It knew no frail disguise;
But let unchecked its passions spring
Its deepest feelings rise.
And oft at even-time they strolled
The rural lanes alone,
In converse deep, with kindred thoughts
And feelings blent in one.
Both nature prized, and took delight
In sunset skies and flowers,
And talking of all fairest things,
They wiled away the hours.
Naught can so swiftly light two breasts
With mutual flames of love;
As finding that all beauteous scenes
The same deep pulses move.
Pure, simple, Lucy, scarcely knew
Her heart’s full passion won,
Until the idol of its hope
From her fond side was gone.
He bad farewell in gentle tone
And vowed with hasty breath;
Farewell, she cried, in truth’s own voice,
“Albert! I’m thine till death!”
And such she was! but oh that he
Like faithfulness had shewn,
Then we upon her maiden grave
No timeless flowers had strewn.
He went and mingled with the world,
And learnt its sordid ways;
Till noble thought, and feeling true
Within his soul decays.
Then gold for love, and state for worth,
For truth parade and show,
His bosom prized, and soon forgot
His first-love and his vow.
Soon for him, and a maid of wealth,
Pealed forth the marriage bell;
But its gay sound assumed afar
A tone like Lucy’s knell.
Soon as she heard—from her gay cheek
The roses swiftly fled,
And left fair lillies, pale and wan,
To flourish in their stead.
The lillies fluttered there awhile,
But lost their bloom with speed,
And withering swift, shewed on their root,
The canker worm did feed.
She calmly pined—all meek of soul;
The grief she strove to hide
Like poison wrought, and caused life’s stream
To flow with feeble tide:
Just ere it ceased, with gentle voice—
All pain and wrong forgiven—
She said—I leave false earth to gain
Unfailing truth in heaven.
And now she in the church-yard lies,
And soon was followed there
By those two loving hearts who’d made
Her life their bounteous care.
In five green graves together ranged,
Their frail remains abide;
Her foster parents, and her own,
And hers, all side by side.
All ye who win a true heart’s love,
Of faithlessness beware!
Go view that simple midmost grave
And learn a lesson there!
When she had ceased, the simple pathos shewn
In that pure song, had touched each feeling heart,
And some bright eyes were brighter for a tear
That gemmed their loveliness. A pause ensued
Of few brief moments, and then Alfred stepped
With freedom forward to impart his share
Of promised verse. He had but just returned
From college, where his studious hours were spent
With fervour most devoted, to acquire
An ample store of learning. He had found
Rich treasures hid amidst the ponderous tomes
Of ancient days, and with determined heart
He sought to make them his. A fervent love
Glowed in his bosom for their noble thoughts
And sentiments and feelings, and he gave
His hours with zeal, enthusiastic zeal,
To communings with them. Short time had he
To dally with the muse, or let the play
Of vagrant fancy interrupt his aims;
Yet in the festival he would take part,
And brought, as fittest offspring of his harp—
A Sonnet To the Master-Minds of Earth.
Immortal bards, philosophers, and sages
Whose glorious thoughts have lit this darkened world
And raised Truth’s banner, a bright flag unfurled,
To guide men onwards through all future ages
To liberty and peace. Upon your pages
My mind would pasture, as along the meads
The simple flock in innocency feeds,
Till nourished into strength. Through all life’s stages,
In youth, in manhood, and in calm decline
At your clear fountains may my spirit drink
To quench her thirst for knowledge, to refine
Each feeling quick, and learn to nobly think!
Oh! much we need ye! ye bright stars from heaven,
And to our aid may thousands more be given!
Fair Eva next came forward to the task;
She was a joyous creature full of life
And health and beauty. In her rich blue eye
There was a light of gladness, and her cheek
Was clear and rosy as the flowers of spring.
Her step was free, as if the morning breeze
Were ever her companion, and each limb
Had motions graceful as the waving bough.
The love of nature dwelt within her heart
In all its aspects; but her chief delight
Was in the silver, sunny loveliness
Of noontide splendours, or the gorgeous scenes
All gold and crimson, when the day declines
And bids farewell to earth with kingly pomp.
On such she looked with ever-raptured eye,
Until their brilliance had imbued her soul
With joyous thoughts and bright. The theme she chose
Was one expressive of that cheerful tone
Which filled her spirit, and with mellow voice
She gave glad utterance to her—
Love of Spring.
I love the time when buds and bells
Hang fragrant in the woodland dells;
The primrose and the violet
On richest mossy banks are set.
How joyous when the warmth of spring
Invites the merry birds to sing,
And their sweet bowers of love are made
Amid the flowering hawthorn’s shade.
Then robed in verdure, stately trees
Stretch their broad branches to the breeze,
Rejoicing in the glorious light
Of sun and sky, like silver bright.
Amid fair meads young lambkins play
Their sprightly games in pure array;
And insects sport on gauzy wing,
Live gems in sunshine fluttering.
Each rural scent, each rustic sound,
Enchantment lend the landscape round;
And every sight conspires to bless
My heart with wild sweet happiness.
I love the summer’s golden reign,
And autumn’s ripeness o’er the plain;
But to my spirit naught can bring
Such gladness as the days of spring.
For then I rove the woodland wild,
With heart as simple as a child,
And spend the pure fresh morning hours
Amid the breezes, birds, and flowers.
Reclining on some grassy seat
Within a leafy dark retreat,
I con the Poet’s living book
Beside the clear-streamed stony brook.
Such calm seclusion strengthens thought,
And all His visions bright are brought
Across my mind, more fair and clear,
Mid scenes His spirit would hold dear.
I love stern winter’s reign sublime,
Rich autumn, and sweet summer time;
But nothing to my heart can bring
Such gladness as the days of spring!
The blithesome tone of this gay melody,
This pastoral song, spread cheerfulness around,
And made all hearts beside the winter fire
Think hopefully of spring. Some moments passed
In pleasant converse; then Lucrece was urged
Her poem to recite. With gentle grace
And modest diffidence, she forward came,
Yet with becoming confidence, as one
Who knew, but did not over-rate, her powers.
She was a poetess by nature framed
And had a soul for song. Her flowing thought
Moved on in hidden melody, that gave
Each word expressive feeling; and her face
In every feature, witnessed to a mind
Of passions strong and pure. Her eye was dark,
And black, and eagle-like. It shone a star
By its own inward light; but o’er it hung
Silk, raven lashes, that subdued its blaze
But lessened not its power. Her lofty brow,
By its expansion, shewed a kingdom wide
Where thought might rule; and o’er her well-formed head
Rich sable hair, in smooth and glossy braids,
Displayed its shining beauty. Down her cheek
Some bright curls clustered, and amid their shade
There peeped the pearl-white lustre of her ear.
O’er her fair countenance the pallid rose
Assumed the precedence, and nigh subdued
Its rich and blushing sister. ’Twas the hue
Of thought spread o’er her features, leaving there
The marble’s clear transparence. You might dream
She were a statue, did not feelings flash
Their radiance from her look, and mind’s pure light
Float halo-like around her. Tall her form
And moulded into grace; each polished limb
Seemed full of life and motion; and her step,
Though light and agile, yet had stateliness
And maiden dignity. She older seemed
Than were her years, for eighteen summer suns
Alone had passed with ripening influence,
Her beauty to mature; but you might date
Her more advanced in womanhood, her mind
By its expansion, and the thrill of thought
And earlier strength of feeling, had impressed
Such semblance on her aspect. She was one
To whom the world was beautiful; but yet
Her mind had thirst for higher beauty still
Than met her waking vision. One to whom
The tales of old romance, and fairy lore,
And songs of chivalry, were needful food.
Each noble thought, bold deed, and virtue bright,
Found echoes in her breast; heroic acts,
Undaunted words, or patriotic love
Met sympathy with her. Creative thought,
Imagination’s realising power,
Gave form and substance to the visions fair
That flitted o’er her fancy; abstract themes
Lost their elusive subtlety and gained
Embodiment and shape. And thus in truth
She was a poetess; and all her verse,
Though wrought from fancy’s airy gossamer,
Had strength and life and strange reality.
She thoughts refined, and spirit-like could chain
In binding language, and give power and life
To evanescent sentiments. She chose
To frame a legend full of rich romance,
Such as we picture in the days of old,
When love was lofty passion—woman seemed
A more etherial being sent to tame
Man’s rude stern heart mid glorious chivalry.
With thought concentred on the theme; with heart
Alive to changing feelings, and with voice
Deep, rich, and varied, such as well could shew
The latent beauty in a poet’s song,
She read the story, not unfitly named—
Fidelio and Lenore.
Oh! Muse, inspirer of the old romance,
Sweet songs of chivalry, rich fairy lore,
Let thy deep influence through my spirit glance,
For I would vision forth a tale of yore,—
A legend of true love, that evermore
May in bright fiction to the mind display
The power of constant truth, to triumph o’er
The ills of life in all their dire array,
And how that virtue pure speeds conquering on its way.
But thus to sing my soul must be subdued
To softest tenderness and gentle thought,
And every feeling dissonant and rude
To full and perfect harmony be brought;
Whilst richest colours, from gay fancy caught,
Must paint the whole, and with their light illume
Well-chosen words, though seemingly unsought,
That run in cheerful music, and assume
Rich melodies of verse,—like breezes o’er spring’s bloom.
No Muses haunt Parnassus’ lofty mount,
Nor wander on by Castalie’s pure stream;
Whose waters welling from their crystal fount
Blushed with the light of heaven’s entrancing beam.
Mere glorious visions of a Grecian dream
Those Muses were! on them I call in vain!
And ye must all me most presumptious deem,
That such high prize I struggle to attain
As sing some wild romance, some sweet Spenserian strain.
The moonbeams shone upon the castle wall,
That rearing proudly from its native rock,
Gave back the accents of the torrent’s fall
Which gushed below, as if to sternly mock
The wild rage of the river, whose fierce shock
Struck with the might of an eternal storm,
But yet impressed not the immortal block
Of massive adamant, that reared its form
Embattled midst the skies with turrets multiform.
And far around vast forests stretched their boughs
In one unpathed perplexity of shade;
Upon whose skirts the purple mountains rose,
As if they would the starry realms invade
With their titanic summits. Midst each glade,
And mossy valley, gently purling streams
Gushed rippling on, and in their windings made
Deep woodland haunts, unpierced by sunny beams,
Sweet bowers for purest love,—fit nooks for poet’s dreams.
Here were rock-fragments clad with tangled moss
And crowned with wildflowers’ gay and drooping bells;
Here trees majestic shot wide boughs across
To form vast arbours, or green leafy cells,
Amidst whose verdure coolness ever dwells;
And on the brook-sides’ grassy banks arose,
Whose glossy richness in soft couches swells
To woo the student calmly to repose,
Or watch glad insects sport at days warm golden close.
O’er tower and turret, bastion, portal, keep,
The bright moon glancing with serenest smile,
Threw on their grandeur, mid the hours of sleep,
A sacred light that glorified the pile
And made it seem a vision. Calm awhile
And lonely, and in stillness lay the scene
Save tones of rushing waters, that beguile
The thoughts to them a moment. Now is seen
A knight’s athletic form in armour’s dazzling sheen.
Along the terrace, with majestic stride,
He onward passed below the highest tower;
And each step witnessed to the noble pride
That fills a warrior’s heart—the sense of power,
Of free-born might, and fame’s immortal dower.
His shield he had not, but his keen sword hung
Bright-jewelled by his side, and like a flower
His gay plume nodded, whilst he swiftly strung
A lute’s expressive chords, and thus in deep tones sung.
Serenade.
Sweet Lady bright—Lenore! Lenore!
Oh! list to thy lover’s lay,
Whilst the moonbeams shine o’er the forest boughs
As rich as the glow of day!
Oh! Lady fair—Lenore! Lenore!
My deep love to thee I’ll tell,
For the secret founts of my heart o’erflow
Unlocked by the moonbeam’s spell!
Oh! Lady kind—Lenore! Lenore!
Let my soul’s impassioned tale,
With a heart so gentle and pure as thine,
In its truthfulness prevail.
Oh! Lady dear—Lenore! Lenore!
I have loved thee deep and long,
And I love thee now, and for evermore,—
Give ear to my pleading song!
Oh! Lady true—Lenore! Lenore!
Like yon constant stars above,
Or the changeless light of the sun’s glad beam,
To thee is my fervent love.
Oh! Lady mine—Lenore! Lenore!
Would that I might call thee so,
In the faithful vow of united love,
Ere I to the wild wars go.
Oh! Lady love—Lenore! Lenore!
Might I have the rich delight,
To believe in thy dreams thou’lt think on me?
Sweet Lady—good night! good night!
The last “good night” rang sweetly on the air
When, from the casement of a turret high,
A white hand peeped, as beautiful and fair
As ever cloudlet on the radiant sky;
And to that love-song gave a sweet reply
By letting fall a flower—a flower which told
Of love’s sublime delicious witchery
Within the heart. Hid in his scarf’s gay fold
That boon to the wars he bore, more daring brave and bold.
The last rich scion of an ancient line
Was fair Lenore; a lonely orphan, she
Dwelt in that Castle by the rushing Rhine
In days of tournament and chivalry:
A creature fitted to inspire the free
And noble passion of a truthful breast
And brave bold heart, whose inbred courtesy
And gentler feelings, would seek out a rest,
Mid valour’s peaceful pause, in woman’s love possessed.
Oh! she was beautiful! a thing of light
Of life, of gladness and unsullied smiles;
A glorious being fitted to delight
By gentle manners, innocent sweet wiles,
And gay allurement, that full oft beguiles
The heart of sadness with its soothing power;
Like sunbeams striking on the ocean isles,
And dissipating mists that on them lour,
Till all shine fair and bright in noon’s resplendent hour.
Thus had her goodness won the noble heart
Of brave Fidelio, whose princely halls,
Broad spreading vineyards, forest lands apart,
And mountain-holds, stood nigh the blue Rhine-falls;
Whose gliding waters pass the lordly walls
Of many a lofty castle, held by knights
Of power and state, but none there is who calls
More wealth his own, inherited by right,
Possessed in honour true, maintained by valour’s might.
Whilst her heart’s lord, mid Palestine afar,
In dauntless combat fought the Saracen,
To drive him from the land, where first a star
Revealed the Saviour to the sons of men,
And give its sacred shrines and sites again
To be a gladness to the pilgrims’ heart;
The fair Lenore, with absent lovers’ pain,
Sat all secluded in her bower apart,
And wrought rich tapestry bright, and handyworks of art.
Two years had fled since that auspicious night,
When music taught how deep the love she felt,
And bade her heart, with exquisite delight
Towards him who wooed her, tenderly to melt
In one brief moment; whilst she swiftly spelt
An unknown lesson from her burning breast
And prized the lore it gave; a truth which gilt
With sunset brightness all her thoughts, and blest
Her hours with musings sweet, her heart with richest rest.
But now her days were mingled with deep care,
And oft with agony and doubtful fear,
For of her true knight there no tidings were,
And as she thought thereon, the sparkling tear
Would drop from her blue eye, so bright and clear,
And sorrow’s sadness heave her breast in sighs.
Intense she watched, but never there drew near
His stalwart form to glad her longing eyes.
Hark to yon minstrel’s notes that waken her surprise!—
Troubadour’s Song.
A wealthy knight to the wars went forth,
To fight for the Holy Cross;
But of all his goods in the sacred cause
He cheerfully suffered the loss.
He came to his native land again
Enriched with fame—but poor!
A truthful heart, and a strong bright sword
Formed all his earthly store!
He went like a troubadour, and sang
To his lady-love a strain
That told of his loss, and his heart’s deep truth,
But she viewed him with chill disdain!
She knew it was he, but her sordid soul
Had loved for the wealth alone,
And she cast his high worth and his truth away
From her heart when that was gone.
“Ah! my Fidelio that is thee indeed!
My heart can pierce thy troubadour’s disguise;
Oh do not make my faithful bosom bleed
By such too cruel song! within me lies
The woman’s truthful heart that aye defies
The frowns of fortune, the decrees of fate,
And all the change in mortal destinies.
How light to me the pomp of wealth and state;
Thy truth, and sword alone, make thee my fitter mate!”
How glad their hearts in that enraptured hour!
What joy they felt, what confidence serene,
And like the blooming of a glorious flower,
Deep thoughts came forth that never yet had been
Unfolded in their breasts. A peaceful scene
The future offered; but before the time
Their love had priestly sanction, valour keen
Advanced the infidel; with zeal sublime
The knight re-sought the wars—to stay he deemed a crime!
Nigh to that ancient castle of Lenore,
Within the forest, in a gloomy cave,
A vile enchanter dwelt, who oft of yore
Had worked deep mischief. Naught on earth could save
From his enchantments, when his soul would crave
And lust for evil; with such direful aim
He wrought his purposes. The bold, the brave,
The fair, the lovely, without ruth or shame,
He brought to ill. Pauvero was his name.
He was in sooth a most repulsive wight,
With matted locks, and sallow livid hue;
His red eyes glared as if in wild affright,
And lank, spare frame, seemed pinched by hunger blue:
Torn filthy rags he wore, that seemed to shew
The utmost want; for though he stole away
The wealth of thousands, yet he never knew
A benefit therefrom, but let it lay
Deep in a vast dark pit, all buried from the day.
Soon as the knight had left his lady fair,
He swiftly thought, by necromantic skill,
To win her wealth; and it to slyly bear
Away with him that wicked pit to fill.
Palled by the dark, with thievish pace and still,
He stole into that castle night on night,
Aided by imps and magic power, until
Its walls were stripped, its coffers emptied quite,
And naught was left for use, and naught to please the sight.
And further yet to shew his hellish spite,
He bore the lady to a noisome den,
And chained her there, all hidden from the light,
Beneath his cave, far from the haunts of men;
Of her bright garments he disrobed her then,
And clad in coarse vile rags, that not an eye
In such strange garb could recognise again
The maiden once so beautiful. A cry
Gushed from her tortured heart, but no true help was nigh!
When brave Fidelio from the fight returned,
He found her castle all in ruin stand,
Grey-mossed and broken-walled. His spirit burned
With agony’s wild fire, as o’er the land,
Now desolate, he gazed; and with his hand
Held high to heaven, a sacred vow he swore,
To bring fit vengeance on the fiendish band
That wrought the ruin; for the wild scene bore
Marks of that wizard’s blast, all withered, burnt, or frore.
“Sweet lady mine! where art thou dwelling now?
That vile enchanter hath thee in his power!
Oh! that thou coulds’t but hear my spirit vow
To search earth for thee to life’s latest hour.
And though he hath deprived thee of thy dower,
’Tis naught to me, for wert thou still but mine,
I would not heed bright fortune’s richest shower
Or want’s necessity, if still might shine
On me that loving look, that radiant smile of thine.”
He rushed impassioned to that forest dark,
To search each fastness for the wizard’s den,
And seek if chance had left some trace or mark
To guide his footsteps to Lenore again.
Long days and months he sought with weary pain
And heart undaunted, but no track had yet
Been found to prove his quest was not in vain,
Till one bright evening, when the sun had set,
He stopped by a stony brook to hear its waters fret.
And as he lay upon the flowery brink,
Close by a wild rock that ascended high,
In dark despondency he ’gan to think
On those bright moments when his hope was nigh
Its rich fruition; and he heaved a sigh
Of doubt and discontent, and wished he ne’er
Had gone to th’ wars again, or chivalry
Been his heart’s choice; but soon he dashed the tear
Away, and sang to his lute these mournful notes—now hear!
The Melody.
Oh! Lady, thou star of my life, no more
Thy clear beams shine on me,
And sorrow hath shrouded my lone days o’er
Withheld from the sight of thee.
Lenore! Lenore! in the forest I cry—
Mere desolate echoes the sole reply!
My spirit is pining to hear thy voice,
My heart to behold thy smile;
How at the sweet sound would my soul rejoice,
Thy glances my woe beguile;
But despondency clouds each bright hope o’er
And thrills me with fear to see thee no more.
Oh! ne’er did I know till this fearful time
The depths of my love for thee,
Or proved the wild anguish my soul must feel
When thou art afar from me.
To my cry in the forest—Lenore! Lenore!
Echo seems but to answer—“no more, no more.”
No balm to keen sorrow, by day I find,
No joy in the noonday light,
And but once mid my watchings and thoughts on thee
Sweet solace relieved me at night.
For I dreamt to the cry of “Lenore!” there came
A soft gentle voice that whispered my name.
Was it the last tones of his moving lay,
Reverberating from the rock behind,
Which gave that sound? He rose to pass away,
But ’twas repeated, and his startled mind
Heard feeble accents borne upon the wind
As from a voice, but hollow, faint, and low,
Like human wailings deep in earth enshrined.
Breathless he listened, whence they came to know,
And found them from a cleft, near that rock’s haughty brow.
He swiftly climbed, and gained that fissure high,
Like some air-passage to a hidden cave;
He spoke aloud, and then a sweet reply
Unbounded gladness to his spirit gave:
“Fidelio! ah, I know thou’rt come to save
Thy sad Lenore from this enchanter’s power,
And raise her joyful from this living grave,
To be thine own, thy loved for evermore;
My heart said thou wouldst come, and to despond forbore.
“But human strength can be of no avail
To rend the vastness of this dungeon wall;
Then seek the hermit, dwelling in the vale,
Beside the eastern mount, and straightway call
His wisdom to thine aid, for he can all
The spells of magic by his skill destroy,
And make the strongholds of enchantment fall;
For naught so pleases him as to annoy
“Those powers of hell, and mar their fiendish joy.”
Soon was that good and holy hermit found,
In his lone habitation far away,
And help implored. Said he, “Sir Knight, if sound,
True, pure, and perfect, be thy love, the way
To free the maid from magic’s direful sway
Is short and certain, but will try thy might
Of heart and arm. Beneath where she doth lay,
Through that hard rock, for full five fathoms straight,
Thine hand must dig along, and mine thro’ jewels bright.
“This having done, thou wilt behold a cell
Of golden ingots, and large diamonds full;
And laid thereon, a wand of power, to quell
The might of magic and its spells annul;
No more I utter! if thine heart be dull
In its affections, or thy love untrue,
And seek those gay gems round about to cull,
Then thou thy daring enterprise wilt rue;
“But if thy soul be pure, then triumph waits on you.”
The knight returned, and to his task applied,
With joyful heart and persevering aim;
No gold veins tempting in the rock’s rich side,
Nor diamond treasures when he to them came;
He seized the wand, and, waving it, a flame
Of silvery brightness shone within the grot;
He struck the sides, and, answering to the same,
Around full tones of music seemed to float
Aloft in air, and soon appeared the Maid he sought!