Poems By Mr. Polwhele. In three volumes |
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CANTO THE ELEVENTH.
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 | Poems |  |
207
CANTO THE ELEVENTH.
ARGUMENT.
1. The Flight of the Nabob.—2. Allan revisiting the Beech and the Fountain sacred to the Sports of his Childhood with Juliet and Henry, and his other School-companions—His Wish that Juliet, now deceiving and deceived, could regain her early Simplicity—A Spirit directing him to the Gardens of Trevalso; there to witness, if he please, the Recovery of her first fine Feelings.—3. The Disenchantment of Juliet.
Forsaken, to the solitary gale
While now Treglastan bade its portals wail,
His tenants triumph'd in Sir Hawtrap's flight,
And publish'd his disgrace with new delight;
Where superstition shed its ghastly glare
Saw demons scourge him thro' the fields of air;
Or, midst the gloom of yawning mines, survey'd
His body sinking in sulphureous shade.
While now Treglastan bade its portals wail,
His tenants triumph'd in Sir Hawtrap's flight,
And publish'd his disgrace with new delight;
208
Saw demons scourge him thro' the fields of air;
Or, midst the gloom of yawning mines, survey'd
His body sinking in sulphureous shade.
And Juliet, like a troubled stream, review'd
The scene, bewilder'd from a hideous brood
Of phantoms shrunk, and sore opprest by shame,
Dropp'd from her tongue her truelove's treasur'd name!
The scene, bewilder'd from a hideous brood
Of phantoms shrunk, and sore opprest by shame,
Dropp'd from her tongue her truelove's treasur'd name!
Now from an evening-picture Allan sought
The balm that soothes to rest disorder'd thought;
Greeting, as still its beech it murmur'd by,
The small clear brook, that pleas'd his infant eye.
“Sweet fount (he cried) to superstitious fear
“Tho' sacred, more to boyish fancy dear;
“Thou, who so many a merry prank hast seen,
“Still sparkling from thy moss of vivid green;
“Where oft, at eve, as frolic imps we play'd,
“The glowworm twinkled thro' the quivering shade;
“Where, to thy tinklings (then without a sigh)
“Listening we paus'd, or laugh'd we knew not why.
“Juliet! unconscious of disaster near
“Our first fond friendship was enkindled here;
“When, as we tripp'd around in thoughtless play,
“Some little Edward hail'd his holiday—
“Some Henry, to unite, perhaps, with ours,
“His brisker fancies, his alerter powers;
“Perchance, to bid my weetless bosom smart,
“If jealousy can touch so young a heart.
“Yes! I remember well, one vernal day,
“Blithe Juliet had enclos'd, in balls of clay,
“Harry my favourite comrade's name, and mine,
“('Twas on the gamesome eve of Valentine)
“And dropp'd the balls in this perennial fount;
“When to the surface as they 'gan to mount,
“To torture my poor breast with jealous throes,
“Alas! 'twas Henry's name that first arose.
“'Twas then impatient Juliet seiz'd her prize,
“And laugh'd in freakish mood at Allan's sighs!
“O could she taste (the prayer, alas! how vain)
“The feelings of that precious hour again!”
He spoke: and, sudden, thro' the charmed air
Soft whisperings came, responsive to his prayer,
And, in light slumber as entranc'd he lay,
Breath'd clearer yet, and dulcet died away;
And thro' the leaves above, of elfin mould,
A wavy wing, half-viewless, gleam'd with gold.
“Go,” said the Spirit (or it seem'd to say),
“Go, seek Trevalso, on that dawn of day
“When yonder planet shall, a morning-star,
“Meet a slant sunbeam from the radiant car.
“There hide thee in the nunnery-towers, that shake
“Their ivy curtain o'er the stilly lake:
“And, if thou wish, amidst her filbert shade,
“To trace, unseen, the disenchanted maid,
“Once more shall Allan witness, unreprest,
“The first fine feelings of her artless breast.”
The balm that soothes to rest disorder'd thought;
Greeting, as still its beech it murmur'd by,
The small clear brook, that pleas'd his infant eye.
“Sweet fount (he cried) to superstitious fear
“Tho' sacred, more to boyish fancy dear;
“Thou, who so many a merry prank hast seen,
“Still sparkling from thy moss of vivid green;
“Where oft, at eve, as frolic imps we play'd,
“The glowworm twinkled thro' the quivering shade;
“Where, to thy tinklings (then without a sigh)
“Listening we paus'd, or laugh'd we knew not why.
209
“Our first fond friendship was enkindled here;
“When, as we tripp'd around in thoughtless play,
“Some little Edward hail'd his holiday—
“Some Henry, to unite, perhaps, with ours,
“His brisker fancies, his alerter powers;
“Perchance, to bid my weetless bosom smart,
“If jealousy can touch so young a heart.
“Yes! I remember well, one vernal day,
“Blithe Juliet had enclos'd, in balls of clay,
“Harry my favourite comrade's name, and mine,
“('Twas on the gamesome eve of Valentine)
“And dropp'd the balls in this perennial fount;
“When to the surface as they 'gan to mount,
“To torture my poor breast with jealous throes,
“Alas! 'twas Henry's name that first arose.
“'Twas then impatient Juliet seiz'd her prize,
“And laugh'd in freakish mood at Allan's sighs!
“O could she taste (the prayer, alas! how vain)
“The feelings of that precious hour again!”
He spoke: and, sudden, thro' the charmed air
Soft whisperings came, responsive to his prayer,
210
Breath'd clearer yet, and dulcet died away;
And thro' the leaves above, of elfin mould,
A wavy wing, half-viewless, gleam'd with gold.
“Go,” said the Spirit (or it seem'd to say),
“Go, seek Trevalso, on that dawn of day
“When yonder planet shall, a morning-star,
“Meet a slant sunbeam from the radiant car.
“There hide thee in the nunnery-towers, that shake
“Their ivy curtain o'er the stilly lake:
“And, if thou wish, amidst her filbert shade,
“To trace, unseen, the disenchanted maid,
“Once more shall Allan witness, unreprest,
“The first fine feelings of her artless breast.”
The Sprite yet hover'd, till, across the cave
The beechen foliage darkening, wave on wave,
Shut every twilight glimmer from the brook;
When the pure water from its bowl he took,
In a moss-rose leaf stor'd the healing drops,
And pass'd in triumph from the dusky copse.
The beechen foliage darkening, wave on wave,
Shut every twilight glimmer from the brook;
When the pure water from its bowl he took,
In a moss-rose leaf stor'd the healing drops,
And pass'd in triumph from the dusky copse.
211
Soft at her window where young Zephyr's wings
Fann'd into lulling sound the Æolian strings,
And now to Juliet's ear with vain essay
Bade the note swell, or trembling sink away,
Light Ariel paus'd; and ey'd the lovely maid
Low on her couch by flushing fever laid;
Then near her, with a balmy pinion flew,
And sprinkled on her burning lids the dew.
Fann'd into lulling sound the Æolian strings,
And now to Juliet's ear with vain essay
Bade the note swell, or trembling sink away,
Light Ariel paus'd; and ey'd the lovely maid
Low on her couch by flushing fever laid;
Then near her, with a balmy pinion flew,
And sprinkled on her burning lids the dew.
Nor sooner disappear'd the guardian Sprite
Than Juliet, waken'd to new life and light,
On her pale eyelids own'd the ambrosial sweet
Cool as the dream when night and morning meet;
Felt o'er her firmer breast a genial glow,
And down her limbs a rosy freshness flow;
Nor, to herself recover'd, sunk again
Amid delirious trances of the brain,
But hail'd the calm reflection only giv'n
To erring spirits reconcil'd to Heaven.
Than Juliet, waken'd to new life and light,
On her pale eyelids own'd the ambrosial sweet
Cool as the dream when night and morning meet;
Felt o'er her firmer breast a genial glow,
And down her limbs a rosy freshness flow;
Nor, to herself recover'd, sunk again
Amid delirious trances of the brain,
But hail'd the calm reflection only giv'n
To erring spirits reconcil'd to Heaven.
END OF THE ELEVENTH CANTO.
| Poems | |