Where long they lived in love, and to the elf] In the deep vales, -even when the storms The crowded masts within the harbour stand, And the quick flash that bursts along the shore, The volumed smoke, and city-shaking roar, are roaring High up among the cliffs: and that sweet river That round the white walls of her cottage flows, With gliding motion most like to repose, E'er pour'd unto the listening skies; Far is the city left behind, And faintly-smiling through the soft - blae skies, Like castled clouds the Cambrian hills arise: Sweet the first welcome of the mountainwind! And ever nearer as they come, Bathed in the mist, confusing earth with heaven. With solemn gaze the aged matron sees The green roof laughing beneath greener trees; And thinks how happy she will live and die Within that cot at last, beneath the eye Of them long wept as perish'd in the seas. And what feel they? with dizzy brain they look On cot, field, mountain, garden, tree, and brook, With none contented, although loving all; And looking in her mother's face, Husht now these island-bowers as death' And ue'er may human foot or breath, Their dew disturb again; but not more still | Encompass'd with delight. hill, Than this deserted cottage! O'er the green, Once smooth before the porch, rank weeds are seen, Choking the feebler flowers: with blossoms hoar, And verdant leaves, the unpruned eglantine wren Flits rapid by on timid wing, O! wildest cottage of the wild! I see thee waking from thy breathless sleep! shore, May thy old-age be calm and bright, Thou gray hair'd one! — like some sweet night Of winter, cold, but clear, and shining far Through mists with many a melancholy star. O Fairy-child! what can I wish for thee? Like a perennial flow'ret mayst thou be, That spends its life in beauty and in bliss! Soft on thee fall the breath of time, And still retain in heavenly clime The bloom that charm'd in this! O, happy Parents of so sweet a child, While, in the most delightful air Woke, on a sudden, dreams of dim despair, And when she chants her evening-hymn, It fadeth not in gloom or storm,- again, Darkening with solemn shade the face of heaven. As loveliness wakes lovelier from the tomb. The Isle of Palms! whose forests tower Now far away they like the clouds are driven, And as the passing night-wind dies my strain! Let down by loving hands to dungeon drear Or on the pillar'd shade in anguish leant) ful lament. All night the melancholy moonshine slept O'er the lone chamber where his corpse was laid: Amid the sighing groves the cold dews wept, And the sad stars in glimmering beams array'd In heaven seem'd mourning o'er the parted shade Of him who knew the nature and the name Cf every orb to human ken display'd, sick away. Yea! even a careless stranger might perceive room Of friend where they were weeping o'er the days With Vernon past—profoundly sunk in gloom | Pale as a statue bending o'er a tomb, The pale-fac'd scholar walks, still dreaming The childless mother! as a statue still! of the tomb. Now ghastly sight and lowly-whispering sound On every side the sadden'd spirit meet- Of death's hir'd menials through this calm retreat But Resignation, Hope, and Faith illume With careless tread are hurrying to and fro-The whole path from his cradle to his grave And loving hearts with pangs of anguish She travels back with a bewilder'd brain! Bright in the gales of youth his free locks beat, To see the cloisters blackening all below With rueful sable plumes-a ghastly funeralshow. wave, As if their burnish'd beauty laugh'd at pain, And god-like claim'd exemption from the reign Of grief, decay, and death! Her touch doth meet Come let us now with silent feet ascend The stair that leads up to yon ancient tower-Lips cold as ice that ne'er will glow again, There, lieth in his shroud my dearest And lo! from these wan lips unto his feet friend! Drawn by the hand of death a ghostly windOh! that the breath of sighs, the dewy ing-sheet! shower Stream'd from so many eye-lids had the power Gently to stir, and raise up from its bed The broken stalk of that consummate flower! Nought may restore the odours once when shed, That sunshine smiles in vain—it wakens not the dead! Behold! his parents kneeling side by side, Still as the body that is sleeping there! Far off were they when their sweet Henry died, At once they fell from bliss into despair. What sorrows slumber in that silvery hair! The old man groans, nor dares his face to show To the glad day - light- while a sobbing prayer Steals from the calmer partner of his woe, Who gently lays her hand upon those locks of snow. She hop'd to have seen him in yon hallow'd grove, With gay companions laughing at his side, And all of him that hath not gone to God Within her loving clasp lies senseless as the clod. With tottering steps she to the window goes. O! what a glorious burst of light is there! He lifts his eyes-quick through a parting-The green earth laughs in vain before his The Old Man now hath no more tears to shed Wasted are all his groans so long and deep— An agony there is that cannot weep, Lo! suddenly he starteth from his knees! And hurrying up and down, all round the walls Glances wild looks-and now his pale hands seize, Just as the light on its expression falls, Lo! now the Pall comes forth into the light And one chill shudder thrills the weeping crowd! There is it 'mid the sunshine black as night! And soon to disappear-a passing cloud! Grief can no longer bear-but bursts aloud! Youth, manhood, age, one common nature sways And hoary heads across the pall are bowed Near burnish'd locks where youthful beauty playsdecays! But I will hang this silent picture there, despair. With trembling grasp he lifts the idle gown And now the Father lays his wither'd hand Upon a book whose leaves are idly spread: Gone-gone is he who well could understand The kingly language of the mighty dead! -There lies the flute that oft at twilight shed Airs that beguil'd the old man of his tears; But cold the master's touch his skill is fled, And all his innocent life at once appears Like some sweet lovely tune that charm'd in other years. List! list! a doleful dirge—a wild death-song! The coffin now is placed upon its bier, And through the echoing cloisters borne along! -How touching those young voices thus to hear Singing of sorrow, and of mortal fear Waileth more dolefully that passing psalm, But yet the funeral at that solemn pace Alas! too soon will reach its final restingplace. shade But now the door is open'd soft and slow. weight Of one soul-sickening moment of despair! Grief cometh deadly when it cometh late, And with a Fury's hand delights to tear From Eld's deep-furrow'd front the thin and hoary hair. His eyes are open, and with tearless gleam Fix'd on the coffin! but they see it not, Like haunted Guilt blind- walking in a dream, With soul intent on its own secret blot. The coffin moves!-yet rooted to the spot, He sees it borne away, with vacant eyes, Unconscious what it means! hath even forgot The name of Her who in a death-fit lies, His heart is turn'd to stone, nor heeds who lives or dies! In silent musings, far into the night! When o'er that Tower the rising moon display'd Not purer than his soul her cloudless light. Still was his lamp-lit window burning bright, A little earthly star that shone most sweet To those in heaven-but now extinguish'd quite —Fast-chain'd are now those nightly-wand'ring feet In bonds that none may burst-folds of the winding-sheet. Wide is the chapel-gate, and entereth slow With all its floating pomp that sable pall! Silent as in a dream the funeral-show (For grief hath breath'd one spirit into all) Is ranged at once along the gloomy wall! Ah me! what mournful lights athwart the gloom, From yonder richly-pictur'd window fall! |