 | Days and Hours |  |
230
A SUMMER TEMPEST.
I
Dark frowns were cast; ill words were spoken;She wept, as though her heart was broken;
But when I saw her bitter tears
I thought of all our pleasant years;
I sigh'd—ah! Death were better than that sight—
To die with love unbruised, than live with sorrow;
‘This sunless day shall never have its morrow,’
I cried, ‘if sever'd hearts can reunite.’
II
The storm shriek'd wildly thro' the bowers,And dash'd to earth the Summer flowers;
The rain it fell from morn till even;
I mourn'd like Spirits cast from Heaven;
The roses shone against the sombre air,
Like the drear torches at a funeral
That glare beside the overhanging pall;
The wind swept by lamenting like Despair.
231
III
I wiped the tears from her sad eyes,I hush'd her lamentable sighs,
I calm'd the pulses of her heart,
I cried, no, no, we shall not part!
This dark-wing'd hour of passion in its flight
Shall open Heaven again, and Love shall rest
In peace, and, like the glory in the West,
Shall kiss the parting clouds with blessed light.
IV
Ah! fatal ill, to live in strifeWith one I love beyond my life;
Should clouds of contumely pass
'Twixt hearts that should be as a glass
Each unto each? 'Tis not so wild and drear
When whirlwinds dim the sun, and thunders fly
Between the blue sea and the summer sky,
As when the faith of Love is turn'd to fear!
232
V
Open not the ark of Peace;Look not forth on stormy seas;
Lest Love's swift wings should flee away,
And come no more for many a day;
Tempt not again the olive-bearing dove
That once had brought ye the fair branch from far,
Lest he should fly where safer coverts are,
From thriftless hearts that have abandon'd Love.
VI
Tender flowerets may outliveThe frosty nights of Spring, and thrive;
When the shrilling Eastwinds cease,
The orchard blossoms bear increase;
But lovers' hearts may not abide the breath
Of angry Scorn—Oh! that untimely wind
Sheds their fair youth, and leaves no hope behind,
Save dark Oblivion, and the peace of Death.
233
VII
Heart to heart again was laid,I was not sad, nor she afraid;
I kiss'd her lips, I kiss'd her brow,
She murmur'd, ‘I am happy now;’
The winds were slumbering on the breast of Even,
Fainter and fainter grew the wasting rills,
Like youthful tears that weep away their ills;
And one sweet star look'd down. like Love, from Heaven.
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