 | The national jubilee, and other miscellaneous poems |  |
THE DECLARATION OF LOVE.
The full orb'd moon was rising clear
Above the Pelham mountains, slow—
The stars the virgins of the sphere,
Glanc'd their sweet beams on earth below;
Above the Pelham mountains, slow—
The stars the virgins of the sphere,
Glanc'd their sweet beams on earth below;
When I with Mary lonely stray'd—
Her, who my heart, my thoughts, possess'd;
Lingering the path with step delay'd,
Her lily hand I shivering press'd:
Her, who my heart, my thoughts, possess'd;
Lingering the path with step delay'd,
Her lily hand I shivering press'd:
“Mary”—no more my tongue could speak—
I strove—my efforts were in vain;
I would—but dare not press her cheek—
O! how divine the bliss—the pain!
I strove—my efforts were in vain;
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O! how divine the bliss—the pain!
Tears, like a sudden shower in Spring,
Gush'd from mine eyes—I knew not why:—
“Mary, my heart to thee I bring—
A captive to thy charms am I.”
Gush'd from mine eyes—I knew not why:—
“Mary, my heart to thee I bring—
A captive to thy charms am I.”
I mark'd her snowy breast to heave,
Soft as a silver cloud of even,
When new-born stars their light receive,
Pure from the ethereal torch of heaven.
Soft as a silver cloud of even,
When new-born stars their light receive,
Pure from the ethereal torch of heaven.
My hand her trembling fingers press'd,
Gentle—then hard—then soft again—
Thrilling my soul supremely bless'd!—
Her melting voice was musick's strain:
Gentle—then hard—then soft again—
Thrilling my soul supremely bless'd!—
Her melting voice was musick's strain:
“O Edward! I believe thee just—
Thy tears proclaim thy passion true;
Ah! no—thy sighs I'll not distrust,
But live and love with only you.”
Thy tears proclaim thy passion true;
Ah! no—thy sighs I'll not distrust,
But live and love with only you.”
'Twas heaven I heard!—I wept aloud—
Startling she strove my voice to calm:
“Perhaps intruder near may crowd:”
And hung an angel on my arm!
Startling she strove my voice to calm:
“Perhaps intruder near may crowd:”
And hung an angel on my arm!
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As when the fancy steeps the soul
In holy visions passing rare,
Beyond this drossy earth's control,
Where rainbow'd seraphs wing the air—
In holy visions passing rare,
Beyond this drossy earth's control,
Where rainbow'd seraphs wing the air—
So did my bosom rapturous swell,
When Mary whisper'd she was mine—
My weeping transport—who can tell?
Though borne to some bright world divine!
When Mary whisper'd she was mine—
My weeping transport—who can tell?
Though borne to some bright world divine!
| The national jubilee, and other miscellaneous poems | |