The Legend of Genevieve with other tales and poems. By Delta [i.e. David Macbeth Moir] |
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THE
MOSSY SEAT. |
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 | The Legend of Genevieve |  |
107
THE MOSSY SEAT.
Although thou canst never be mine,
Although even hope is denied,
'Tis sweeter for thee despairing,
Than aught in the world beside.
Burns.
Although even hope is denied,
'Tis sweeter for thee despairing,
Than aught in the world beside.
Burns.
The landscape hath not lost its look;
Still rushes on the sparkling river;
Nor hath the gloominess forsook
These granite crags, that frown for ever.
Still hangs around the shadowy wood,
Whose sounds but murmur solitude:
The raven's plaint, the linnet's song,
The stock-dove's querulous repining,
In mingled echoes steal along;—
The setting sun is brightly shining,
And clouds above, and hills below,
Are brightening with his golden glow.
Still rushes on the sparkling river;
Nor hath the gloominess forsook
These granite crags, that frown for ever.
Still hangs around the shadowy wood,
Whose sounds but murmur solitude:
The raven's plaint, the linnet's song,
The stock-dove's querulous repining,
In mingled echoes steal along;—
The setting sun is brightly shining,
And clouds above, and hills below,
Are brightening with his golden glow.
108
It is not meet—it is not fit,
Though Fortune all our hopes hath thwarted,
While on the very stone I sit,
Where first we met, and last we parted,
That absent from my mind should be
The thought that longs and looks for thee!
The happy hours that we have proved,
When love's delicious converse blended,
As 'neath the twilight star we roved,
Unconscious where our journey tended,—
To memory yield a sweet relief,
And lull me with the joys of grief.
Though Fortune all our hopes hath thwarted,
While on the very stone I sit,
Where first we met, and last we parted,
That absent from my mind should be
The thought that longs and looks for thee!
The happy hours that we have proved,
When love's delicious converse blended,
As 'neath the twilight star we roved,
Unconscious where our journey tended,—
To memory yield a sweet relief,
And lull me with the joys of grief.
What soothing recollections throng,
Presenting many a mournful token,
That heart's remembrance to prolong,
Which then was blest, and now is broken!
I dare not—oh! hast thou forgot
Our early loves—this hallow'd spot?—
I almost think I see thee stand;
I almost dream I hear thee speaking;
I feel the presence of thy hand—
Thy living glance in fondness seeking,
Here, all apart, by all unseen,
Thy form upon mine arm to lean.
Presenting many a mournful token,
That heart's remembrance to prolong,
Which then was blest, and now is broken!
I dare not—oh! hast thou forgot
Our early loves—this hallow'd spot?—
I almost think I see thee stand;
I almost dream I hear thee speaking;
I feel the presence of thy hand—
Thy living glance in fondness seeking,
Here, all apart, by all unseen,
Thy form upon mine arm to lean.
109
How sweet it was, at eventide,
To be with thee and fancy roaming,
When Summer wanton'd in its pride,
As down yon cliff the stream was foaming;
As humm'd around the busy bee,
As music woke from every tree;
How sweet it was!—but feeling now
No more such heavenly joys can borrow;
With thee the scene hath lost its glow
It spoke of bliss, and speaks of sorrow:
Mirth, music, friendship, have no tone
Like that, which with thy voice hath flown!
To be with thee and fancy roaming,
When Summer wanton'd in its pride,
As down yon cliff the stream was foaming;
As humm'd around the busy bee,
As music woke from every tree;
How sweet it was!—but feeling now
No more such heavenly joys can borrow;
With thee the scene hath lost its glow
It spoke of bliss, and speaks of sorrow:
Mirth, music, friendship, have no tone
Like that, which with thy voice hath flown!
Though beauty bless the landscape still,
Though woods surround, and waters lave it,
My heart feels not the vivid thrill
Which long ago thy presence gave it;
With thee the blissful feelings grew,
With thee, alas! they perish'd too!
And memory only now remains,
To whisper joys that once delighted;—
Still, still I love to tread these plains,
To seek this hallow'd haunt benighted;
And glean a something sadly sweet,
In resting on this mossy seat!
Though woods surround, and waters lave it,
My heart feels not the vivid thrill
Which long ago thy presence gave it;
With thee the blissful feelings grew,
With thee, alas! they perish'd too!
And memory only now remains,
To whisper joys that once delighted;—
Still, still I love to tread these plains,
To seek this hallow'd haunt benighted;
And glean a something sadly sweet,
In resting on this mossy seat!
| The Legend of Genevieve | |