The bright moon was hid in the breast of the storm,
And darkness and terror drew round,
Yet still he could mark her light fanciful form,
As she roam'd round the wild rocks, devoid of alarm,
Tho' the fiend of the whirlwind frown'd.
Oh tell me, he cried, what spirit so light,
So beautiful e'en in despair,
Is wand'ring alone 'mid the storm of the night,
When to guide her no star in the heaven is bright,
No gleam save the lightning's red glare!
'Tis young Imanel, answered his guide with a sigh, The rich, the belov'd and the gay,
Who is doom'd from her friends and her country to fly,
For she lov'd, and she wedded Alonzo the spy,
Who has left her and fled far away.
Alonzo the spy!-and he darted away
With the speed of a shooting star,
Nor heeded the call of his guide to stay,
But toward the poor lone one he bounded away,
She had fled to the sea-beach afar.
One glance of the forked lightning's glare
Play'd bright round the fair one's face,
And it beam'd on Alonzo, for he was there,
And it beam'd on his bride, on his Imanel dear,
Clasp'd at length in his joyful embrace.
(Written in her fifteenth year.)
Oh! I have seen the blush of morn,
And I have seen the evening sky;
But ah! they faded when I gaz'd
On the bright heaven of Margaret's eye.
I've seen the Queen of evening ride
Majestic, 'mid the clouds on high;
But e'en Diana in her pride
Was dim, near Margaret's brilliant eye.
I've seen the azure vault of heaven,
I've seen the star-bespangled sky;
But oh! I would the whole have given
For one sweet glance from Margaret's eye.
I've seen the dew upon the rose,
It trembled 'neath the zephyr's sigh; But oh! the tear which nature shed Was dim near that in Margaret's eye.
WHOSE MOTHER WAS INSANE FROM HER BIRTH.
(Written in her seventeenth year.)
And thou hast never, never known
A mother's love, a mother's care!
Hast wept, and sigh'd, and smil'd alone,
Unblest by e'en a mother's prayer.
Oh, if sad sorrow's blighting hand
Hath e'er an arrow, it is this;
To feel that phrenzy's burning brand
Hath wip'd away a mother's kiss;
To mark the gulf, the starless wave,
Which rolls between thee and her love,
To feel that better were a grave,
A grave beneath a home above;
Than thus that she should linger on,
In dreamless, sunless solitude;
Like some bright ruin'd shrine, where one
All loveliness and truth hath stood.
And he, her love, her life, her light,
How burst the storm o'er him!
Oh, darker than Egyptian night,
'Twas one wild troubled dream!
To gaze upon that eye, whose beam
Was love, and life, and light,
To mark its wild and wandering gleam
Which dazzles but to blight;
To turn in anguish and despair
-From those wild notes of sadness,
And feel that there was darkness there,
The midnight mist of madness;
To start beneath the thrilling swell
Of notes still sweet, tho' wasted,
To mark the idol lov'd too well,
In all its beauty blasted;
Oh! it were better far to kneel,
In darkly brooding anguish,
Upon the graves of those we love,
Than thus to see them languish.
Tune, Mrs. Robinson's Farewell.
(Written in her thirteenth year.)
Tell me not of joys departed,
Or of childhood's happy hour!
When unconsciously I sported,
Fresh as morning's dewy flower!
Tell me not of fair hopes blasted,
Or of unrequited love!
Tell me not of fortune wasted,
Or the web which Fate hath wove!
One fond wish I long have cherish'd,
I have twined it round my heart!
While all other hopes have perish'd,
I with that could never part.
On life's troubled, stormy ocean
That bright star still shone serene!
To that star, my heart's devotion
Rose, at morning, and at e'en !
And the hope that led me onward,
Like a beacon shining bright,
Was that when this form had moulder'd
I might wake to realms of light!
Wake to bliss - that changes never!
Wake no more to hope or fear!
Wake to joys that bloom for ever!
Wither'd by no sigh, no tear!
(Written in her fifteenth year.)
Life is but a troubled ocean,
Hope a meteor, love a flower
Which blossoms in the morning beam,
And withers with the evening hour.
Ambition is a dizzy height,
And glory, but a lightning gleam;
Fame is a bubble, dazzling bright,
Which fairest shines in fortune's beam.
When clouds and darkness veil the skies,
And sorrow's blast blows loud and chill,
Friendship shall like a rainbow rise,
And softly whisper-peace, be still.
(Written in her fifteenth year.)
How sweet the hour when daylight blends
With the pensive shadows on evening's breast;
And dear to the heart is the pleasure it lends,
'Tis like the departure of saints to their rest.
Oh, 't is sweet, Saranac, on thy loved banks to stray,
To watch the last day-beam dance light on thy
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