 | Orra |  |
17
CANTO II.
DEVOID is he, of real tenderness,
Who, though the blessings of this world denied,—
Would wish the maid he loves to be his bride,
To pine with him in mis'ry and distress;
For she can never break the sacred tie
By which her fortune is with his entwined,
Nor leave the scene of misery, to fly
To the loved home she first for him resigned.
Who, though the blessings of this world denied,—
Would wish the maid he loves to be his bride,
To pine with him in mis'ry and distress;
For she can never break the sacred tie
By which her fortune is with his entwined,
Nor leave the scene of misery, to fly
To the loved home she first for him resigned.
18
Unhappy is the fond ingenuous heart,
That, in adversity, admires the fair,
Yet would not they his misery should share,
But loves too well, by far, to live apart:
Angelic forms he sees around him glide,
Whose smiles, alas, he cannot hope to gain,
Like Tantalus who lingered in the tide
Which he for e'er essayed to taste in vain.
That, in adversity, admires the fair,
Yet would not they his misery should share,
But loves too well, by far, to live apart:
Angelic forms he sees around him glide,
Whose smiles, alas, he cannot hope to gain,
Like Tantalus who lingered in the tide
Which he for e'er essayed to taste in vain.
'Till now, young Lawo never mourned his fate,
Though scarce a worldly blessing did he share;
But now he saw his rude and vagrant state,
The beauteous Orra was not formed to bear:
“Oh! then I ne'er will ask that hand again—
“Nor ever build my pleasure on her pain—
“Farewell,” he said, “farewell my Orra fair!”
Though scarce a worldly blessing did he share;
But now he saw his rude and vagrant state,
The beauteous Orra was not formed to bear:
“Oh! then I ne'er will ask that hand again—
“Nor ever build my pleasure on her pain—
“Farewell,” he said, “farewell my Orra fair!”
19
His Orra's name he murmured yet again:
“Farewell,” he said, and trembled as he spake,
“I ne'er will lead thy spirit into pain—
“Oh no! my aching heart shall sooner break:
“And yet, heart-rending thought! must I forsake
“A maid so heav'nly fair, a maid so true?
“Ah poverty ah Orra! yes, adieu!”
“Farewell,” he said, and trembled as he spake,
“I ne'er will lead thy spirit into pain—
“Oh no! my aching heart shall sooner break:
“And yet, heart-rending thought! must I forsake
“A maid so heav'nly fair, a maid so true?
“Ah poverty ah Orra! yes, adieu!”
Now thrice around the heav'ns the moon has rolled,
And yet he comes not to his promised bride.
“Oh, is his love,” she said, “so early cold,
“Who erst such vows of love to Orra sighed?
“And does he leave his Orra thus to weep?
“Or does—but heav'n forbid!—my lover sleep
“Beneath the billows of the ocean tide?
And yet he comes not to his promised bride.
“Oh, is his love,” she said, “so early cold,
“Who erst such vows of love to Orra sighed?
“And does he leave his Orra thus to weep?
“Or does—but heav'n forbid!—my lover sleep
“Beneath the billows of the ocean tide?
20
“He oft has told me of a little Isle
“High from the ocean, rising in the west,
“Where, in the transient summer, for a while,
“His vagrant family are wont to rest;
“And there perhaps my love is ling'ring now,
“Ling'ring alas! unmindful of his vow
“Beneath the smile of lovelier maiden blest.”
“High from the ocean, rising in the west,
“Where, in the transient summer, for a while,
“His vagrant family are wont to rest;
“And there perhaps my love is ling'ring now,
“Ling'ring alas! unmindful of his vow
“Beneath the smile of lovelier maiden blest.”
The Sun—for summer now is nearly past—
Rolls half extinguished in the northern deep,
And o'er the land a twilight shade is cast,
And singing winds around the vallies sweep;
The gloomy pine that shades the lowly shed,
In sullen murmurs waves its lofty head,
And lulls the peaceful Laplander to sleep.
Rolls half extinguished in the northern deep,
And o'er the land a twilight shade is cast,
And singing winds around the vallies sweep;
The gloomy pine that shades the lowly shed,
In sullen murmurs waves its lofty head,
And lulls the peaceful Laplander to sleep.
21
'Tis night—but darkness scarcely night resembling:
Upon the lofty hills the sun still sheds
His midnight beams, in yellow spangles trembling
Upon the snows that crown their airy heads;
And Orra now has trimmed her little bark,
And on the heaving waves of ocean dark,
Her swelling sail to midnight winds she spreads.
Upon the lofty hills the sun still sheds
His midnight beams, in yellow spangles trembling
Upon the snows that crown their airy heads;
And Orra now has trimmed her little bark,
And on the heaving waves of ocean dark,
Her swelling sail to midnight winds she spreads.
And she is gone to seek her wand'ring love—
Ah! my fair readers! be ye not inclined
The maiden's artless passion to reprove,
Nor say I make my heroine too kind,
For ye have arts—and eke I ween ye use 'em—
To hide the warmer feelings of the bosom,
And vex, with long suspense, a lover's mind.
Ah! my fair readers! be ye not inclined
The maiden's artless passion to reprove,
Nor say I make my heroine too kind,
For ye have arts—and eke I ween ye use 'em—
To hide the warmer feelings of the bosom,
And vex, with long suspense, a lover's mind.
22
But Orra loves, nor would conceal the truth,
Nor cruelly an unfelt coldness feign;
And she would share the fortune of that youth,
As now she meets the dangers of the main;
Where still to cheer her dark and wat'ry way
She sings, as on she sails this artless lay:
Oh Listen to the Lapland Maiden's strain:
Nor cruelly an unfelt coldness feign;
And she would share the fortune of that youth,
As now she meets the dangers of the main;
Where still to cheer her dark and wat'ry way
She sings, as on she sails this artless lay:
Oh Listen to the Lapland Maiden's strain:
| Orra | |