 | Judith, Esther, and other poems |  |
ROSETTE.
All bleak and bare the old rock rose
Frowning upon the scene around it,
While low and distant music flows
From the gray City's height that crowned it.
Frowning upon the scene around it,
While low and distant music flows
From the gray City's height that crowned it.
So still, fair Nature seems to sleep
Or hold her healthful breath to hear
The mingling echos wild and deep
Of Montmorency murmuring drear.
Or hold her healthful breath to hear
The mingling echos wild and deep
Of Montmorency murmuring drear.
But mellow moon-beams sport and smile
In Orleans' dark shrubs sweetly weaving
While all around the little isle
St. Lawrence' bosom ceased its heaving.
In Orleans' dark shrubs sweetly weaving
While all around the little isle
St. Lawrence' bosom ceased its heaving.
The noble river gently flowing
In smooth and silent grandeur by,
His broad expanse seems proudly showing
To rival heaven that lends his dye.
In smooth and silent grandeur by,
86
To rival heaven that lends his dye.
Who softly gains that wave-worn stone
And looks, and seems again retreating?—
'Tis young Rosette, she comes alone
And holds her heart to still its beating.
And looks, and seems again retreating?—
'Tis young Rosette, she comes alone
And holds her heart to still its beating.
“And why,” she cries, “why came I here?
Should any of these wanderings know—
I'll see the moon's reflection clear
Marred by the rising breeze—and go—
Should any of these wanderings know—
I'll see the moon's reflection clear
Marred by the rising breeze—and go—
“The breeze has past 'tis still again—”
Her kerchief o'er her neck she drew,
But, dimpling o'er the liquid plain
Advances swift, a light canoe.
Her kerchief o'er her neck she drew,
But, dimpling o'er the liquid plain
Advances swift, a light canoe.
Her vestments are of a snowy white,
And flight would now avail her naught;
If Frederick—the eve's so light,
He has ere now a glimmer caught.
And flight would now avail her naught;
If Frederick—the eve's so light,
He has ere now a glimmer caught.
Slight obstacle will bar the way,
Where reason only bids us move—
Sweet the excuse that bids us stay
For the approach of those we love!
Where reason only bids us move—
Sweet the excuse that bids us stay
For the approach of those we love!
'Tis he! the rapid oars seem wings
Of sea-bird that has heard his mate!
'Tis he, he sees, he comes, he springs,
He gains the rock with joy elate!
Of sea-bird that has heard his mate!
87
He gains the rock with joy elate!
His left hand prest the trembling maid
Impetuous to his panting heart;
The other flung the curls, that shade
His forehead wet with toil, apart.
Impetuous to his panting heart;
The other flung the curls, that shade
His forehead wet with toil, apart.
His quick breath met her balmy sigh,
And fans her cheek grown rosier bright—
The lustre of his ardent eye
Blends sweetly with the beams of night.
And fans her cheek grown rosier bright—
The lustre of his ardent eye
Blends sweetly with the beams of night.
“Am I then blest?” he fondly said,
“Wilt thou be wafted quickly o'er,
And shall to-morrow's sun, dear maid,
Salute thee mine forevermore?”
“Wilt thou be wafted quickly o'er,
And shall to-morrow's sun, dear maid,
Salute thee mine forevermore?”
Again protecting reason strove
To tear the artless maid away,
But thousand new emotions prove
Too wild and powerful to obey.
To tear the artless maid away,
But thousand new emotions prove
Too wild and powerful to obey.
Unthinking youth, the deed thou dost
Will furrow that smooth brow of thine!
And art thou then, poor trembler, lost—
Must guilt profane so fair a shrine?
Will furrow that smooth brow of thine!
And art thou then, poor trembler, lost—
Must guilt profane so fair a shrine?
To heaven in thy morning prayer
Each secret thought ascended free,
And not a listening angel there,
But loved thee for its purity.
Each secret thought ascended free,
88
But loved thee for its purity.
No! were it heaven or were it chance,
A little pendant cross of jet
That moment caught her tender glance,
And those fair eyes with tears were wet.
A little pendant cross of jet
That moment caught her tender glance,
And those fair eyes with tears were wet.
For 'twas a mother's death-bed gift—
A mother—none could dearer be—
And memory, to the summons swift,
Murmured, “wear this for love of me.”
A mother—none could dearer be—
And memory, to the summons swift,
Murmured, “wear this for love of me.”
“I know thy heart is melting soft,
But when its treachery thou fearest,
Oh! look upon this jewel oft,
And think of her who loved thee dearest.
But when its treachery thou fearest,
Oh! look upon this jewel oft,
And think of her who loved thee dearest.
“'Twere bliss to leave this scene of care,
My orphan daughter, but for thee—
Yet heaven, if thou must ne'er come there,
Will seem a scene of care to me.”
My orphan daughter, but for thee—
Yet heaven, if thou must ne'er come there,
Will seem a scene of care to me.”
The thought was like the warning given.
When strangers o'er the river go,
In winter, where the ice is riven
In chasms 'neath the moonlight snow.
When strangers o'er the river go,
In winter, where the ice is riven
In chasms 'neath the moonlight snow.
| Judith, Esther, and other poems | |