University of Virginia Library

Behind the rest, with Calder's maid,
The young, the fond Sylvander staid,
And thus, as o'er the lea they trod,
By turns the loving converse flow'd:
“My Anna! this sweet, tranquil eve
Recals the hour when I did leave
Malvina; (this was not her name
But this I hop'd to raise to fame)
The sun's sublimest tinge was thrown
O'er lofty woods of P---rl---gton;
A shower that late had fall'n serene
A fresher colour gave their green;
Above the glowing rainbow hung;
The feather'd minstrels sweetly sung;
The wild deer tripp'd from glade to glade
As last I wander'd with that maid.

“Long had I borne her proud disdain,
But now was come my turn to reign.
Her tear-bright eye, her pressing hand,
Were hints I would not understand;
Bethought me of her scorn anew,
And bade to love and her adieu.
The silver moon shone bright and fair;
As lone I sought the banks of Aire;
There one pure friendship sooth'd the hours
By Kirkstal's ivied, mould'ring towers,
Till Heaven—thrice blest the dear decree!
Brought me, sweet Anna! home to thee.”

With half-upbraiding look, the maid
Sylvander as he spoke survey'd:
“Oh, couldst thou act so base a part?
Where was the Poet's feeling heart?
Say, what avail thy num'rous lays
Sung in that very maiden's praise,
Where passion pure, with rapture high
Seems in the glowing verse to vie?
She, once, was heroine of each strain,
But now she mourns her faithless swain;
Such strains have sung of Anna's bloom,
And such at last shall be her doom.—
A foolish maiden I!”—“Oh, no,
My charming Anna, say not so!
Did such as thou, allur'd away
By fairer face, or mien more gay,
Desert short space a lover true,
Until reflection made her sue
Once more for grace, by look or sigh,—
Oh! who could view her watery eye,
Could view her all in mournful charms,
Nor rush with rapture to her arms!
But when, in love's wiles hackney'd long,
A maid would wound a feeling heart,
'Tis meet she feel—what else were wrong—
Her due, neglect's envenom'd smart.
Thus did that maid; though fairer face,
Save Anna's, ne'er my song did grace;
And finer form was never seen;
But ill agreed with form and mien
Her sordid soul, that could forego
The hopes which youth and beauty gave,
And could on doted age bestow
—On age just tottering o'er the grave—
Such charms as seldom bloom below!
But leave we her; Malvina fair
Adieu to thee and banks of Aire;
But welcome Roddam's humblest bower,
If grac'd by Calder's fairest Flower!
—Ah! had I known, on banks of Aire,
In Calder bloom'd a Flower so fair;
That such a Flower was destin'd mine;
What joy! and can I once repine,
That toils oppress and poverty,
Since thou, sweet Anna! smil'st on me!
I prize, my fair, thy smile of love
Peruvian richest mines above.
Those sordid souls that can be low
May barter bliss for wealth and show;
I envy not their state,—nor long
For more than love, and love-taught song!
My Anna true, kind Heaven shall grant
Sufficient to supply our want,
And Cheviot hills that heard my young,
Shall hear my latest wild notes sung.
Dear mountains! to my fathers dear!
How oft did Fancy wander here;
How oft, in dreams, ye sooth'd my pain!
Ye are Sylvander's once again!
And never more my steps shall roam
From your dear shade, and native home.”

Calder's green lea they pass'd the while,
And now they reach'd the village stile,
Where milking-pails did waiting stand
For two sweet lingerers of the band.
Sweet Anna stoop'd to seize her own,
And in a moment had been gone,
For low'd her spotty in the loan;
But as she turn'd, Sylvander staid,
With gentle grasp, the blushing maid,
And while she chided sweet at this,
Press'd on her rosy lips a kiss.—
Just then blithe Jessy and her swain
In loving talk the stile did gain,
And seizing there her milking-pail
The two sweet virgins trod the dale,
Charming with songs the evening gale;
While hastened, gaily-happy too,
To Albert's hall the lovers true.

Smokes on the board the healthy fare;
Warm, from the fire, is pottage there;
The central bowl's capacious round
With laving floods of milk is crown'd.
They sit, with grace, or none at all;
With sports the children shake the hall.
The elder hopes of Albert come,
Repress the clamours of the dome;
Themselves their years but children tell,
They aid the mirth they came to quell.