some angel's hand had traced
Each tender line—each azure shade—
Before her heavenly form was made

VII.

Her eyes were dazzling softly bright,
Beneath her eyelids' solemn light,
So that her deep, expressive mind
Kept half her spirit's hues behind,
In that fond spark that lurked below,
Which made her very beauty glow,
Whose virgin meekness gave her eyes
The modest hue of twilight skies;
For roses that are wet with dew,
Shine brightest under heaven of blue,
As beauty in her early years
Looks brightest when beheld in tears.
Her polished brow, above her eyes,
Her spirit's bright melodious sphere,
Above her purple orbits' roll,
Was brighter far than pearly skies,
In summer, when the sun doth rise
As cloudless and as clear away
As ever shone the brightest day;
And when her flashing spirit stole
From out her cloudy fringe above,
And told how eloquent was love—
It gave her such divine delight
That thought was drowned beneath the light.

VIII.

IX.

And such her early love had given
To win him from the world to heaven—
A deep Promethean agony,
Whose bright delirium warmed her heart!
And worked upon each bitter sigh,
Till every string was torn apart!
In conquering life's autumnal woes,
The heart gets older than the head—
The mind may war with beauty's blows,
When every thrill lies cold and dead!
The boundless mind may widely range,
But hearts, once broken, never change,
But fettered fast, must, beating still,
Be made the brunt of every ill!
Till too much sorrow, in the calm
Of suffering, brings its own soft balm.
For passing life can never prove
The real worth of by-gone love,
Though fraught with unrequited grief,
And pangs that cannot find relief.
Yet, thinking we may be again,
And how much better could have been,
Will sometimes cancel deep distress,
And charm away life's bitterness;
Till walking Death's unlighted shore,
We feel that we shall be no more,
Beneath those dark, accustomed shades,
Beyond which this existence fades,
Till borne to sweeter climes above
By God's all-righteous dove.

X.

The herald dove returned no more,
That died upon his native shore!
And why should Malavolti start,
When one embrace had soothed her heart?
Ah! better had she ne'er have been!
But she shall never weep again!
Such tears cannot alloy that grief,
For which there can be no relief!

XI.

'Twas not his velvet verdure bright,
That rivalled green Idalia's bowers;
And not his starry spangled night,
That gave her heart such sweet delight,
When evening's freshening gale
Beguiled her soul with fragrant flowers,
As those along Thessalia's vale,
As bright as Coromandal's coast,
Or all that India prizes most;
And not for his pearly softness streaming
From silver brooklets brightly beaming—
For she shall live on earth no more,—
But more than Peru's gaudy lore!
When he besieged her father's fold,
The tender sire was growing old!
Who shed, alas! ten thousand tears.
To wash away his bitter cares!
To know that she was torn apart
To gratify an alien's heart!
He heard them read her last demise,
And saw them close her dying eyes!
And darken that fast-fading light
That gleamed upon his aged sight!
But there are joys like heaven below,
And many sweets we never know!
And there are thoughts that never die,
Though clouds obscure our brightest sky,
A joy that grief can never bind,
The dearest friend when others flee;
And though our hearts may break, the mind,
The only portion truly free—
Will never lead our sorrows blind.

XII.

But she who bore her guilt, when none
Would heed her sighs—was dead and gone!
She saw her die! and, at her death,
She would have bartered her own breath,
Had she but known it could been given
As current pay to God in heaven!
The one that loved her from her birth,
The dearest friend she had on earth!
Three little moons had passed away,
Her soul got restless—could not stay—
And flew to that divine abode,
Where mortal feet have never trode!

XIII.

Nay! was not Malavolti left?
Of every friend on earth bereft?
When every bliss that passion gave,
Consigned to lay him in the grave?
But there are hopes beyond this wo,
That mortal man shall never know,
Till crowned amid that heavenly bliss
Which never grew from worlds like this.
And Lena was divinely fair,
But he had swapped her for despair!
Suffice it, then, they had to part,
The very thing that broke her heart!
The chain that love had for them wrought,
Had links beyond the reach of thought!
But every link was broke in twain,
And never more shall weld again!
And lower, now, than native rose,
Her bosom sleeps in sweet repose!
As fair as that sepulchral stone,
That, once neglected, lies alone!
For when her tender vitals froze,
And mocked each lid's imperfect close,
As evening when she seeks the west,
And shuts the gates of day to rest,
With half her radiant hues behind—
Thus passed away her tranquil mind!
And those fond hues that dyed her face,
Where purple tints had taken place,
As round her lips—beneath her eyes—
The deadly blood had left its dyes—
The darker grew the nearer death,
And knew no vitalizing breath;
For icy Death had chilled forever
The ruddy stream that moved her heart,
As winter clogs the limpid river,
Though both its shores are wide apart.

XIV.

He dug his heart a cruel ditch,
Because his parents made him rich!
And whensoe'er he plead his cause,
He quoted wealth in every clause!
And though he sowed his seeds with art,
Yet, thorns imparadised his heart!
For who, that leaves the tares to grow,
But reaps his harvest all of wo?
The dove that pecks the frugal hand,
That would bestow her fledglings food,
Must fly away from land to land,
To gather that not half so good!
But no one fed that hungry dove,
Till angels took her home above!

XV.

The milky moon was sadly bright,
And shone above thot tropic night,
Like beauty half suppressed by fright.
He lay upon his lonely bed—
The deep blue tears were in his eyes,
As damply blue as April skies.
He laid his hand upon his head,
As Cynthia through his lattice shone,
Like tender flesh through maiden's zone—
Nor had he closed his eyes, alas!
For fear that Lena's form might pass—
That fearful thing he wished to see,
But knew not how she should appear,
For those who leave eternity,
Are ghosts above their narrow sphere!
And had he known what phantom dress
That night had decked her loveliness,
Her lovely form had shocked him less.

XVI.

XVII.

The tresses on her neck were flowing,
That shone beneath her glossy hair
Like earth below when skies are snowing—
For darkness made her more than fair.
She waved her hand—but nothing said—
And Malavolti would have spoken—
But he was silent as the dead,
As thus his very heart was broken:

XVIII.

“The wretch that clothes himself with spoils,
A robber meets for all his toils!
That takes away and sells the whole,
To Death, his body—Hell, his soul!
The heart that wounds another's breast
The very one he could have blest,—
In wounding, seeks his own unrest!
The blind that cannot misery see,
Are not alone from misery free!
The hand that robs existence, fain
Would guard defenceless virtue best—
Nay! murderer! thou art still the pain
Of those whom hell would not molest!
And every shock that chilled my clay
Shall damn thee in thy last decay!
The melancholy heavens above
Have registered thy faithless love!
But murmur not—thy pangs are sure—
For thou shalt find no earthly cure!
But seething fires shall melt in vain
Thy soul enchained in hell again!
For thou shalt there remain immured,
To tell thee what my soul endured!
Thou hast my generous hope denied,
And hell shall all thy pangs deride!
The dullest thing that crawls this earth,
Is happier now than thou shalt be!
For thou wert round my bosom girth,
And thus shall hell encompass thee!
The heart that robs another's weal,
And feeds upon exultant joy,
Shall smite itself with poisoned steel,
And never more itself destroy!
Nor e'en through time's forbearance heal,
But twice ten thousand torments feel!
And every thing it values most,
Shall nothing seem—till ever lost!
The eyes betray, when lips are hushed,
More real love than words express;
And hearts divulge, when cheeks are flushed,
More perfect love than saints possess.
One single, soft, compressive shake,
Will make more tender heart-strings ache,
And one fond look from virtue, teach,
In stronger eloquence than speech,
Though gently suasive, sweetly taught,—
More social bliss than human thought,
At loftiest height, can ever reach.
But heed thee not another's voice,
For thou shalt never more rejoice!
Though Lena's soft, salubrious breath
Is hushed amid the waves of death!
For those auspicious hopes, so vain,
Shall never touch her heart again!
But, like her own, thy fate shall be
To die almost as desolate!
And that which thou shalt long to see,
Shall pleasure bring—but come too late!
And earth shall win thee many woes!
For wretched men are doomed to blows,
Sometimes from friends as well as foes!
And thou shalt recollect, alas!
The bitter things that come to pass!”

XIX.

And thus she warned that restive wight,
And thus she spoke that sheeny night!
As Luna's fair, but tranquil face,
In heaven's blue concave left her trace,
While by her side two stars were seen—
But what could this long vigil mean?
And she is gone into heaven again,
And never, never shall he, in vain,
Behold her beauty more!
But as she hath spoken shall be his pain,
Till the grave shall cover him o'er!
And her frosty cheeks, and her hands so wet,
And her icy lips with his own that met;
And her sylph-like beauty that summer night,
And her downy steps that were lovingly light,—
Are gone again into heaven above,
To answer against him with consummate love.

XX.

The mountain Oread lists awhile,
To bear her voice away from guile!
The water Nymphs may lave their hair,
But Lena's form shall not be there
To lend her sweet Etrurian art
To soften Malavolti's heart!
For now her soft melodious breath
Is hushed beneath the waves of death!
And thus with guilt before—behind—
He rushed away from human kind.

XXI.

He lived alone five hills between,
Whose sunny peaks are always green,
For while they glistened high with snow,
The roses blossomed bright below.
The birds were on their branches singing,
And fountains from their basis springing,
That eddied near, but onward run,
Till many first, were, lastly, one.
And over these celestial waters
The exile shed his daily tears!
And mourned, alas! like Zion's daughters,
When captive in their earlier years!
The valley spread its waving green,
And mantled every hill between.
And Gilead balms perfumed the air,
But Ishmael's sons were wanting there.
No fragments there from ancient walls,
But flindered rocks from waterfalls—
An elegance that art survives—
The finest touch the painter gives.
Though Jacob's well cannot be seen,
Where Shiloh saw Samaria's daughter,
Adown each emerald hill between,
Five fountains from their crystal water,
Till all uniting, eddying, make
One gentle, deep, unruffled lake,
That, like man's life must onward go,
And end—but where—we do not know.

XXII.

XXIII.

XXIV.

They mounted his charger, Naymoyah before,
The white noble steed that was standing on shore—
And galloped away into other dark lands,
With guilt in his bosom, and blood on his hands!
And long shall they value the fast flying horse
That bore them away from their enemy's course;
But he who is holding his dark flowing mane,
Shall never come back with Naymoyah again!

XXV.

And away in the field afar,
The warrior looks at the western star—
He looks at the star for the face of one
Who shall meet him there ere the day is done!
He looks at the star with the eyes of love,
As it twinkles bright in the realms above;
And his heart beats quick, and his eyes are wet,
For his soul must part from the maiden yet!
And his eyes are dim with the tears they shed,
As he weeps for the living, and sighs for the dead!
And he lifts his hands up to heaven in prayer—
But he sighs, Amen!—for the maid is there!

XXVI.

XXVII.

And the maiden stood by the river's side,
With her rosy cheek on her lily hand;
And the tears fell down from her soul so wide,
That they seemed like dew on the silver sand!
And her eyes were bent on the dewy shore,
For the flowers of earth were the books she read—
And upon them there would her spirit pore,
Till the last bright star from the heavens had fled
And, as one forlorn, like the mateless dove,
Would she all day long for her lover sigh!
As she cast her eyes up to heaven above,
When the stars came out on the clear blue sky.
And with solemn sighs would she hum the song
That her lover sang when her hopes were bright;
But we need not say that he did her wrong—
For he came not back to her home that night!

XXVIII.

XXIX.

XXX.

The morn is broke in the downy east,
And the bright red star of the dawn is free;
For the raven descends on the dead to feast,
And the vulture is whetting his beak by the sea.
They cleave their curve in the charnal air,
As they circle around on the wayward wind;
And their fellows glide by the banquet there,
As they rustle their wings to the rest behind.
They are gathering now on the battle plain,
As they flap their wings on the recent dead,
For they rove about on the tombless slain,
Like the night seawaves when the day is fled.
And the wolf is fat, and the jackal's cry
Is heard no more in the forest dim,
For the vulture picks out the soulless eye,
As they tear him limbless, limb by limb!
But they need not fight, for the flesh is free,
And their sated gorge should forbid them war—
They should dwell in peace and satiety,
For the morning breaks on the hills afar.

XXXI.

And the dying lay on the bloody sod,
Like the lowland reeds when the storm is high!
And their eyes were turned to the throne of God,
As the good man looks when he comes to die!
And as one lay there on his wounded breast,
Here, another fell where the foremost led;
And as one lay there on his back to rest,
Here, the dying leant on the sidelong dead!
And as those who fell in the furious van,
Were weltering deep in the oozing gore;
So, the rest who followed, were, man to man,
Seen lying along on the dead before!
And as some were seen lying face to face,
With their fingers clasped on the recent slain,
So, the steadfast look of the last embrace
Told all that the soul could express of pain!
And as one lay stretched by his dying steed,
Where his eyeballs glared in his pallid face,
So, another fell like the broken reed,
When the torrent swells from its native place.
For the brave had died with their cheeks as red
As the crimson gore of the recent dead!
And they passed away with their triumph smile
As fresh as the light of their sun-clad isle.
For the first went off with their lips apart,
As they uttered all for the labouring heart!
And the rest that fell, to the latest gasp,
Held fast to their swords with an iron grasp.
And the eyes that turned to the shining sun,
Seemed to tell high heaven what the foe had done!
And the stern, proud look of the lofty brow,
In the long, deep calm, told the lover's vow!
While around were seen in the looks of some,
The last fond thoughts of their wives at home!
And there stole from one, when his heart was weak,
A half shed tear on his bloody cheek!
And beside were seen, with his sinking head,
A man, who leant on his charger's mane;
And his clotted hair in the blood was red,
As his hand lay clenched on the slackened rein!
For his soul had left on his pallid cheek
The last deep thought that to life was given;
But the voice that the living nor dead could speak,
Is spoken aloud for the brave in heaven.

XXXII.

XXXIII.

Oh! how happy then was the maiden's flight,
As the angel's wings to her soul were given;
As she bathed them there in the sun's pure light,
Ere she met her God in the realms of heaven!
And she left no trace on the sunny land,
But her sandalled track in the river sand.
For her steps were soft as the frightened fawn,
When he stamps the dews from the lily-bells—
When he stands afar on the hills at dawn,
By the reed-isles green where his mother dwells.
But 'tis ever thus with the world below,
There are many sweets—but they pain us so,
That the good all dies just to kill the wo!
But it teaches man that his soul was given
But to win his way from the earth to heaven.