Слике страница
PDF
ePub

The flush of passion, smile or tear had seem'd
On the fix'd brightness of each dazzling cheek,
Strange and unnatural: statues not unlike
By nature, in fantastic mood congeal'd
From purest snow, the fair of earth to shame,
Surpassing beauteous: breath of mortal life
Heaved not their bosoms, and no rosy blood

Dire and ill-boding, or if heard, disdain'd
Adverse what prosperous seem'd a voice from Heaven

"By what rich rite," he cried, "may Briton Chief Win favour from high Woden?"—"Not the blood Of steed or stag; a flower of earth must fade. Blest o'er all virgins of the earth, the chaste,

Tinged their full veins; yet moved they, and their The beautiful, by Heaven ordain'd to lead

steps

Were harmony. But three of that bright troop,
The loveliest and the wildest, stood aloof,
Enwrapt by what in human form were like
Impulse divine, of their fine nature seem'd
The eternal instinct. Them no less survey'd
Caswallon with the knitted brow of scorn:
Bitter he spake "No marvel Saxon souls
Revel in war's delights, so stern, so fierce
Their deities." Severe with wrath suppress'd,
As one ill brooking that irreverent mirth
Scoff'd the feign'd lore, himself ne'er dared to doubt,
Answer'd the son of Woden. "These, proud Chief,
So snowy, soft, and airy, gentle, these
Are ministers of destiny and death,
The viewless Riders of the battle field:
When sounds the rushing of their sable steeds,
Down sink the summon'd mighty, and expand
Valhalla's cloudy portals; to their thrones
They the triumphant strangers lead, and pour
Lavish the eternal beverage of the Gods.

Mark thou yon bright-hair'd three? and would thy soul

Grasp the famed deeds of ancient time, or know
The master spirits of our present world?
Lo Gudur, she whose deep mysterious soul
Treasureth the past, and Rosta, who beholds
All acts and agents of this living earth;
She too is there before whose spacious sight
The years that have not been start up and live,
Who reads within the soul of man unborn
The unimagined purpose, of the sage
Skulda the sagest. Ask and thou shalt know."
-"I am not King of Britain, have not been;
Hateful the present and the past, my soul
Thirsteth for what shall be."-Then Hengist spake
In tone of mix'd authority and prayer,

Queen of the Future, Valkyr, hear and speak,
Speak to the Son of Woden."- All the troop
Instant the thin bright air absorb'd alone,
Stood Skulda with her white hair waving wide,
As trembling on the verge of palpable being,
Ready to languish too in light away.

"O'er Britain's isle doth Woden to his sons Give empire?" She, but in no human tone, E'er from the soul's emotion harsh or soft, One glittering rich unvarying tone replied, To thine, but not to thee?"-And, "I am thine," Caswallon shouted loud, and sternly shook His visionary sceptre. Whence the foe Fatal to Hengist, and to Hengist's sway?" "Not from the mountain, Saxon, from the Vale." Heard, heeded not the Mountain Chief that strain

[ocr errors]

The souls of valiant men to the pale hall
Of the Immortal; air her path, and Heaven
Her dwelling, with the fair and brave of earth
Her sole communion ?"-"By my future throne,
Proud office for the daughter of a King!
A royal damsel, mine own blood, shall join
Your cloudy mysteries."- A hue like joy
O'erspread her face and form, while slow
Into the air she brighten'd indistinct
Even now, and now invisible. Sad seem'd
In gloomy converse with his own dark mind
Old Hengist, nor despair'd that bold of soul,
In pride of human wisdom to revoke
The irrevocable, what himself deem'd fate
By force or fraud to master or elude.

O glorious eminence of virtuous fame, Glorious from peril! Warrior of the Vales, Fate-signal'd Samor, vaunt not thou the love Of a blind people, or weak prince: thy boast The sworn unerring hate of Britain's foe.

So pass'd they forth, one in wild joy elate, Already in his high disdainful thought Wielding supremacy; each of fix'd fate Nought heeding, but what fed his fierce desires.

The car slides light, the deer bound fleet, nor sun Nor star in all the hazy heavens. Snow, snow, Above, around, beneath. Unblinded yet, Drive on the kingly charioteers, and shake The showery plumage from their locks; fast fades The long pale plain, the giant ice-hills sink, Lakes, rivers, seas are patient of their speed, Huge, dim, and dusk the forest pines rush back, Now pant the brown deer by that ocean bay.

How desolate are now thy unplough'd waves, Dark Baltic! wandering Elbe, thy icy breast How silent of thy hunters! Sleep thou calm Amid thy wanton vineyards, Gaul! no more The blue-eyed Plunderers, bridging thy broad Rhine Waste thy inebriate harvests' clustering pride. Sing songs of joy, soft Italy! o'er thee

But Alaric and Attila drive on

Their chariot-wheels of conquest, this their peer In majesty of havoc, in renown

Of devastation, this, the fiercer third

Of human Furies, scapest thou: therefore sing,
Soft Italy; for lo, at Hengist's call,
Vast Germany dispeoples her wide realm,
Deserts to silence and the beasts of game
Her long and soundless forests. Seems the North
The forge of Nations, in one fleet t'exhaust
Her iron wealth of warriors; helmed high

The Suevian with his towery knotted locks,
Frisian and Scandinavian, Cimbrian rich
In ancient vauntage of his sires, who clomb
The Alpine snows, and shook free Rome with dread.
And other nameless, numberless, sweep forth
Their bands; but three almost in nations came:
The Jute, the Anglian, and the Saxon, each
Leaving earth bare for many a lonesome league,
His wives, his children, and his Gods embarks,
On the fierce quest of peril and of power.

Then forth arose each Chieftain to salute
The pole-star of their baleful galaxy.
Prime Architect of ruin: him who sway'd
Their hot marauding, desultory strife

To cool and steady warfare, of their limbs
The domineering soul. As each pass'd on
Shook up the Scald his harsh-strung shell, and cast
The war-tones of each nation to the winds;
And Hengist with imperious flattery met
Each tall and titled Leader: "Art thou here,
Bold Frisian Hermangard! a broader isle
And fairer than thy azure Rhine laves round,
Spreads for thee her green valleys. How brook'st
thou,

Strong Scandinavian Lodbrog, thou the Chief
Of the renown'd Vikinger, while the waves
So nobly riot with the wintry storms,

The tame and steadfast land? Now freely leap,
Arngrim, along thy Suevian forests brown
The bear and foam-tusk'd wild boar; let them leap,
A braver game is up on Britain's shore.
O Cerdic, grey in glory, young in power,
The Drave ran purple with thy boyish deeds,
A darker, redder dye, o'er silver Thames
Shall spread before thy ancient battle-axe.
Ho, Offa, the rich-flowing mead hath worn
Your Jutland cups, beneath the British helms
Capacious goblets smooth and fair await
Offa's carousals. Heir of Cimbric fame,t
Frotho, how these, of late the Roman's slaves,
Will the race daunt, who set our Thor afront
The Roman's Capitolian Jove. And thou,
My gold-hair'd brother, are the British maids,
Or British warriors, Abisa, the first

In the fierce yearnings of thy boyish soul?
And lo the mighty Anglian; oh, unfold
Ocean more wide, more wealthy realms, too brief,
Too narrow for Argantyr's fame, the round
Of this the choice, the Sovereign of thine isles."

Thereat a sound of clattering shields arose,
As all the rocks around with one harsh rift
Had rent asunder: "Fair must be the land,
And brave the conquest, plenteous the renown,
Where Hengist leads strong Woden's sceptred sons!"

But inly laugh'd Caswallon, as he long'd With each or all to match his Briton strength;

Insigne gentis obliquare crinem, nodoque substringere-In altitudinem quandam et terrorem, adituri bella, compte, ut hostium oculis, ornantur.-TACIT. Germ. 38.

↑ Cimbri parva nunc civitas sed gloria ingens.-- TACIT. Geria.

On the prophetic Valkyr thought, and glanced Proud pity on the legends of their praise.

Advanced Argantyr, his bold grasp apart,

As
peer his peer, led Hengist. "Thou and I,
Saxon, must have our compact; dark I know
Thy paths of strife, while frank valour loves
my
The broad bright sunshine; thou by sleight and art
Minest thy slow conquest; I with naked sword
Affront my peril, till its menacing height
Bow to the dust before me; for bold war,
For noonday battling, tender I mine arm.
But no allegiance own to subtle craft;
To peace Argantyr doth revolt when thou
Array'st stern war in the smooth garb of guile."
"The weak, Argantyr, and the friendless, need
Such politic skill; I take thee at thy word.
Who skulks a fox when he dare prowl a wolf?
Power charters force; where strong Argantyr stands
Is power-And now aboard, brave Chiefs, aboard,
Or the soft spring o'ertakes our tardy keels,
And with her slothful breezes smooths the skies."

[ocr errors]

Wonderous that ocean armament; in shoals Ride boat and bark, innumerous as the waves That show white slender streaks of foam between Their tawny sides, save here and there towers up Some statelier admiral in lordly height O'er the frail comm'nalty, whose limber ribs Are the light wicker, cased with sturdy hides Their level bottoms smooth. Oh, that frail Man, Loose-woven frame of dissoluble stuff, Uncharter'd from the boisterous license rude Of pitiless winds and fierce unfetter'd waves, To that unshackled libertine, wild Chance, Amenable, unguarantied from burst And inroad of invading surge, that he, With such thin barrier between life and death, Should sit and skim along the ocean waste, Careless as maiden in a flowery field; Valour or frenzy is it? They their toil Ply nimbly, and with gallant oar chastise The insurgent billows, their despotic sails Lords o'er the wild democracy of air.

Less vast, and mann'd with tamer, feebler spirits, In later days, against our Virgin Queen, The Spaniard's mad Armada; but the flag Of Howard, and the Almighty's stormy hand, Belied their braggart baptism, so they won Brave conquest! graves in ocean's barren caves, Or on the whirlpool-girded Orcades.

But onward rides that Pagan fleet: young Spring Hath scarcely tipt the leafless woods with green, Tyne's jetty tide is blanch'd with German vars.

Now whither with that dark-brow'd priest set forth Old Hengist and the Briton Mountain Lord ? Is it, fell Hengist, that Caswallon's name

Primum cana salix, made facto vimine parvam Texitur in puppim, cæsoque induta, juvenco, Vectoris patiens tumidum super emicat amnem; Sic Venetus stagnante Pado, fusoque Britannus Navigat oceano.

LUCAN.

Paragon thine in British hate, close link'd
By fellowship in nameless rites accurst,
Be hence more deeply, execrably thine?
Or, from weak credence in such impious Gods,
Urgest thou that fell sacrifice? Oh, where
The spotless Virgin doom'd (so wild the creed)
The Valkyr's airy troop to join, and glide
Immortal through Valhalla's cloudy halls?

BOOK IV.

SUNK was the sun, and up the eastern heaven,
Like maiden on a lonely pilgrimage,
Moved the meek Star of Eve; the wandering air
Breathed odours; wood, and waveless lake, like man,
Slept, weary of the garnish babbling day.

Dove of the wilderness, thy snowy wing
In slumber droops not; Lilian, thou alone,
'Mid the deep quiet, wakest. Dost thou rove,
Idolatrous of yon majestic moon,

That like a crystal-throned queen in Heaven,
Seems with her present deity to hush
To beauteous adoration all the earth?
Might seem the solemn silent mountain tops
Stand up and worship, the translucent streams
Down the hill sides glittering cherish the pure light
Beneath the shadowy foliage o'er them flung
At intervals; the lake, so silver white,
Glistens, all indistinct the snowy swans
Bask in the radiance cool; doth Lilian muse
To that apparent Queen her vesper hymn?

Nursling of solitude, her infant couch
Never did mother watch, within the grave.
She slept unwaking; scornful turn'd aloof
Caswallon, of those pure instinctive joys
By fathers felt, when playful infant grace,
Touch'd with a feminine softness, round the heart
Winds its light maze of undefined delight,
Contemptuous; he with haughty joy beheld
His boy, fair Malwyn, him in bossy shield
Rock'd proudly, him upborne to mountain steep
Fierce and undaunted, for their dangerous nest
To battle with the eagle's clamorous brood.

But she the while from human tenderness
Estranged, and gentler feelings that light up
The cheek of youth with rosy joyous smile,
Like a forgotten lute, play'd on alone
By chance-caressing airs, amid the wild
Beauteously pale, and sadly playful grew,
A lonely child, by not one human beart
Beloved, and loving none; nor strange, if learnt
Her native fond affections to embrace
Things senseless and inanimate; she loved
All flow'rets that with rich embroidery fair
Enamel the green earth, the odorous thyme,
Wild rose, and roving eglantine, nor spared
To mourn their fading forms with childish tears.
Grey birch and aspen light she loved, that droop

Fringing the crystal stream; the sportive breeze
That wanton'd with her brown and glossy locks,
The sunbeam chequering the fresh bank. Ere dawn
Wandering, and wandering still at dewy eve,
By Glenderamakin's flower-empurpled marge,
Derwent's blue lake, or Greta's wildering glen.

Rare sound to her was human voice, scarce heard
Save of her aged nurse, or shepherd maid
Soothing the child with simple tale or song.
Hence, all she knew of earthly hopes and fears,
Life's sins and sorrows; better known the voice
Beloved of lark from misty morning cloud
Blithe carolling, and wild melodious notes
Heard mingling in the summer wood, or plaint,
By moonlight, of the lone night-warbling bird.
Nor they of love unconscious, all around
Fearless, familiar they their descants sweet
Tuned emulous. Her knew all living shapes
That tenant wood or rock, dun roe or deer,
Sunning his dappled side at noontide crouch'd,
Courting her fond caress, nor fled her gaze
The brooding dove, but murmur'd sounds of joy.

One summer noon, the silvery birchen shade
Pendent above from dripping crag her brow
Veil'd from the fiery sunbeam, gems of spray
Gleam'd cool around with watery rainbow-light,
From a pure streamlet down its rocky bed
Dashing sweet music; she on mossy couch
Sate listening the blithe thrush, whose airy notes
In amorous contention Echo caught

Responsive. Sudden droop'd its flagging wing
The timorous bird of song, and fluttering sought
Soft refuge in the maiden's snowy breast.
She o'er the nestling prisoner folding light
Her careless vest, stood gazing, where, awhile
Dark in the sun-cloud's white, came fiercely down
A swooping falcon: at her sight it check'd;
Its keen eye bright with joy, th' admiring bird
Fearfully beauteous floated in the air,
Its silver wings, and glossy plumage grey,
Glanced in the sun-light. Up the maiden gazed,
Smiling a pale and terrified delight,

And seem'd for that loved warbler in her breast
Beseeching mercy. 'Mid the green-wood sank
Th' obedient bird; she, joyous at his flight,
Her bosom half reveal'd, with gentle hand
Caressing smoothed her captive's ruffled plumes.
Anon around a frighted thankful look
Glancing, what seem'd a human shape she saw,
Or more than human; stately on his arm
The falcon sate, and proudly flapp'd his wings.
She turn'd to flv, yet fled not, turn'd to gaze,
Yet dared not raise her downcast eye; she felt
Her warm cheek, why she knew not, blush, her hand
Unconscious closer drew her bosom's fold.
With accent mild the Stranger brief delay
Entreated she, albeit his gentle words
Fell indistinct on her alarmed ear,
Listening delay'd, and still at fall of eve
Delay'd, e'en then with dim reverted eye,
Slow lingering on her winding homeward path.

No more in pomp of war, or vaulting steed,
Joyeth the Son of Vortigern, nor feasts
With jocund harpings, and rich-jewell'd dames,
Outshining in their pride the starry heavens.

As fair the spring-flower's bloom, as graceful droops
The wild ash-spray, as sweet the mountain bee
Murmurs, melodious breathes the twilight grove,
Unheard of her, unheeded, who erewhile
Visited, constant as the morning dew,

Those playmates and sweet sisters of her soul.
In one sole image sees the enamour'd maid
Concentrated all qualities of love,

All beauty, grace, and majesty. The step
Of tall stag prancing stately down the glen,
The keen bright fierceness of the eagle's glance,
And airy gentleness of timorous roe,
And, more than all, a voice more soothing soft
Than wild bird's carol, or the murmuring brook,
With eloquence endued and melting words
So wondrous; though unheard since eve, the sounds
Come mingling with her midnight sleep, and make
The damask of her slumbering cheek grow warm.
And she is now beneath the moonlight rock,
Chiding the rippling waters that efface
That image on its azure breast distinct,
Garb, form, and feature, Vortimer; though mute,
As prodigal of fondness, his bright face
Looks up to her with glance of tenderer love,
Than wild-dove to its mate at earliest spring.

The wild birds singing on the twinkling spray,
Wake her no more; the summer wind breathes soft,
Waving the fresh grass o'er her narrow bed,
Gladdening to all but her. Senseless and cold
She lies; while all she loved, unheard, unseen,
Mourn round her." There broke off her faltering voice.
Dimly, with farewell glance, she roved around,
Never before so beautiful the lake,

Like a new sky, distinct with stars, the groves,
Green banks and shadowy dells, her haunts of bliss,
Smiled, ne'er before so lovely, their last smile;
The fountains seem'd to wail, the twilight mists,
On the wet leaves were weeping all for her.
Had not her own tears blinded her, there too
She surely had beheld a youthful form,
Wandering the solitary glen. But loud
The courser neigh'd, down bursting, wood and rock
Fly backward, the wide plain its weary length
Vainly outspreads; and now 't is midnight deep.
Ends at a narrow glen their fleet career.
That narrow glen was paled with rude black rocks,
There slowly roll'd a brook its glassy depth;
Now in the moon-beams white, now dark in gloom.
She lived, she breathed, she felt to her denied
That sole sad happiness the wretched know,
Even from excess of feeling, not to feel.
Behold her gentle, delicate, and frail,
Where all around, through rifted rock and wood,
Grim features glare, huge helmed forms obscure
People the living gloom, with dreary light
Glimmering, as of the moon from iron arms

Oft hath that moonlight wax'd and waned, since last Coldly reflected, lovely stands she there,

He parted, all of him that could depart;
Save that no distance could remove the words,
The look, the touch, that lives within her still,
The promise of return sworn on her lips.

And hark it comes, his steed along the glen;
She o'er the lucid mirror stooping, braids
Hasty her dark-brown tresses, bashful smiles
Of virgin vanity flit o'er her cheek,
Tinging its settled paleness. Now 't is near,
But ne'er did Vortimer with iron hoof
Bruise the green flowery sward that Lilian loves.
A gentle frown of winning fond reproach
Arch'd her dark eyelash, as her head she turn'd,
Ah! not on Vortimer. Her father stood
Before her, stern and dark, his trembling child
Cheer'd nor fond word, nor greeting kiss; his arm
Clasp'd round her, on his steed again he sprung.

And on through moon-light and through shade he
spurr'd,

Gleam'd like a meteor's track his flinty road,
Like some rude hunter with a snow-white fawn,
His midnight prey. Anon, the mountain path
'Gan upward wind, the fiery courser paused
Breathless, and faintly raising her thin form;
"Oh, whither bear ye me?" with panting voice,
Murmur'd. Caswallon spake unmoved, "to death."

"Death, father, death is comfortless and cold! Ay me! when maiden dies, the smiling morn,

Like a blest Angel 'mid th accurst of Hell.
A voice is heard." Lo, mighty Monarch, here
The stream of sacrifice; to man alone
Fits the proud privilege of bloody death
By shaft or mortal steel; to Hela's realm,
Unblooded, woundless, must the maid descend;
So in the bright Valhalla shall she crown
For Woden and his Peers the cup of bliss."
Her white arms round her father's rugged neck
Winding with desperate fondness, she 'gan pour,
As to some dear, familiar, long-loved heart,
Most eloquent her inarticulate prayers.
Is the dew gleaming on his cheek? or weeps
The savage and the stern, yet still her sire?
But some rude arm of one, whose dreadful face
She dared not gaze on, seized her. Gloomy stood,
Folding his wolf-skin mantle to conceal
The shuddering of his huge and mailed form,
Caswallon. Then again the voice came forth,

Fast wanes the night, the Gods brook no delay,
Monarch of Britain, speed." He, at that name
Shaking all human from his soul, flung back
The foldings of his robe, and stood elate,
As haughty of some glorious deed, nor knew
Barbarian blind as proud, who feels no more
The mercies and affections of his kind,
Casts off the image of God, a man of ill,
With all his nature's earth, without its heaven.

A sound is in the silent night abroad,
A sound of broken waters; rings of light

[ocr errors]

Float o'er the dark stream, widening to the shore.*
And lo, her re-appearing form, as soft

As fountain Nymph by weary hunter seen,

In the lone twilight glen; the moonlight gleam
Falls tenderly on her beseeching face,
Like the halo of expiring Saint, she seems
Lingering to lie upon the water top,
As to enjoy once more that light beloved;
And tremulously moved her soundless lips
As syllabling the name of Vortimer;

Then deep she sank, and quiet the cold stream,
Unconscious of its guilt, went eddying on,
And look'd up lovely to the gazing moon.

Her broken faith, as fond as Vortimer,
As full of love. "T is closer now; he leaps
From his high steed, he draws it to the shore.
Scarce time for fancy or for fear, the moon
Quench'd her broad light behind a rushing cloud,
And utter darkness settled round. He sate
In solitude, with that cold lifeless thing;
He dared not leave it, for a hideous thought
Was in his brain.-"Why is it like to thee,
My Lilian! be it any one but thou-
Hopelessly cold, irrevocably cold:

It cannot be, and yet 't was like: her height,
Her slender waist like Lilian's, and her hair
As dainty soft, and trick'd with flowers; 't is she,

What deepest thoughts, young Vortimer, have place And I will kiss her, pardon if I err,

Within thy secret breast? thou slowly ridest

By Eamont's alder brink, thy silver arms

If stranger lips round, smooth like thine; but oh!
So coldly passive; when we parted, thine

Through the brown copse with moonshine glittering Thwarted me with a struggling bashfulness,

dim,

Is't that late fight by Thanet, when the fire
From thine and Horsa's steel, frequent and red,
Burnt the pale sea-spray? or thy stately charge,
With show of British war, to curb and check
The threatening Caledonian? or what bathes
Youth's cheek in bitterest and most gall-like tears;
Thy father's shame, the curse that, unredeem'd
By thy young valour, his once kingly name
Brands with the deep-sear'd characters of hate?

Or is 't that gentle Maid by Derwent lake,
Her flower-wreath'd tresses and her pale sweet smile?
How pleasant, after war and journeying fleet
To Britain's Northern realm, from Kent's white cliffs,
Once more to see her early gliding foot
Skimming the morning dews, to hear her voice.
As artless, as melodious, melt on air,
Among the wood-birds' matins to surprise
Thine own dear name upon her bashful lips!

What floateth down the stream a deep dead white
Amid the glittering moonshine, where the stream
Runs black beneath the thicket boughs, still white,
Still slowly drifting, like a dying swan,
In snowy beauty, on its watery bier?

Oh, were but Lilian here! perchance ita neck
May struggle up, to the still waves to chaunt
Its own soft requiem, the most gentle breath,
Most fancifully, delicately sweet,

That ever soothes the midnight's dewy calm.

Near, and more near, it takes a human shape: Some luckless maiden; haply her loved youth Awaits her at the well-known place, upbraids

Homo autem quem sors immolandum obtulerat, in fontem qui ad locum sacrificiorum scat riebat vivus immergebatur: qui si facile efflaret animam, faustum renunciabant sacerdotes votum: moxque inde ereptum in vicinum nemus, quod sacrum credebant, suspendentes, inter Deos translatum affirmabant. Quo factum erat, ut beatum se crederet, qui eo immolatione e vivis excederet. Accidit nonnunquam reges ipsos simili sorte delectos victimari Qued quia fausti simum regno libamen æstimabatur, totius populi multitudo cum summa congratulatione tam insignes victimas prosequebantur. Enimvero sic

defunctos non omniro mori, sed tam illos quam se ipses immortales esse.-OLAUS MAGNUS, Book 3, cap. 6.

And, won at length, with meek surrender swell'd.
Wild and delirious fancy! many a maid
Hath full round lips, to trick the hair with flowers
"Tis common vanity. If dead, even dead,
So chilly senseless Lilian could not be
To Vortimer's embrace. Oh, but for light,
Though dim and scanty as a glow-worm's fire,
To make me surely, hopelessly undone!
Aught but this racking ignorance. Dawn forth,
Thou tortoise-footed sluggard, Morn! one beam,
Thou pitiless cold Moon!"-Morn dawn'd not yet
And pale and thick remain'd the moonless sky.
Darkness around, the dead within his arms,
He sate, even like a poison'd man, that waits,
Yet haunted by a miserable hope,
The palpable cold sickness in his veins,
And yearns to live or die, scarce cares he which,
So one were certain. But when slow the dawn
Unveil'd its filmy light, he turn'd away
From that which might be Lilian's face, and pray'c
Even for the hateful, dun, uncertain gloom,
As now by habit the slow-creeping grief,
Winding like ivy round and round his heart,
Were rapture, and not lightly to be lost.
It seem'd unconsciously his hand held up,
Unconsciously declined his heavy eye,
Where slowly brighten'd on that lifeless face
The intrusive beauty; one tress lay across,
O'erspreading yet a thin and shadowy doubt;
Move it he dare not, but the officious wind
At length dispersed it. As the thought, the fear
Were new, were sudden, like the lightning flash
That sears the infant in its mother's arms,
Smote on him the dire certainty. He clasp'd
Her damp dead cheek to his." Thus, meet we thus
Lilian, my Lilian, silent, strange, and cold?

I do not bid thee fondly gaze, nor ask
Long garrulous welcoming,-but speak, but move!
Lilian; ne'er thought I, I should live to loathe
Thy gentle presence.-Most ungrateful girl,
And I for thee forsook my warrior trust,
Was truant to my country's cause for thee.
By the green Tees my murmuring camp upbraids
My soft unwarlike absence-ay, upbraid!
Henceforth finds Fortune no where in this soul

« ПретходнаНастави »