 | Christina |  |
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Canto the Fourth.
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I.
What grief it is to part! When kindred minds,
And friendly hands co-mingle heart with heart;
When the strong tie of obligation binds
The generous soul, what grief it is to part!
What thoughts across the sadden'd fancy dart
Of pleasures past; Ah never to return!
What fears awake the bosom's throbbing smart!
With restless pangs th' impatient spirits burn,
Or, all dissolv'd in woe, with softer sorrow mourn.
And friendly hands co-mingle heart with heart;
When the strong tie of obligation binds
The generous soul, what grief it is to part!
What thoughts across the sadden'd fancy dart
Of pleasures past; Ah never to return!
What fears awake the bosom's throbbing smart!
With restless pangs th' impatient spirits burn,
Or, all dissolv'd in woe, with softer sorrow mourn.
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Such grief it is, e'en when short interval
Again shall bring that social happiness;
Oft turn the friends, and turning still recall
Some parting word, some cherish'd kind caress,
Or fond behest of anxious tenderness;
Oh there they dwell in memory's treasur'd store,
The silent kiss, the eloquent distress!
Each word, each look, each sigh we number o'er;
And hope full soon to meet, yet fear to meet no more.
Again shall bring that social happiness;
Oft turn the friends, and turning still recall
Some parting word, some cherish'd kind caress,
Or fond behest of anxious tenderness;
Oh there they dwell in memory's treasur'd store,
The silent kiss, the eloquent distress!
Each word, each look, each sigh we number o'er;
And hope full soon to meet, yet fear to meet no more.
How deeper far their woe, whose hope is none
Again to greet the friendly beaming eye,
When from that kind and generous people gone,
Hope, fear, and doubt, subside in certainty.
Oh ne'er again that lovely isle to see,
Those voices hear, those clasping hands to strain,
Where, but upon the sailor's memory
Shall trace of thy benignant race remain?
“Race most belov'd, ne'er shall we meet again!”
Again to greet the friendly beaming eye,
When from that kind and generous people gone,
Hope, fear, and doubt, subside in certainty.
Oh ne'er again that lovely isle to see,
Those voices hear, those clasping hands to strain,
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Shall trace of thy benignant race remain?
“Race most belov'd, ne'er shall we meet again!”
II.
'Twas Seymor spoke. “To-morrow's dawn“Must view us from your isle withdrawn,
“Your hospitable isle! No more
“To linger on its pleasant shore!
“Refitted by your generous care,
“The bark we hasten to prepare,
“Reluctantly we haste:—How new
“To sailors' hearts such sad adieu!—
“Peace, bliss, and love, remain with you!”
Wringing Fitzallan's hand, he tried
The tear that fain would drop to hide;
Yet was that tear a brighter gem,
Than shone in Valor's diadem!
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III.
Fitzallan still the hand retain'd,And still with generous fervor strain'd;
“To-morrow,” quoth the chieftain, “No,
“To-morrow must no touch of woe
“Invade our joys: we part not so.
“Seymor, I conjure thee, by all
“Which can a sailor's heart enthral,
“By joys, which war and victory prove,
“By friendship's smile, by woman's love,
“For Hubert, for Christina, stay,
“And grace their happy bridal day.”
He turn'd to the betrothed pair;—
Look'd they like love's gay votaries there,
Or the sad victims of despair?
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IV.
Not Henry, when he shuddering heardHis valiant Captain's parting word;
Not Henry, when he caught the sound
Of sweet Christine to Hubert bound;
Not Henry's self more tremors knew,
Or sterner frown'd, or paler grew,
Than Hubert, when that maiden's eye
Sought a last glance so mournfully;
Than Hubert, when that maiden's ear
Was bent a sad farewell to hear;
Than Hubert, when in Henry's arms,
All lifeless lay those maiden charms.
V.
Oh! never in these regions cold,Where barter'd beauty yields to gold,
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Was seen a more reluctant fair:
Nor in the genial clime of Spain,
Where Hymen drags his firm-link'd chain,
(Not fabulous, alas, nor light!)
More jealous bridegroom e'er was dight:
Nor truer lover e'er was seen,
Than that bright youth of anxious mien,
Who o'er the fainting fair reclin'd,
As if his life with her's was twin'd;
Who thought it death from her to fly,
Who deem'd it bliss with her to die.
VI.
Fitzallan mark'd the gathering harm,And snatch'd Christine from Henry's arm—
“And was it well, rash youth,” he cried,
“To seek the love of Hubert's bride?
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“To feed thy light and fickle flame?
“Thy short-liv'd passion's wavering dream,
“Will fly like the blue lightning's beam.
“Soon some fair girl, whose azure eye
“Reflects the tints of England's sky,
“Columbian nymph, or dame of France,
“Shall charm thee with her witching glance,
“From fair to fair still shalt thou rove,
“And sigh and woo,—but never love.
“But yon poor maid, how sad her lot!
“For thee her plighted love forgot;
“For thee the fondest youth forsaken,
“That ever nuptial vow has taken,—
“My orphan girl!—my noble boy!—
“Oh, thou hast murder'd all my joy!
“But all may yet be well:—Away!
“Seymor, I press not now thy stay.”
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VII.
One moment with indignant glance,Saw Henry to the chief advance;—
His eyes that trembling fair one meet,—
The next beheld him at his feet.
There, with the eloquence of love,
To win the matchless girl he strove,
To England's shores convey the fair,
Or dwell her willing captive there!
With chasten'd flow, with purest fires,
With all that hallow'd love inspires,
Glows the high strain; but vainly glows
When duty, reason, love oppose.
Oft Hubert strove his speech to stay,
But yielded to his father's sway;
His father who to passion cold,
Well knew the fiery youth to mould.
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And mild, but resolute, he spoke.
VIII.
“Henry, this orphan claims a part“With Hubert in my ‘heart of heart;’
“At her dear mother's dying bed
“I swore to guard her helpless head;
“By her lov'd father's lowly tomb
“I swore thro' life to watch her doom.
“And shall I send this lily fair
“To that wide world of strife and care?
“And shall I trust my spotless flower
“Where cankers threat, and tempests lower;
“Where calumny her bloom may stain,
“Where love's fierce beam may death contain?
“No; sweetest bud of innocence,
“Kings shall not dare to snatch thee hence!
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IX.
“Rash youth!” his words in milder moodThe aged chieftain thus pursued;
“Is there no link of power, to bind
“The Briton's self-dependent mind?
“Yes; parent, kindred, native land,
“The patriot tie, the filial band,
“All draw thee from this lonely strand:
“Again to see thy native vale,
“Again to breathe thy mountain gale,
“To see thy mother's fond tears streaming,
“To see thy sister's eyes bright beaming,
“To feel the gratulating clasp
“Of manly friendship's generous grasp;
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“Chains thee with sympathetic tie.
X.
He ceas'd. On Henry's burning cheekHope's glowing colors brightly break.
“Fitzallan! vain the high appeal
“To filial love, to patriot zeal.
“Long from that cherish'd mother fled,
“Ere now perchance she deems me dead;
“Long us'd the stormy seas to roam,
“The world my land, the wave my home,
“Here, in this sea-green isle I rest,
“Like Halcyon on his watery nest.
“To trill at dawn my matin song,
“To skim at eve the stream along;
“Unwearied seek the finny food,
“For my lov'd mate and callow brood;
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“And many a grateful carol send,—
“Such life, such pleasures, we shall prove,—
“O father! What is life but love?”
XI.
“Love!” Hubert cried, with rising flame,“Love! dar'st thou thus profane the name?
“Thy love, like beauty's brilliant flower,
“Blooms, fades, and dies in one short hour.
“Mine, from the cradle to the grave,
“Was doom'd the dear Christina's slave:
“In infancy to me she clung,
“And caught each accent from my tongue;
“Her tottering steps I guided still
“To flowery plain, or sunny hill;
“Her mother was my mother too;
“My father her's; alike we grew;
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“For sister ne'er did brother prove.—
“What tho' her heart to mine was cold,
“Retiring, coy, of icy mould,
“No rival yet that heart had gain'd,
“By treachery won, by fraud retain'd.”
XII.
“Peace for thy life!” fierce Henry cry'd,And grasp'd the cutlass by his side.—
“Peace for my sake!” shriek'd fair Christine,
Darting the angry youths between.
“Henry, unless you wish my death,
“Restore thy falchion to its sheath!
“Hubert, my brother, say, canst thou,
“So long my friend, forsake me now?
“Is it for me that ye contend?
“Oh! grief will soon the combat end;
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“That rends my heart, destroy my life!”
XIII.
Subdued to female gentleness,Remorse and shame on Henry press;
Yet when he to the maiden turn'd,
Impetuous love bright blazing burn'd;
And when on young Fitzallan look'd,
Rage scarce the sway of reason brook'd.
Hubert, in calm, yet dauntless mood,
Self-master'd, and collected, stood.
Christine would speak; tho' spake her look,
No words her moving lips forsook!
In shame each struggling sound expir'd;
Tho' all the pitying crowd retir'd.
The rival youths, the luckless maid,
Fitzallan, Seymor, only staid.
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Of agony, and faltering spoke.
XIV.
“Henry, to thee most kind, most true,“My best, my ardent thanks are due,
“My simple tale, my last adieu.
“Hubert my wayward heart has told,
“In friendship warm, in passion cold;
“Has told our childhood's silken tie,
“Our sweet fraternal amity.
“Our pleasures, friends, and parents shar'd,
“The same our task, and our reward.
“He said my virgin heart was cold,
“Cast in a rough and icy mould;
“But that heart's debt he left untold.
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XV.
“He said not that 'twas his to save,“My life from the devouring wave;
“Rear o'er my father's grave the tomb;
“Cheer my dear mother's widow'd gloom;
“Each pain, each care, each toil remove,
“I ow'd him all—but could not love!
“Oft I have prob'd my wayward breast,
“When he his tender passion prest,
“Deaf was my heart to love's wild storm,
“I thought it cold;—I feel it warm;
“Gratitude, friendship, and esteem,
“May they my mighty debt redeem,
“Hubert with them my hand receive;
“My heart—would it were mine to give!”
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XVI.
Young Hubert, with averted eyes,Kiss'd the cold, trembling sacrifice,
In agitated woe he mus'd,
But not the proffer'd hand refus'd.—
Not long he mus'd. “Divinest maid!
“I cannot part with thee!” he said;
“O blest with thee, my future life
“Shall win thy love, my angel wife!”
Yet fear'd he on her face to look,
That speechless woe he could not brook,
He turn'd him from the cave away:—
One moment stunn'd and pale she lay,
Then started up, in wild dismay.
“Henry, farewell!” the fair one sigh'd,
And sought the cot her grief to hide.
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XVII.
In Henry's breast fierce passions swell,Ah! who their furious storm shall quell?
Fitzallan sooth'd, but all unheard
Was reason calm, or cheering word;
Till dear Christina's magic name,
Lull'd wrathful ire to Love's mild flame;
Forgotten who his passion crost,
He thought but of the maid he lost,
And tears stream down his manly cheek;
And sighs from his fond bosom break.
Thus soften'd to the strand they drew,
And bade a sad, a last adieu.
The crew soon gain the crowded boat,
Soon in the glassy harbour float;
Soon mount the vessel's side, so steep,
And some retire to balmy sleep,
And one to wake, and watch, and weep.
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XVIII.
Christina sat within her bower,From eve to midnight's pensive hour;
That hour, so lovely, and so calm,
When Nature sheds her purest balm.
The glorious canopy on high
Glow'd with the wonders of the sky;
Innumerous, the starry train
Lit heaven's high arch, and ocean's plain;
Whilst the pale regent of the night
Bent down, to view her image bright
Now sail upon the crystal lake,
Now on the restless billows break;
As, smooth and regular, the wave
Roll'd on, the silver sand to lave;
Majestic roll'd, in ceaseless flow,
That sparkling wave with crest of snow.
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XIX.
The vessel, in her proud array,Stately on the calm waters lay,
Her streamers floated wild and wide,
The billows dimpled on her side;
Her white sails caught the brightening beam,
Her topmast glitter'd in the stream;
And the long shadows seem to sleep,
Like clouds across the tranquil deep.
That scene of loveliness and rest,
Sooth'd not Christina's throbbing breast.
That vessel glittering in the ray,
It bore her all of life away!—
To lull that maddening grief she strove,
And turn'd to view her native grove.
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XX.
Could nature charm the bosom's woes,That hour had lull'd her to repose.
The rosy bloom, the varied green,
That wont to deck the lovely scene,
Was sweetly blent to one soft hue,
Of mingled grey, and brown, and blue.
There rose a mass of solemn shade;
Here light the chequering moon-beams play'd;
Glanc'd on the dew-bespangled ground;
Dwelt on the hill with vapors crown'd;
Kiss'd rippling stream, and shadowy vale;
And slept along the narrow dale.
And nature slept! 'Twas silence all,
Save the low sound of ocean's fall;
The murmuring of the brook; the breeze
Which swept, in cadence soft, the trees;
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Their faint vibration could descry;
So softly swept, that scarce the ear
That soothing plaintive sound could hear.
XXI.
Christina, in her hopeless grief,Found not the mourner's sad relief;
She could not weep; the sudden blow
Forbade the genial tear to flow.
She could not weep; upon her breast
Th' o'erwhelming tide of misery prest,
Prest on that heart, so good and kind,
That memory clear, that equal mind;
Her brain with gathering frenzy fraught,
Vainly her cause for anguish sought,
All motionless she sate; her eye
Bent wildly upon vacancy.
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Has caught the pale moon's trembling stream,
And the fair mourner's joyless beam?
XXII.
She started up, her hands she clasp'd,Oh soon her glittering prize she grasp'd!
With speechless joy, with sorrow mute,
She kiss'd her prize,—'twas Henry's flute!
Forgotten since the dawn of day,
Hid in the clustering vine it lay;
And now to fair Christina brought
The power of memory and of thought;
O painful power! What pangs she felt,
As on the morning's bliss she dwelt!
Each silver sound so sweetly clear,
Of flute, of voice, she seem'd to hear;
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Each accent told how well he lov'd.
XXIII.
Once had she sought, but sought in vain,To swell that soft enchanting strain;
Again the cherish'd tube she blew;—
One low, harsh, hollow note she drew;
Discordant, all unlike the sound,
That wont to swell that narrow bound!
It jarr'd, like the lone harp that falls
In lovely Erin's ruin'd halls;
Where cold despair has broke the lyre,
And quench'd the patriot's glowing fire.
It struck upon that maiden's heart,
Like groan when soul and body part;
It pierc'd to feeling's secret cell,
And the big tear-drops freely fell;
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Of reason, and religion's balm;
That heart, where pious virtue glow'd,
Felt strongly the vast debt it ow'd.
Yet, as the tedious moments creep,
Fond, fruitless tears her pillow steep.
XXIV.
Slow crept the moments. Yet too fast,For sweet Christina's peace they past.
The morn arose; the fatal hour
Of bridal vows, of Hubert's power;
Arose in blushes rosy bright,
And darted forth celestial light.
Deep in the fragrance of the grove,
Awoke the burnish'd emerald dove.
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He rous'd his mate with murmuring lay,
Then flew with airy wing away.
When last arose that crimson streak,
It match'd not bright Christina's cheek!
When last awoke that tender dove,
He match'd not Henry's strains of love!
But pallid now and sad, she fled
From Hubert's love, with anguish'd dread.
Needless her fear; he left the cot,
At early morn; and sought her not.
XXV.
But soon the bridal maidens came,To deck the bright and peerless dame.
Young Helen,—fairest maiden she,
Who trod the green isle merrily;
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Young Helen whisper'd words of cheer.
Yet wonder'd much that there was need,
Of comfort, with such blissful meed;
“For none like Hubert flung the lance!
“For none like Hubert led the dance!
“For none like Hubert good and wise!
“How could she such a heart despise?”
Oh! all, who Helen's glowing mien,
And pale Christina's cheek had seen,
That girl for blushing bride had taken,
That drooping nymph, for maid forsaken.
XXVI.
With simple taste they deck'd the fair,And braided her long silken hair;
Those glossy tresses, unconfin'd
Which sported on the wanton wind,
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Nor hide her slim and ivory throat;
But the bright ringlets' polish'd jet,
Blended with flowery coronet,
—Where scarlet pea, from Hubert's bower,
Hung o'er the jasmine's starry flower;—
Or wav'd upon her polish'd brow,
Like raven's plumes on Cheviot's snow.
XXVII.
What wily art of courtly dressCould add to that form's loveliness?
No art was there. The Parou wound
In light and graceful folds, around.
Above the slender ancle, free
Floated that nymph-like drapery;
Her round and polish'd arm reveal'd;
Her bosom's swelling charms conceal'd;
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And modesty with grace combin'd.
Like sea-nymph on her neck she bore
The hidden treasures of the shore;
And pearly shells, and coral grac'd
The girdle that confin'd her waist.
XXVIII.
The light task o'er, in accents mildShe spoke her thanks, and sweetly smil'd.
Was it th' enforced meed of duty,
Or the gay smile of conscious beauty?
'Vails not to ask; it pass'd as soon
As vapors o'er the changeful moon;
Whilst, constant as the sun, remain'd
Those charms by no foul passion stain'd.
Not brighter to the wanderer's eyes
The shawled maids of Cashmire rise,
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And grace enchanted loves to dwell.
XXIX.
The bride's procession to attend,Come maid and youth, and matron friend;
These sought in vain, by fond caress,
Her heart-felt anguish to repress;
Those with more generous pity strove
To wake her smiles, and chace her love.
The bridegroom's presence now they wait,
Hubert, with hope and joy elate,
But Hubert came not; and in vain
They search'd o'er hill, and dale, and plain.
Fitzallan, from the peep of dawn,
To the lone chapel had withdrawn,
There too perchance young Hubert sought,
To calm perturb'd and jealous thought.
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“'Tis there he waits his lovely bride!”
And soon the hapless fair they lead,
Thro' the rich vale and verdant mead.
XXX.
On Helen's arm Christina leant,With faltering step, and eye intent;
'Till as she pass'd a woody mound,
She rais'd that bright eye from the ground,
Where she thro' craggy rocks might view,
Short glimpses of the ocean blue.
Shuddering she gaz'd; for glistening bright,
She saw the sails all silver white,
The swelling sails, which Henry bore,
For ever from Christina's shore.
Onward she past; and saw no more.
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XXXI.
Deep in the windings of the wood,Lone and retir'd the chapel stood;
Artless and unadorn'd, the place
Breath'd simple nature's wildest grace.
Palm trees erect, of towering height,
With tufted crest exclude the light;
Their frowning columns, dark and tall,
Ascend at equal interval,
And the smooth trunk shines brightly grand,
As marble from the sculptor's hand.
Round the high trees fond creepers climb,
To reach that capital sublime;
And blossoms of a thousand dies,
Beneath the verdant plantain rise;
And fragrant here the breezes sweep,
As o'er Arabia's spicy steep.
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XXXII.
How soothing sweeps that balmy breeze,Waking with tremulous sound the trees!
They bend at nature's genial call;
And bends not man, the lord of all?
Yes; here the purest race impart
The incense of the grateful heart;
Here, on each Sabbath's peaceful morn,
To Heaven the choral hymn is borne,
From Pagans, whose repentant sighs
Ascend in ceaseless sacrifice;
From Christians, who the paths have trod
Of peace, of virtue, and of God;
Who still His guiding grace implore,
His Mercy bless, His Power adore.
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XXXIII.
At the arch'd door, like village church,Arose a low and rustic porch;
Thence gaz'd Fitzallan on the train,
With throb of pleasure mix'd with pain.
“That girl, how dear to every heart!
“Oh why should love and duty part?—
“She comes!”—He caught her to his breast,
That trembling maid with woe opprest.
He hail'd her “Daughter;” oft the word,
From those dear lips with pride she heard;
But now, as low he breath'd the name,
With anguish shook her quivering frame:
“Calm thee, Christine!” Fitzallan cried,
“These feelings suit not Hubert's bride;—
“But Hubert, where is he?” the sound,
From youth to maid was echo'd round.
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XXXIV.
“Strange that this fair auspicious dawn“Should view him from his home withdrawn.
“Christina, hast thou seen the youth?
“No! well I know that bosom's truth!
“But is there none the cause can guess?
“Anna, thy blushes answer, yes!
“O quickly speak!” In accents low
She spoke, reluctantly and slow.
“Yes, she had met at break of day
“Young Hubert, hastening to the bay;
“Had view'd him launch the light canoe,
“Which bounding towards the vessel flew;
“And as he pass'd, her ear had caught
“Disjointed words, with meaning fraught,
“Unconscious breath'd in laboring thought.
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“Yet sure he join'd Christina's name
“With ‘sweet revenge,’ and much she fear'd,
“For one to the lov'd maid endear'd.”
XXXV.
The father's love, the father's pride,That painful moment mortified;
By anger, woe, and doubt assail'd,
The father's fears at length prevail'd.
“Christina, to the shore I fly,
“This boy's rash haste to rectify;
“This hateful rivalry to stay,
“This jealousy to chase away,—
“For this I go;—await me here!”—
“O banish this degrading fear!”
The maiden cried, “Injurious thought!
“From terror, not from reason, caught.
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“With polish'd Europe's treacherous men?
“Who point the death-tube at the breast,
“Which yester-morn to their's was prest;
“Men who, unfit to live or die,
“Unbidden to His presence fly,
“Who sent, at the Redeemer's birth,
“Good will to men, and peace on earth!”
XXXVI.
“And dost thou Hubert's virtue deem,“The brightness of an airy dream?
“And think'st thou Hubert's love so weak,
“That he Christina's heart would break?
“Ah! well I know that virtue strong,
“Practis'd to render good for wrong!
“Ah! well I know that faithful love
“From me would every pang remove!
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“His rival from the stormy wave;
“Share with him board and dwelling free;
“Give all he had to give,—but me!”
XXXVII.
Delighted, charm'd, the father gaz'd,On the bright glow her ardor rais'd;
From friendship, not from love, it sprung,
Yet on her generous speech he hung:
She sway'd his heart with double claim,
Defender of his Hubert's fame:
Her face, her heart, with feeling burn'd,
And blushing to the porch she turn'd;
She turn'd;—and there, in listening mood,
Link'd side by side the rivals stood!
Hubert advanc'd, and in his arms
One moment clasp'd those blooming charms:
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And led young Henry to the maid;—
“Oh hands should meet, where hearts entwine,
“Take her, bright stranger, she is thine!”
| Christina | |