The Poetical Works of the late Mrs Mary Robinson including many pieces never before published. In Three Volumes |
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JASPER. |
 | The Poetical Works of the late Mrs Mary Robinson |  |
215
JASPER.
I
The night was long, 'twas winter time,The moon shone pale and clearly;
The woods were bare, the nipping air
Across the heath, as cold as death,
Blew shrilly and severely.
II
And awful was the midnight scene!The silent river flowing,
The dappled sky, the screech-owl's cry,
The blackning tow'r, the haunted bow'r,
Where pois'nous weeds were growing!
III
With footsteps quick, and fev'rish heart,One tatter'd garment wearing,
Poor Jasper, sad, alone, and mad,
Now chaunted wild, and now he smil'd,
With eyes wide fix'd and glaring.
216
IV
His cheek was wan, his lip was blue,His head was bare and shaggy;
His limbs were torn by many a thorn;
For he had pac'd the pathless waste,
And climb'd the steep rock craggy.
V
An iron window in the tow'rSlow creek'd as it was swinging;
A gibbet stood beside the wood,
The blast did blow it to and fro,
The rusty chains were ringing.
VI
His voice was hollow as the toneOf cavern'd winds, and mournful;
No tears could flow, to calm his woe;
Yet on his face sat manly grace,
And grief, sublimely scornful!
VII
Twelve freezing nights poor Jasper's breastHad brav'd the tempests yelling;
For mis'ry keen his lot had been
Since he had left, of sense bereft,
A tyrant father's dwelling.
217
VIII
That father, who with lordly pride,Saw him from Mary sever;
Saw her fair cheek in silence speak,
Her eyes blue light, so heav'nly bright,
Grow dim, and fade for ever!
IX
“How hot yon sun begins to shine!”The maniac cried, loud laughing:
“I feel the pain that burns my brain;
“Thy sulphur beam bids ocean steam,
“Where all the fiends are quaffing.
X
“Soft! soft! the dew begins to rise,“I'll drink it while 'tis flowing;
“Down ev'ry tree the bright rills see,
“Quick let me sip, they'll cool my lip,
“For now my blood is glowing.
XI
“Hark! the she-wolf howling by!“Poor Jasper smiles to hear thee;
“For he can hide by the hedge-row's side,
“While storms shall sweep the mountain's steep;
“Then, she-wolf, can he fear thee?
218
XII
“Pale moon! thou spectre of the sky!“I see thy white shroud waving:
“And now behold thy bosom cold—
“Oh! mem'ry sad, it made me mad!
“Then wherefore mock my raving?
XIII
“Yes! on my Mary's bosom cold“Death laid his bony fingers.
“Hark! how the wave begins to lave
“The rocky shore!—I hear it roar—
“The whirling pilot lingers!
XIV
“Oh! bear me, bear me o'er the main!“See the white sails are flying:
“Yon glitt'ring star shall be my car,
“And by my side shall Mary glide,
“Mild as the south wind sighing.
XV
“My bare-foot way is mark'd with blood—“Well—what care I for sorrow?
“The sun shall rise to cheer the skies,
“The wintry day shall pass away,
“And summer smile to-morrow!
219
XVI
“The frosted heath is wide and drear,“And rugged is my pillow;
“Soon shall I sleep beneath the deep—
“How calm to me that sleep will be,
“Rock'd by the bounding billow!
XVII
“The village clock strikes mournfully,“It is my death-bell tolling;
“But though yon cloud begins to shroud
“The gliding moon, the day-stream soon
“Shall down yon steep come rolling.
XVIII
“Roll down yon steep, broad flood of light!“Drive hence that spectre! Jasper
“Remembers now, her snowy brow—
“'Tis Mary! see—she beckons me—
“O! let me, let me clasp her!
XIX
“She fades away! I feel her not,—“She's gone!—'tis dark and dreary:
“The drizzling rain now chills my brain,
“The bell, for me, tolls mournfully!
“Come, death! for I am weary.
220
XX
“I'll steal beneath yon haunted tow'r,“And wait the day-star's coming;
“The bat shall flee at sight of me,
“The ivy'd wall shall be my pall—
“My priest, the night-fly humming.
XXI
“Yon spectre's iron shroud I'll steal,“With frozen drops bespangled!
“The night-shade too, besprent with dew,
“With many a flow'r of healing pow'r,
“Shall cool my bare-feet mangled.
XXII
“Is it the storm that Jasper feels!“Ah, no! 'tis passion blighted!
“The owlet's shriek makes white my cheek,
“The dark toads stray across my way,
“And sorely am I frighted.
XXIII
“Amid the broom my bed I'll make,“Dry fern shall be my pillow;
“And, Mary, dear! wert thou but here,
“Blest should I be, sweet maid, with thee,
“To weave a crown of willow.
221
XXIV
“The church-yard path is wet with dew,“Hence, ravens! for I fear ye!
“Fall, gentle show'rs, revive the flow'rs
“That feebly wave on Mary's grave;
“But whisper—she will hear you!
XXV
“Beneath the yew-tree's shadow long,“I'll hide me and be wary;
“But I shall weep when others sleep!
“Is it the dove that calls its love?
“No! 'tis the voice of Mary!
XXVI
“How merrily the lark is heard!“The ruddy dawn advancing:
“Jasper is gay! his wedding-day
“To-morrow's sun shall see begun,
“With music and with dancing!
XXVII
“How sullen moans the midnight main!“How wide the dim scene stretches!
“The moony light all silver white,
“Across the wave, illumes the grave
“Of heav'n-deserted wretches!
222
XXVIII
“The dead-lights gleam, the signal sounds!“Poor bark! the storm will beat thee!
“What spectre stands upon the sands?
“'Tis Mary dear! Oh! do not fear—
“Thy Jasper flies to meet thee!”
XXIX
“Now to the silent river's side“Poor Jasper rush'd unwary;
With frantic haste the green bank pac'd,
Plung'd in the wave—no friend to save,
And, sinking, call'd—on Mary!
| The Poetical Works of the late Mrs Mary Robinson | |