Imagens das páginas
PDF
ePub

How soon to re-unite! And see! they meet,
Each in the other lost and found: and see
Placeless, as spirits, one soft water-sun
Throbbing within them, heart at once and eye!
With its soft neighborhood of filmy clouds,
The stains and shadings of forgotten tears,
Dimness o'erswum with lustre! Such the hour
Of deep enjoyment, following love's brief feuds;
And hark, the noise of a near waterfall!
I pass forth into light-I find myself
Beneath a weeping birch (most beautiful
Of forest-trees, the lady of the woods),
Hard by the brink of a tall weedy rock
That overbrows the cataract. How bursts
The landscape on my sight! Two crescent hills
Fold in behind each other, and so make
A circular vale, and land-locked, as might seem,
With brook and bridge, and gray-stone cottages,
Half hid by rocks and fruit-trees. At my feet,
The whortle-berries are bedewed with spray,
Dashed upwards by the furious waterfall.
How solemnly the pendent ivy-mass
Swings in its winnow; all the air is calm.

The smoke from cottage-chimneys, tinged with light,
Rises in columns; from this house alone,
Close by the waterfall, the column slants,
And feels its ceaseless breeze.

But what is this?

That cottage, with its slanting chimney-smoke,
And close beside its porch a sleeping child,
His dear head pillowed on a sleeping dog-
One arm between its fore-legs, and the hand
Holds loosely its small handful of wild-flowers,
Unfilletted, and of unequal lengths.

A curious picture, with a master's haste
Sketched on a strip of pinky-silver skin,
Peeled from the birched bark! Divinest maid!
Yon bark her canvass, and those purple berries
Her pencil! See, the juice is scarcely dried
On the fine skin! She has been newly here;
And lo! yon patch of heath has been her couch-

The pressure still remains! O blessed couch!
For this mayst thou flower early, and the sun,
Slanting at eve, rest bright, and linger long
Upon thy purple bells! O Isabel!
Daughter of genius! stateliest of our maids!
More beautiful than whom Alcæus wooed
The Lesbian woman of immortal song!
O child of genius! stately, beautiful,
And full of love to all, save only me,

And not ungentle e'en to me! My heart,

Why beats it thus? Through yonder coppice-wood
Needs must the pathway turn, that leads straightway
On to her father's house. She is alone!

The night draws on-such ways are hard to hit-
And fit it is I should restore this sketch,

Dropt unawares no doubt. Why should I yearn
To keep the relique? 'twill but idly feed
The passion that consumes me. Let me haste!
The picture in my hand which she has left:
She can not blame me that I followed her
And I may be her guide the long wood through.

Earl Henry.

THE NIGHT-SCENE:

A DRAMATIC FRAGMENT.

Sandoval You loved the daughter of Don Manrique ?

Sandoval. Did you not say you wooed her?

Loved?

[blocks in formation]

Not loving Oropeza. True, I wooed her,
Hoping to heal a deeper wound; but she

Met my advances with impassioned pride,

That kindled love with love. And when her sire,
Who in his dream of hope already grasped

The golden circlet in his hand, rejected

My suit with insult, and in memory

Of ancient feuds poured curses on my head,
Her blessings overtook and baffled them!

But thou art stern, and with unkindly countenance
Art inly reasoning whilst thou listenest to me.

Sandoval. Anxiously, Henry! reasoning anxiously. But Oropeza

Earl Henry. Blessings gather round her!
Within this wood there winds a secret passage,
Beneath the walls, which opens out at length
Into the gloomiest covert of the garden.-
The night ere my departure to the army,

She, nothing trembling, led me through that gloom,
And to that covert by a silent stream,
Which, with one star reflected near its marge,
Was the sole object visible around me.

No leaflet stirred; the air was almost sultry ;
So deep, so dark, so close, the umbrage o'er us!
No leaflet stirred;-yet pleasure hung upon
The gloom and stillness of the balmy night-air.
A little further on an arbor stood,

Fragrant with flowering trees-I well remember
What an uncertain glimmer in the darkness
Their snow-white blossoms made-thither she led me,
To that sweet bower! Then Oropeza trembled-
I heard her heart beat-if 'twere not my own.
Sandoval. A rude and scaring note, my friend.
Earl Henry.

Oh! no!

I have small memory of aught but pleasure.
The inquietudes of fear, like lesser streams
Still flowing, still were lost in those of love :
So love grew mightier from the fear, and Nature,
Fleeing from pain, sheltered herself in joy.
The stars above our heads were dim and steady,
Like eyes suffused with rapture.-Life was in us:
We were all life, each atom of our frames

A living soul-I vowed to die for her:
With the faint voice of one who, having spoken,
Relapses into blessedness, I vowed it:
That solemn vow, a whisper scarcely heard,

A murmur breathed against a lady's ear.

Oh there is joy above the name of pleasure,

Deep self-possession, an intense repose.

Sandoval [with a sarcastic smile]. No other than as eastern sages paint,

The God, who floats upon a lotos leaf,

Dreams for a thousand ages; then awaking,
Creates a world, and smiling at the bubble,

Relapses into bliss.

[blocks in formation]

Feared as an alien, and too vast for man?
For suddenly, impatient of its silence,

Did Oropeza, starting, grasp my forehead.

I caught her arms; the veins were swelling on them.
Through the dark bower she sent a hollow voice ;-
“Oh! what if all betray me? what if thou?”
I swore, and with an inward thought that seemed
The purpose and the substance of my being,
I swore to her, that were she red with guilt,
I would exchange my unblenched state with hers.-
Friend! by that winding passage, to that bower
I now will go-all objects there will teach me
Unwavering love, and singleness of heart.
Go, Sandoval! I am prepared to meet her—
Say nothing of me-I myself will seek her-

Nay, leave me, friend! I can not bear the torment
And keen inquiry of that scanning eye.-

[Earl Henry retires into the wood.]

Sandoval [alone]. O Henry! always striv'st thou to be great By thine own act—yet art thou never great

But by the inspiration of great passion.

The whirl-blast comes, the desert-sands rise up

And shape themselves from earth to heaven they stand,
As though they were the pillars of a temple,

Built by Omnipotence in its own honor!
But the blast pauses, and their shaping spirit
Is fled the mighty columns were but sand,
And lazy snakes trail o'er the level ruins!

TO AN UNFORTUNATE WOMAN,

WHOM THE AUTHOR HAD KNOWN IN THE DAYS OF HER INNOCENCE.

MYRTLE-LEAF, that, ill besped,
Pinest in the gladsome ray,
Soiled beneath the common tread,
Far from thy protecting spray!

When the partridge o'er the sheaf
Whirred along the yellow vale,
Sad I saw thee, heedless leaf!
Love the dalliance of the gale.

Lightly didst thou, foolish thing!
Heave and flutter to his sighs,
While the flatterer, on his wing,

Wooed and whispered thee to rise,

Gaily from thy mother-stalk

Wert thou danced and wafted high—

Soon on this unsheltered walk

Flung to fade, to rot and die.

TO AN UNFORTUNATE WOMAN AT THE THEATRE.

MAIDEN, that with sullen brow

Sitt'st behind those virgins gay,
Like a scorched and mildewed bough,
Leafless 'mid the blooms of May!

Him who lured thee and forsook,
Oft I watched with angry gaze,

Fearful saw his pleading look,
Anxious heard his fervid phrase.

Soft the glances of the youth,

Soft his speech, and soft his sigh ;

But no sound like simple truth,
But no true love in his eye.

« AnteriorContinuar »