THE POET'S BRIDAL SONG.
Yet my heart leaps as fond for thee
As when, beneath Arbigland tree,
We stayed and wooed, and thought the moon
Set on the sea an hour too soon;
Or lingered, 'mid the falling dew,
When looks were fond, and words were few.
Though I see smiling at my feet
Five sons and ae fair daughter sweet;
And time, and cares, and birth-time woes,
Have dimmed thy eye, and touched thy rose;
To thee, and thoughts of thee, belong
All that charms me of tale or song;
When words come down, like dews unsought,
With gleams of deep enthusiast thought,
And fancy, in her heaven, flies free
They come, my love, they come from thee.
O, when more thought we gave of old
To silver than some give to gold;
'Twas sweet to sit and ponder o'er
What things should deck our humble bower!
'Twas sweet to pull, in hope, with thee,
The golden fruit from Fortune's tree;
And sweeter still to choose and twine
A garland for those locks of thine-
A song-wreath which may grace my Jean,
While rivers flow, and woods are green.
At times there come, as come there ought,
Grave moments of sedater thought,-
When Fortune frowns, nor lends our night
One gleam of her inconstant light;
And hope, that decks the peasant's bower,
Shines like the rainbow through the shower:
O then I see, while seated nigh,
A mother's heart shine in thine eye;
And proud resolve, and purpose meek,
Speak of thee more than words can speak :
I think the wedded wife of mine
The best of all that's not divine!
THERE was a Tempest brooding in the air, Far in the west. Above, the skies were fair, And the sun seemed to go in glory downOne small black cloud (one only), like a crown Touched his descending disc, and rested there: Slow then it came along, to the great wind Rebellious, and, although it blew and blew, Came on increasing, and across the blue Spread its dark shape, and left the sun behind. The daylight sank, and the winds wailed about The barque wherein the luckless couple lay, And from the distant cloud came scattering out Rivers of fire: it seemed as though the day Had burst from out the billows far away. No pilot had they their small boat to steer Aside from rocks; no sea-worn mariner, Who knew each creek and bay and sheltering steep, And all the dangers of the turbulent deep. They fled for life (for happiness is life),And met the Tempest in his hour of strife Abroad upon the waters: they were driven Against them by the angry winds of Heaven; Or thus it seemed: the clouds, the air, the sea, Rose from unnatural dead tranquillity. And came to battle with their legions: hail Shot shattering down, and thunders roared aloud, And the wild lightning from his dripping shroud
Unbound his arrowy pinions blue and pale,
And darted through the Heavens. Below, the gale
Sang like a dirge, and the white billows lashed
The boat, and then like ravenous lions dashed
Against the deep wave-hidden rocks, and told
Of ghastly perils as they backward rolled.
The lovers driven along from hour to hour,
Were helpless-hopeless-in the ocean's power.
The storm continued ; and no voice was heard,
Save that of some poor solitary bird,
That sought a shelter on the quivering mast
But soon borne off by the tremendous blast,
Sank in the waters, screaming. The great sea
Bared, like a grave, its bosom silently,
Then fell and panted like an angry thing
With its own strength at war: the vessel flew
Towards the land, and then the billows grew
Larger and white, and roared as triumphing,
Scattering afar and wide the heavy spray,
That shone like bright snow as it passed away.
At first, the dolphin and the porpoise dark
Came rolling by them, and the hungry shark
Followed the boat, patient and eager eyed,
And the gray curlew slanting dipped her side,
And the hoarse gull his wings within the foam :
But some had sunk-the rest had hurried home.
And now pale Julia and her husband (clasped
Each in the other's arms) sate viewing death;
She, for his sake in fear, silently gasped,
And he to cheer her kept his steady breath,
Talking of hope, and smiled like morning. There
They sate together in their sweet despair:
Sometimes upon his breast she laid her head,
And he upon her silent beauty fed,
Hushing her fears, and 'tween her and the storm
Drew his embroidered cloak to keep her warm;
She thanked him with a look upturned to his,
The which he answered by a tender kiss,
Pressed and prolonged to pain! her lip was cold,
And all her love and terror mutely told.
ENVOY TO THE AUTHOR'S TRANSLATION OF TASSO.
FARE-THEE-WELL, Soul of sweet Romance! farewell, Harp of the South! the stirring of whose strings Has given, by power of their melodious spell,
Such pleasant speed to Time's else weary wings, That-rapt in spirit to the Delphic cell,
'Midst its green laurels and prophetic springs,-
The tuneful labours of past years now seem
A brief indulgence-an enchanted dream.
My pride at noon, my vision of the night,
My hope at morn, my joy at lonely eve!
Now that thy tones of magical delight
Are o'er, do I not well to droop and grieve?
To what new region shall the Muse take flight,
What pictures fashion, what fresh numbers weave, When all that else had charmed, must now appear Tame to the eye, and tuneless to the ear?
Much shall I miss thee, when, in calm repose,
The Summer moon upon my casement shines;
Much, when the melancholy Autumn strows
With leaves my walk beneath th' o'erarching pines. Nor less when Spring, 'twixt shower and sunshine,
Abroad the sweet breath of her eglantines,
ENVOY TO THE AUTHOR'S TASSO.
And Winter deepens, with its stormy din,
The quiet charm of the bright hearth within.
If with no vulgar aim, no selfish view,
I sought to give thy foreign chords a tongue,
Let not my hopes all pass like morning dew,
When on thy cypress bough again thou'rt hung;
But sometimes whisper of me to the few
I love, the fond, the faithful, and the young,
And those who reverence the wronged soul that planned
Thy world of sound with archangelic hand.
Hear how the strings, dear IDA, sound abroad
The grief and glory of that matchless mind!
What ardour glows in each seraphic chord;
How deep a passion Echo leaves behind!
Yet was he wretched whom all tongues applaud,-
For peace he panted, for affection pined:
Be thou, whilst thy mild eyes with pity swim,
More kind to me than AURA was to him :-
Else shall I little prize th' indulgent praise
Which some may lavish on a task so long;
Else shall I mourn, that e'er my early days
Were given to feeling, solitude, and song;
But thee no light capricious fancy sways,
To doubt thy truth would be the heavens to wrong;
Peace to thy spirit with the closing spell!
And thou, Hesperian Harp, farewell, farewell!
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