University of Virginia Library

Search this document 

43

Zulette

And wolves are gnarling which shall gnaw thee first.
Shakspeare

1. [PART I]

“Fair on thy breast, oh Chamouni!
Full many a balmy blossom glows,
But none so rich in bloom as she,
Our loved Zulette—our Alpine rose!
“Her soft hair ripples round a neck
As dazzling white as Jura's snows;
No gem she needs her brow to deck—
Herself a gem!—sweet Alpine rose!
“With fearless heart and step of air,
Light o'er our mountain-paths she goes,
How rich the youth who'll proudly wear
Upon his breast our Alpine rose!”
'Tis gaily sung—the rustic song—
By mountain breezes borne along,
And gaily o'er the green sward go
Chamouni's maids in robes of snow;
For ere yon burning sun has set
The bridal veil shall grace Zulette,
And Carl, the village boast and pride,
The bravest of the hunter-band,
Shall seek, at eve, the maiden's side,
To claim her vow, her heart, and hand!
But look! where round yon lattice low,
The purple rhododendrons grow,
Zulette beside the youth is seen,
With curling lip and laughing eyes,
While mingled in her lover's mien
Are anger, doubt, dismay, surprise!—
Ah, village pet! what careless jest
Has thus disturbed his manly breast?
Well skilled that rosy mouth of thine,
So made for Love's own dimpled shrine;—
In mocking words, where yet thy heart,
The leal and pure, denies its part!
He turns to go—her blue eyes fill
With sudden tears; but woman's will
Forbids their fall! He lingers yet
To hear the fault confessed—in vain!—
“You love me not! Farewell, Zulette!”
He's gone! And will he come again?
He's gone! Her tears are free! She stands
With quivering lip and clasping hands,
Her pride subdued—without relief,
Save wild abandonment to grief!
At length she slowly lifts her head,
And parts the rich, disordered curls;—
Where have the rose and dimpled fled!
Oh! merriest of Chamouni's girls?
With faltering voice, subdued and low,
She calls her playmate to her side,
The mountain kid which, long ago,
Young Carl had given his promised bride.
He comes not yet—has he too fled?
Again she calls!—no bounding tread
Brings glad reply!—She turns away
To seek him where he's wont to play,
And murmurs soft—“Tho' Carl has flown
The gift he loved is still mine own!”

44

2. Part II

Far up the steep, at sunset hour,
Where blooms the azure Alpine flower,
Where Iris with her sunlit wand
Wild Arve's fall has fondly spanned,
Where leaps the chamois in his glee,
With eye of fire and footstep free,
Her glance as bright,
Her bound as light,
Zulette is seen! The lake below
A living amber beams and burns,
And o'er its breast each sail of snow
That woos the wind to glory turns.
The “mer de glace's” emerald's hue
Has changed to gold; the fountains gleam
Like falls of fire; and wildly through
Yon darkling pine-grove darts the beam
In fitful play; as if, amid
That gloom from mortal footsteps free
A thousand spirits of flame were hid
And danced in demon-revelrie!
E'en the low chalet's lattice lends
Its tiny sparkle to the air,
While warm the sinking day-star sends
His farewell smile in beauty there.
But lost to sad Zulette is all
The light on glacier, lake, and fall!
Not thus her wont, thy mountain child,
Helvetia! when those glories smiled
As now! She loved to watch the glow
Of rosy fire that bathed thy snow;
To chase thy wild chamois in play
From crag to crag, as wild and gay!
To list thy torrent dashing down
Beneath its luminous rainbow crown,
Or stand inspired,
With rapture fired,
Yet trembling; while thy mountains shake
Around the Avalanche's track,
And Titans there entombed awake
With savage voice to thunder back
A dread reply! Her soul is high,
As well befits thy daughter,—born
Where Earth's proud summits woo the sky,
And glacier-temples shine at morn,
Like giant gems, with every hue
The bow of Heaven reveals to view!
How changed! Those rich, blue eyes are yet
As wildly bright, oh! lone Zulette!
But not with joy, with feverish grief,
That seeks in danger's path relief;
Her Carl is gone! his gift is lost!
Her heart by doubt and fear is tost.

(note: “tost” is correct)


Yet no! Oh, look! the truant kid,
By yonder jutting rock half hid,
Is resting! Up the crag she springs,
As Joy had given her light frame wings!
Bloom to her cheek, fire to her eyes,
Smiles to her lip, like magic rise!
She kneels: the wanderer to her breast
With many a fond endearment pressed;
Her dimpling blushes mock the while
The gorgeous sunset's changeful smile,
That richly tints the untrodden snow
Of Jura with its sportive glow.
Her flower-bound hat is tossed asie,
Her white arms wreathe the rover's neck,
Her amber tresses float untied,
And joy impassioned knows no check!
No check? How strange the breezes howl
Among the pines! She turns in fear.
Oh God! it is the exulting growl
Of wolves that see their victim near.
Escape is vain! they come! they come!
And, pale with woe, with terror dumb,
She strains her treasure to her heart,
To shield it from the dreaded ill.
“His gift! his last! we will not part;
Oh, Carl, forgive! and love me still!”

45

She turns to face the famished foe,
Defiance in her flashing eyes,
Despair at heart! Hush! soft and low
A voice is heard! an arrow flies!
Well skilled that marksman's hand, I trow,
In daring deeds of high emprize.
The mountain savage bites the ground!
His comrade safety seeks in flight,
And young Zulette looks trembling round;
Why starts she thus in wild delight?
And whose the half-reproachful smile
That meets her pleading look the while?
A gallant hunter at her side
Has clasped her waist and kissed her brow,
And whispers soft “My own! my bride!
Dost love me yet? Wilt childe me now?”
Her drooping lashes shade a cheek,
Where eloquent rose-hues richly speak,
While tears of joy and shame reveal
How much that youthful heart can feel.
The sun had kissed with carmine glow
Peak after peak of purest snow,
And wreathed around the regal head
Of proud Mont Blanc his crown of flame,
When down the path, with joyous tread,
The young chamois like lightning came!
Not far behind Zulette was led.
And when the mountain doffed his crown
Of sunshine for the silver veil
The moon that radiant night flung down
Within you lowly chapel's pale,
She knelt amid her maiden-band,
Chamouni's rose, in blushing pride,
For hunter Carl had claimed her hand,
And blessed his beauteous Alpine bride!