The bard, and minor poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

“Within a grotto of the ancient wood,
With my beloved at even-tide I lay:
Soon must I leave this cherish'd solitude,
And to the distant city wend my way,”
I said,—“And though 'twill break this trusting heart,
To leave those landscapes in their beauteous prime,
And from thine own beloved self to part,—
Oh! there are other cliffs than these to climb,—
And other walks, where flowers as fragrant grow,—
And other skies, than where yon eaglets soar,—
And other boundless space, than this resounding shore.”

She bow'd her forehead down upon my breast,
And her sweet eyes look'd upward into mine;
Then softly murmur'd, and more closely prest,—
“But I, my love, for ever more am thine!
Old Autumn hath put on his crown, and, lo!
The forest robed in all its thousand dyes;
The stormy winds their trumpet-chorus blow,

In chant unearthly, where the pine-grove lies:
But my Love's autumn never can arise.
Like yon bright star thy memory still shall be;
Affection's dreams, hope's raptures yet shall rise,
To fill my soul with constant dreams of thee.

“But, oh! I feel, as if I never more—
Shall never more caress this blessed head:
When thou returnest from the distant shore,
I shall be slumbering with the silent dead.
For, oh, beloved! strange dreams disturb my sight:
And once I saw thee, dearest, wan and ill,
Driven by a horrid spectre, ghastly bright,
With cutting sword, o'er river, field, and hill.
No cliff so fearful, where thou didst not go,—
No hot, nor cold, too terrible for thee;
And down thy limbs I saw the hot blood flow,
And long red wounds most pitiful to see.”

I kiss'd her snow-white brow, I kiss'd her eyes;
And pointing upward to the evening star:
“Sooner,” I said, “from yon embracing skies,
From their enduring and immortal car,
The beams of liquid light shall die away,
Than shall my heart's eternal love decay!
I swear by the great ocean, changing never;
I swear by the far mountains, rear'd sublime;
I swear by the bright moon, still young for ever,
That I must love thee to remotest time!
Listen ye glimmering stars, and hear my vow,—
Spirits that haunt the moonbeams, come and hear:

These all are mine,—this face, these eyes, this brow;
And when I love not, come thou mournful bier!”

Now fell the shadows over ocean old;
Each star-like ship, each rainbow-colour'd hull,
And streamy pennant that in ether roll'd,
Return'd the waves their colours beautiful.
Sleep held the slumbering giant by the throat,
So sullen, like a dying thing it lay:
High o'er the trees, swell'd every sweetest note,
A requiem for the sun, at close of day—
Anon, chimed forth o'er heaven of stars the bright array!

II.

“Mine own beloved, my beautiful,” I said,
“Here must we part, my beautiful, my own:
Still bear aloft to heaven this radiant head,
These tresses hang their golden treasures down.
The loveliest forms of earth to thee will cling,
And angels gaze upon thee from the sky:
Within thy sleep all sounds divinest ring,
And win to sights of joy thy dreaming eye.
No evil thing dare touch thy hallow'd feet—
No savage creature venture in thy sight;
Virtue by God's own footstool hath her seat,
Throned in the splendour of the central light.
And I will tell thee of the wondrous things
That guide the passions of the many men;
And every scroll, borne forth on love's swift wings,
Shall also bear my heart into this glen.”

Then claspt I her unto my breaking heart,
Whilst she, in floods of tears, dissolved lay:
Alas, we must not, shall not, cannot part,
Nor ever over-live this mournful day!”
I heard her not—I kiss'd her more and more;
And breathing in her ear—my last farewell!
All breathless, hurried to the distant shore—
Then, pure this bosom as a mountain well.

“We parted, as at last all love must part:
To the accursed city I did go;
I hear the heaving of her breaking heart,
The utterance of her agony of woe.
Why, thou remorseless Heaven, not let me die?
Why all these worlds of misery in vain?
Why that avenging sorrow in her eye?
Why her sweet spirit bear such bitter pain?
The cataract rolls down the cliff unbound,
The stars dart headlong from the heaven's brow,
Storms soon will roar where softest breezes flow,—
I am a madman now!”

“We parted: still I linger'd o'er the name,
Heard from her mountain-dwelling far away;
Like honey-dew, that music calm'd the flame
That on my heart's fierce altar ever lay.
And still my love's unceasing fire remained,
Subduing, conquering every alien thought;
But sure some cruel fiend within me wrought,
And planted in my breast Doubt's poisonous spot.

Ay, doubt of her—the angel, the supreme
Spirit of innocence,—my own true love;
Doubt for the perfect spirit of a dream,
Pure as an infant's sleep, or seraph from above!

“Oh, doubt most poisonous! all my glories low!
My high-wrought dreams far lifted as a cloud;
All these fine streams of feeling dried up now,
These yearnings far wrapt in Oblivion's shroud.
Thee not the tramp of armed men can fright,
The neighing steed, the clarion's sound of fear,
The frown of kingly warriors in the fight,
The cannon's thunder in thy stony ear.
Thou, 'mid the star-light of the eloquent men,
In the state's councils like a serpent lies,
Watching, as doth a tiger in his den,
All voice of tongue, all language of the eyes.
No tie so close but thy rude hand can break,
No love so strong but thou can'st weave a spell;
Beauty for thee, no glories can awake,
To drive thee back unto thy native hell.
Bear witness, witness bear, this way-worn breast,
These languid steps, dim eyes—oh, witness bear!
This burning brow that knows not where to rest,
This spirit blinded to all aspects fair—
Bear witness to the wreck that has been done:
Two broken hearts, a green grave worn away—
Worn all away the monumental stone,
Whereon I kneel lamenting night and day.

“Amid the madd'ning Bacchanalian rout,
'Mid the ferocious stir of drunken glee,
'Mid the tumultuous song's delirious shout,
Came the accursed doubt—Oh! how could she,
Pure as the eternal star-light, false become?
Had she not made this beating heart her home?
Had she not in that sacred parting night,
Beneath the approving moon's endearing light,
Deign'd her great love to tell!
What base unworthy monster then were I
To madly deem that this all-golden hair,
That cheek like waking morn, that star-light eye,
Those winged footsteps, and that bosom fair,
Should from my yearning go—
Should to another bosom true become!
Sooner might Ocean's thunder cease to flow,
The ever faithful shore become their constant home!

“But sure some demon's madness drove me on.
All on my heart the distant days had died!
The hills, the streams, the wood's rejoicing song,
The hopes and musings of the ocean side.
My father's house was as a tale forgot;
The Bible, ever read at even and morn;
The field, the garden, every pleasant spot;
The sycamore, that sigh'd for my return.
As a strange vision swept the midnight past,
The beauteous memories of sweet childhood's days—
The glorious dreams of youth all run to waste,
All constant springs of love—all old familiar ways.”

“'Tis past, 'tis past; but still the burning pain
Gnaws angrily into my seared heart;
A serpent gnaws for ever in my brain,
And never for a moment will depart.
O sainted form that dwells in heaven above!
O look in pity on my utter woe!
Sound through my heart again that strain of love;
All round me let thy soul's enchantment flow.
Lean down that fairest forehead of the skies,
And let me view again that angel face—
The starry radiance of those gentle eyes,
Each soft persuasion, each retiring grace.
Celestial winds shall wave thy garments white,
And lift the flowing of thy golden hair;
All round about shall stream effulgent light,
And scents immortal crowd the burthen'd air.

“Then come, mine own beloved,—in beauty come;
Breathe forth thy pardon in mine own still ear;
O hither wend, from far, thy spirit home,
And dwell with me beyond or pain, or fear.
The earth is wide, my love, for thee and me;
Spots of eternal verdure still bloom on;
Still sings his hymns of glory the old sea;
Still soar the joyous mountains on their throne:
We will ascend them, love,—we will rejoice,
Glad, as yon stars, whose harmonies we know;
The bird of morn shall hear our happy voice;
Our hymns shall join the mountain brooklet's flow;
Glory, and power, and joy, shall greet us where we go.”