 | Sonnets and Miscellaneous Poems by the late Thomas Russell |  |
40
THE MANIAC.
Tho' Grief had nipp'd her early bloom,
Young Julia still was fair:
The rose indeed had left her cheek,
The lily still was there.
Young Julia still was fair:
The rose indeed had left her cheek,
The lily still was there.
Tho' of all other actions past
Her memory bore no part,
The dear remembrance of her love
Still linger'd in her heart.
Her memory bore no part,
The dear remembrance of her love
Still linger'd in her heart.
Long in that heart had reign'd alone
A swain of equal youth,
Of equal beauty too with her's,
But not of equal truth.
A swain of equal youth,
Of equal beauty too with her's,
But not of equal truth.
Whole years her yielding breast he sooth'd
With passion's tender tale;
Till Avarice call'd him from her arms
O'er the wide seas to sail.
With passion's tender tale;
Till Avarice call'd him from her arms
O'er the wide seas to sail.
41
With many a vow of quick return
He cross'd the briny tide,
But when a foreign shore he reach'd,
Soon found a wealthier bride.
He cross'd the briny tide,
But when a foreign shore he reach'd,
Soon found a wealthier bride.
Poor Julia sicken'd at the news,
Yet never told her pain,
Long on her secret soul it prey'd,
And turn'd at last her brain.
Yet never told her pain,
Long on her secret soul it prey'd,
And turn'd at last her brain.
From Brethren, Parents, house, and home
The mourning Maniac fled;
The sky was all her roof by day,
A bank by night her bed.
The mourning Maniac fled;
The sky was all her roof by day,
A bank by night her bed.
When thirst and hunger griev'd her most,
If any food she took,
It was the berry from the thorn,
The water from the brook.
If any food she took,
It was the berry from the thorn,
The water from the brook.
42
Now hurrying o'er the heath she hied,
Now wander'd thro' the wood,
Now o'er the precipice she peep'd,
Now stood and eyed the flood.
Now wander'd thro' the wood,
Now o'er the precipice she peep'd,
Now stood and eyed the flood.
From every hedge a flower she pluck'd,
And moss from every stone,
To make a garland for her Love,
Yet left it still undone.
And moss from every stone,
To make a garland for her Love,
Yet left it still undone.
Still, as she rambled, was she wont
To trill a plaintive song,
'Twas wild, and full of fancies vain,
Yet suited well her wrong.
To trill a plaintive song,
'Twas wild, and full of fancies vain,
Yet suited well her wrong.
All loose, yet lovely, to the wind
Her golden tresses flew,
And now alas! with heat were scorch'd,
And now were drench'd with dew.
Her golden tresses flew,
And now alas! with heat were scorch'd,
And now were drench'd with dew.
43
No Friend was left the tears to wipe
That dimm'd her radiant eyes,
Yet oft their beams like those would shine
That gleam from watry skies.
That dimm'd her radiant eyes,
Yet oft their beams like those would shine
That gleam from watry skies.
Oft too a smile, but not of joy,
Play'd on her brow o'ercast;
It was the faint cold smile of Spring,
Ere Winter yet is past.
Play'd on her brow o'ercast;
It was the faint cold smile of Spring,
Ere Winter yet is past.
Those sorrows, which her tongue conceal'd,
Her broken sighs confest;
Her cloak was too much torn to hide
The throbbings of her breast.
Her broken sighs confest;
Her cloak was too much torn to hide
The throbbings of her breast.
From all, who near her chanc'd to stray,
With wild affright she ran;
Each voice that reach'd her scar'd her breast,
But most the voice of Man.
With wild affright she ran;
Each voice that reach'd her scar'd her breast,
But most the voice of Man.
44
To me alone, when oft we met,
Her ear she would incline,
And with me weep, for well she knew
Her woes resembled mine.
Her ear she would incline,
And with me weep, for well she knew
Her woes resembled mine.
One morn I sought her; but too late—
Her wound had bled so sore—
God rest thy Spirit, gentle Maid!
Thou'rt gone for evermore!
Her wound had bled so sore—
God rest thy Spirit, gentle Maid!
Thou'rt gone for evermore!
| Sonnets and Miscellaneous Poems by the late Thomas Russell | |