<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=354043" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Undying One- Canto III</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">'THERE is a sound the autumn wind doth make <br>Howling and moaning, listlessly and low: <br>Methinks that to a heart that ought to break <br>All the earth's voices seem to murmur so. <br>The visions that crost <br>Our path in light-- <br>The things that we lost <br>In the dim dark night-- <br>The faces for which we vainly yearn-- <br>The voices whose tones will not return-- <br>That low sad wailing breeze doth bring <br>Borne on its swift and rushing wing. <br>Have ye sat alone when that wind was loud, <br>And the moon shone dim from the wintry cloud? <br>When the fire was quench'd on your lonely hearth, <br>And the voices were still which spoke of mirth? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">If such an evening, tho' but one, <br>It hath been yours to spend alone-- <br>Never,--though years may roll along <br>Cheer'd by the merry dance and song; <br>Though you mark'd not that bleak wind's sound before, <br>When louder perchance it used to roar-- <br>Never shall sound of that wintry gale <br>Be aught to you but a voice of wail! <br>So o'er the careless heart and eye <br>The storms of the world go sweeping by; <br>But oh! when once we have learn'd to weep, <br>Well doth sorrow his stern watch keep. <br>Let one of our airy joys decay-- <br>Let one of our blossoms fade away-- <br>And all the griefs that others share <br>Seem ours, as well as theirs, to bear: <br>And the sound of wail, like that rushing wind <br>Shall bring all our own deep woe to mind! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'I went through the world, but I paused not now <br>At the gladsome heart and the joyous brow: <br>I went through the world, and I stay'd to mark <br>Where the heart was sore, and the spirit dark: <br>And the grief of others, though sad to see, <br>Was fraught with a demon's joy to me! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'I saw the inconstant lover come to take <br>Farewell of her he loved in better days, <br>And, coldly careless, watch the heart-strings break-- <br>Which beat so fondly at his words of praise. <br>She was a faded, painted, guilt-bow'd thing, <br>Seeking to mock the hues of early spring, <br>When misery and years had done their worst <br>To wither her away. The big tears burst <br>From out her flashing eyes, which turn'd on him <br>With agony, reproach, and fear, while dim <br>Each object swam in her uncertain sight, <br>And nature's glories took the hue of night. <br>There was, in spite of all her passion's storm, <br>A wild revolting beauty in her form; <br>A beauty as of sin, when first she comes <br>To tempt us from our calm and pleasant homes. <br>Her voice, with the appealing tone it took, <br>Her soft clear voice, belied her fearless look: <br>And woman's tenderness seem'd still to dwell <br>In that full bosom's agonizing swell. <br>And he stood there, the worshipp'd one of years-- <br>Sick of her fondness--angry at her tears; <br>Choking the loathing words which rose within <br>The heart whose passion tempted her to sin; <br>While with a strange sad smile lost hours she mourns, <br>And prays and weeps, and weeps and prays by turns. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">A moment yet he paused, and sigh'd--a sigh <br>Of deep, deep bitterness; and on his eye <br>Love's gentle shadow rested for a space-- <br>And faded feelings brighten'd o'er his face. <br>'Twas but a moment, and he turn'd in wrath <br>To quench the sunshine on her lonely path. <br>And his lip curl'd, as on that alter'd cheek <br>His cold glance rested--while, all faint and weak, <br>With tearful sad imploring gaze she stood, <br>Watching with trembling heart his changeful mood; <br>Her thin lips parted with a ghastly smile, <br>She strove to please--yet felt she fail'd the while. <br>And thus his words burst forth:' And dost thou dare <br>Reproach me with the burden of thy care? <br>Accuse thy self-will'd heart, where passion reign'd; <br>Some other hand the lily might have stain'd, <br>For thou didst listen when none else approved, <br>Proud in thy strength, and eager to be loved. <br>Rose of the morning, how thy leaves are gone! <br>How art thou faded since the sunrise shone! <br>Think not my presence was the cause of all-- <br>Oh no, thy folly would have made thee fall: <br>Alike thy woe--alike the cause of blame-- <br>Another tempter, but thine act the same. <br>And tell me not of all I said or swore: <br>Poor wretch! art thou as in the days of yore? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Thing of the wanton heart and faded brow, <br>Whate'er I said or did--I loathe thee now!' <br>The frozen tears sank back beneath the lid, <br>Whose long black lashes half their sadness hid-- <br>And with a calm and stedfast look, which spoke <br>Unutterable scorn, her spirit woke:-- <br>'And thou art he, for whom my young heart gave <br>All hope of pardon on this side the grave! <br>For whom I still have struggled on, for years, <br>Through days of bitterness and nights of tears!-- <br>True, I am changed since that bright summer's day, <br>When first from home love lured my steps to stray: <br>And true it is that art hath sought to hide <br>The work of woe which all my words belied;-- <br>But for whose sake have I with watchful care, <br>Though sick at heart, endeavour'd to be fair? <br>For whom, when daylight broke along the skies, <br>Have I with fear survey'd my weeping eyes? <br>For whom, with trembling fingers sought to dress <br>Each woe-worn feature with mock loveliness? <br>Chased the pale sickness from my darken'd brow, <br>And strove to listen, calm--as I do now? <br>For whom--if not for thee?--Oh! had I been <br>Pure as the stainless lily--were each scene <br>Of guilt and passion blotted from that book <br>Where weepingly and sad the angels look-- </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Did I stand here the calm approved wife, <br>Bound to thee by the chain that binds for life-- <br>Could I have loved thee more? The dream is past-- <br>I who forsook, am lonely at the last! <br>One hour ago the thought that we must part, <br>And part for ever, would have broke my heart: <br>But now--I cast thee from me! Go and seek <br>To pale the roses on a fresher cheek. <br>Why lingerest thou? Dost fear, when thou art gone, <br>My woman's heart will wake, and live alone? <br>Fear not--the specious tongue whose well-feign'd tale <br>Hath lured the dove to leave her native vale, <br>May use its art some other to beguile; <br>And the approving world--will only smile. <br>But she who sins, and suffers for that sin, <br>Who throws the dangerous die, and doth not win-- <br>Loves once--and loves no more!' He glided by, <br>And she turn'd from him with a shuddering sigh. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'I saw the widower mournful stand, <br>Gazing out on the sea and the land; <br>O'er the yellow corn and the waving trees, <br>And the blue stream rippling in the breeze. <br>Oh! beautiful seem the earth and sky-- <br>Why doth he heave that bitter sigh? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Vain are the sunshine and brightness to him-- <br>His heart is heavy, his eyes are dim. <br>His thoughts are not with the moaning sea, <br>Though his gaze be fix'd on it vacantly: <br>His thoughts are far, where the dark boughs wave <br>O'er the silent rest of his Mary's grave. <br>He starts, and brushes away the tear; <br>For the soft small voices are in his ear, <br>Of the bright-hair'd angels his Mary left <br>To comfort her lonely and long bereft. <br>With a gush of sorrow he turns to press <br>His little ones close with a fond caress, <br>And they sigh--oh! not because Mary sleeps, <br>For she is forgotten--but that HE weeps. <br>Yes! she is forgotten--the patient love, <br>The tenderness of that meek-eyed dove, <br>The voice that rose on the evening air <br>To bid them kneel to the God of prayer, <br>The joyous tones that greeted them, when <br>After a while she came again-- <br>The pressure soft of her rose-leaf cheek-- <br>The touch of her hand, as white and weak <br>She laid it low on each shining head, <br>And bless'd the sons of the early dead: <br>All is forgotten--all past away <br>Like the fading close of a summer's day: </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Or the sound of her voice (though they scarce can tell <br>Whose voice it was, that they loved so well) <br>Comes with their laughter, a short sweet dream-- <br>As the breeze blows over the gentle stream, <br>Rippling a moment its quiet breast, <br>And leaving it then to its sunny rest. <br>But he!--oh! deep in his inmost soul, <br>Which hath drunk to the dregs of sorrow's bowl-- <br>Her look--and her smile--the lightest word <br>Of the musical voice he so often heard, <br>And never may hear on earth again, <br>Though he love it more than he loved it then-- <br>Are buried--to rise at times unbid <br>And force hot tears to the burning lid: <br>The mother that bore her may learn to forget, <br>But he will remember and weep for her yet! <br>Oh! while the heart where her head hath lain <br>In its hours of joy, in its sighs of pain; <br>While the hand which so oft hath been clasp'd in hers <br>In the twilight hour, when nothing stirs-- <br>Beat with the deep, full pulse of life-- <br>Can he forget his gentle wife? <br>Many may love him, and he in truth <br>May love; but not with the love of his youth: <br>Ever amid his joy will come <br>A stealing sigh for that long-loved home, <br>And her step and her voice will go gliding by <br>In the desolate halls of his memory! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'I saw a father weeping, when the last <br>Of all his dear ones from his sight had past-- <br>The young lamb, in his solitary fold, <br>Who should have buried him, for he was old. <br>Silently she had pass'd away from earth, <br>Beloved by none but him who gave her birth: <br>And now he sat, with haggard look and wild, <br>By the lone tomb of his forgotten child:-- </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'None remember thee! thou whose heart <br>Pour'd love on all around. <br>Thy name no anguish can impart-- <br>'Tis a forgotten sound. <br>Thine old companions pass me by <br>With a cold bright smile, and a vacant eye-- <br>And none remember thee <br>Save me. <br>'None remember thee! thou wert not <br>Beauteous as some things are; <br>No glory beam'd upon thy lot, <br>My pale and quiet star. <br>Like a winter bud that too soon hath burst, <br>Thy cheek was fading from the first-- </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And none remember thee <br>Save me! <br>'None remember thee! they could spy <br>Nought, when they gazed on thee, <br>But thy soul's deep love in thy quiet eye-- <br>It hath pass'd from their memory. <br>The gifts of genius were not thine <br>Proudly before the world to shine-- <br>And none remember thee <br>Save me! <br>'None remember thee! now thou'rt gone, <br>Or they could not choose but weep,-- <br>When they think of thee, my gentle one, <br>In thy long and lonely sleep. <br>Fain would I murmur thy name, and tell <br>How fondly together we used to dwell-- <br>But none remember thee <br>Save me!' </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'I saw a husband, and a guilty wife, <br>Who once made all the sunshine of his life, <br>Kneeling upon the threshold of her home, <br>Where heavily her weary feet had come: <br>A faded form, a humble brow, are hers-- <br>The livery which sinful sorrow wears; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">While with deep agony she lifts her eyes, <br>And prays him to forgive her, ere she dies! <br>Long days--long days swell in his broken heart, <br>When death had seem'd less bitter than to part-- <br>When in her innocence her hush'd lip spoke <br>The faint confession of the love he woke; <br>And the first kiss on that pure cheek impress'd, <br>Made her shrink, trembling, from his faithful breast. <br>And after years when her light footstep made <br>Most precious music--when in sun or shade <br>She was the same bright, happy, loving thing-- <br>Low at his feet she now lies withering! <br>His half-stretch'd hand already bids her be <br>Forgiven and at peace--his kindly eye <br>Is turn'd on her through tears, to think that she, <br>His purely-loved, should bide such agony. <br>Already on his tongue the quivering word <br>Of comfort trembles, though as yet unheard; <br>Already he hath bent o'er that pale face: <br>Why starts he, groaning, from her wild embrace? <br>Oh! as she clasp'd his knees, her full heart woke <br>To all its tenderness--a murmur broke <br>Forth from her lip; the cherish'd name of one <br>Whose image dwelt when purity was gone, <br>Secure amid the ruins of lost things, <br>Filling her soul with soft imaginings, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Like a lone flower within the moss-grown halls <br>Where echo vainly unto echo calls. <br>Deep wrath, and agony, and vain despair, <br>Are painted on his brow who hears her prayer. <br>'Breathe not her name--it is a sound <br>Of fearfulness and dread. <br>Seest thou no trace of tears around? <br>Yet have salt tears been shed! <br>Thy babe who nestled at thy breast, <br>And laugh'd upon thy knee; <br>That creature of the quiet rest, <br>Thy child--was too like thee! <br>The careless fawn that lightly springs-- <br>The rosebud in the dew-- <br>The fair of nature's fairy things-- <br>Like them thy daughter grew. <br>And then she left her father's side, <br>Not, woman! as a happy bride, <br>With a tearful smile, half sad, half meek; <br>The flush of guilt was on her cheek: <br>And in the desert wilds I sought-- <br>And in the haunts of men. <br>Woman! what thou hast felt is naught <br>To what I suffer'd then. <br>I thought that--but it may not be-- <br>I thought I could have pardon'd thee; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">But when I dream of her, and think <br>Thy steps led on to ruin's brink-- <br>Oh she is gone, and thou art here <br>Where ye both were of yore-- <br>To mock with late-repentant tear <br>Hopes which may come no more! <br>Hadst thou, frail wretch, been by her still, <br>To shield her gentle head from ill-- <br>To do thy mother's part--but go-- <br>I will not curse thee, in my woe : <br>Only, depart!--and haply when <br>Lonely and left I die, <br>Thy pardon'd form shall rise again <br>And claim one parting sigh!' <br>He closed on her the portal of her home, <br>Where never more her weary feet may come-- <br>And their wrung hearts are sever'd till that day <br>When God shall hear, and judge the things of clay. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'I saw the parricide raving stand, <br>With a rolling eye, and a bloody hand; <br>Through his thick chill veins the curdling stream <br>Flows dark and languid. No sunny beam <br>Can wake the deep pulse of his heart to joy, <br>Since he raised his murderous hand to destroy. <br>By day, by night, no pause is given <br>Of hope to the soul accursed by Heaven. <br>Through the riotous feast; through his own dull groans; <br>Through the musical sound of his loved one's tones; <br>Through the whispering breath of the evening air, <br>Faulters the old man's dying prayer. <br>Few were the words he spoke as he sank; <br>And the greedy poniard his life-blood drank: <br>'Spare me, my son, I will yield thee all.' <br>Oh, what would the murderer give to recall <br>One murmuring sigh to that silent tongue, <br>Which in infancy sought his ear to please; <br>One pulse of life, to the hands that clung <br>Feebly and tremblingly round his knees! <br>In vain! he hath won the gold he sought; <br>And the burning agony of thought <br>Shall haunt him still, till he lays his head <br>With a shuddering groan on his dying bed! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'I saw a young head bow'd in its deep woe, <br>Ev'n unto death; and sad, and faint, and slow, <br>As she sat lonely in her hall of tears, <br>Her lips address'd some shade of other years: <br>'Oh! dear to the eyes that are weeping <br>Was thy form, my lost love: <br>Though the heart where thine image is sleeping <br>Its truth might not prove. <br>I have wept and turn'd from thee, for fear thou shouldst trace <br>All the love that I bore thee, deep writ on my face. <br>But oh! could we once more be meeting, <br>As then, love, we met: <br>Could I feel that fond heart of thine beating, <br>Close, close, to mine yet: <br>I would cling to thee, dearest, nor fear thou shouldst guess <br>How deeply thy welcome had power to bless, <br>Oh! tis not for a day, or an hour, <br>I part from thee now, <br>To weep and shake off, like a flower, <br>The tears from my brow: <br>'Tis to sit dreaming idly of days that are gone, <br>And start up to remember--that I am alone. <br>They say that my heart hath recover'd <br>The deep bitter blow; <br>That the cloud which for long days hath hover'd, <br>Is gone from my brow; <br>That my eyes do not weep, and my lips wear a smile; <br>It is true --but I do not forget thee the while. <br>Oh, they know not, amidst all my gladness, <br>Thy shadow is there: </div><div style="margin:10px 0">They feel not the deep thrill of sadness, <br>Nor the soul's lone despair. <br>They see not the sudden quick pang, when thy name <br>Is carelessly utter'd, to praise or to blame! <br>If to gaze on each long-treasured token <br>Till bitter tears flow, <br>And to wonder my heart is not broken <br>By the weight of its woe: <br>To join in the world's loud and 'wildering din, <br>While a passionate feeling is choking within: <br>If to yearn, in the arms that once bound thee, <br>To lean down my head; <br>With the dear ones who used to come round thee, <br>Salt tear-drops to shed: <br>If to list to the voice that is like thine, in vain; <br>And feel its dim echo ring wild through my brain: <br>If to dream there were pleasure in meeting <br>Those who once were with thee: <br>To murmur a sad farewell greeting, <br>Then sink on my knee; <br>With my straining hands clasp'd to the Heavens in prayer, <br>And my choked bosom heaving with grief and despair: <br>If to sit and to think of thee only, <br>While they laugh round the hearth; <br>And feel my full heart grow more lonely <br>At the sound of their mirth:-- <br>If this be forgetting thee, dear one and good-- <br>Forget thee--forget thee--Oh God! that I could!' </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'I saw the child of parents poor, <br>Dreaming with pain of her cottage door; <br>Which she left for the splendour which may not cheer-- <br>Pomp hath not power to dry one tear. <br>The palace--the sunshine--what are they to her <br>'Mid the heart's full throb, and the bosom's stir? <br>The picture that rises bedimm'd with tears, <br>Is an aged woman, bow'd down by years; <br>Sitting alone in her evening's close, <br>And feebly weeping for many woes. <br>Her thin hands are weaving the endless thread, <br>Her faded eyes gaze where her daughter fled, <br>O'er the moss-grown copse and the wooded hill: <br>'Oh! would that I were with my mother still! <br>That I were with her who rear'd me up-- <br>(And I fill'd to the brim her sorrow's cup)-- <br>That I were with her who taught me to pray <br>At the morning's dawn and the close of day-- <br>That I were with her whose harshest look <br>Was half of sorrow and half rebuke. <br>Oh! the depth of my sin I never could see, <br>But I feel it now, with the babe on my knee.' </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The high proud gaze of her scornful eye <br>Is quench'd with the tears for days gone by; <br>And her little one starts from its broken rest, <br>Woke by the sobs of that heaving breast. <br>She gazes with fear on its undimm'd brow-- <br>What are the thoughts that lurk below? <br>Perchance, like her own, the day will come <br>When its name shall be hush'd in its parent home; <br>When the hearts that cherish its lightest tone, <br>Shall wish that the sound from earth were gone. <br>Perchance it is doom'd to an early grave, <br>Or a struggling death on the stormy wave; <br>Or the fair little dimpled hand that clings <br>So fast in her soft hair's shining rings, <br>May be dark with the blood of his fellow-men, <br>And the clanking chain hang round it then. <br>Haply, forgetting her patient care, <br>The young, bright creature slumbering there, <br>Shall forsake her--as she hath forsaken them-- <br>For a heavy heart and a diadem! <br>She clasps it strong with a burning kiss-- <br>'Oh God! in thy mercy, spare me this.'' </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'I saw a widow, by her cherish'd son, <br>Ere all of light, and life, and hope, was gone-- <br>When the last dying glance was faintly raised, <br>Ere death with withering power the brightness glazed <br>Of those deep heavenly eyes: a glance which seem'd <br>To ask her, if the world where he had dream'd <br>Such dreams of happiness with her, must be <br>Forsaken in the spring-tide of his glee: <br>If he indeed must die. I saw her take <br>His hand, and gaze, as if her heart would break, <br>On his pale brow and languid limbs of grace, <br>And wipe the death-dew gently from his face. <br>I saw her after, when the unconscious clay, <br>Deaf to her wild appeals, all mutely lay, <br>With brow upturn'd, and parted lips, whose hue <br>Was scarce more pale than hers, who met my view. <br>She stood, and wept not in her deep despair, <br>But press'd her lips upon his shining hair <br>With a long bitter kiss, and then with grief-- <br>Like hers of old, who pray'd and found relief-- <br>She groan'd to God, and watch'd to see him stir, <br>But, ah! no prophet came, to raise him up for her! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'I saw the orphan go forth in dread <br>Through the pitiless world, and turn to gaze <br>Once more on the dark and narrow bed <br>Where sleep the authors of her days. <br>Well may she weep them, for never more, <br>After she turns from that cottage door, <br>Will her young heart beat to a kindly word, <br>Such as in early days she heard: <br>Or her young eye shine, as she hastens her pace <br>To bask in the light of a loved one's face. <br>Her lot is cast; <br>Her hope is past; <br>The careless, the cold, and the cruel may come <br>To gaze on the orphan, and pass her by: <br>But a word, or a sound, or a look of home-- <br>For them she must bow her head, and die! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'I saw the dark and city-clouded spot, <br>Where, by his busy patrons all forgot, <br>The young sad poet dreams of better days, <br>And gives his genius forth in darken'd rays. <br>Chill o'er his soul, gaunt poverty hath thrown <br>Her veil of shadows, as he sighs alone; <br>And, withering up the springs and streams of youth, <br>Left him to feel misfortune's bitter truth, <br>And own with deep, impassion'd bitterness, <br>Who would describe--must faintly feel, distress. <br>Slowly he wanders, with a languid pace, <br>To the small window of his hiding-place; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Pressing with straining force, all vainly now, <br>His hot, weak fingers on his throbbing brow; <br>And seeking for bright thoughts, which care and pain <br>Have driven from his dim and 'wilder'd brain. <br>He breathes a moment that unclouded air, <br>And gazes on the face of nature there-- <br>Longing for fresh wild flowers and verdant fields, <br>And all the joys the open sunshine yields: <br>Then turning, he doth rest his heavy eye <br>Where his torn papers in confusion lie, <br>And raves awhile, and seats himself again, <br>To toil and strive for thoughts and words, in vain: <br>Till he can bid his drooping fancy feel, <br>And barter genius, for a scanty meal! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'I've been where fell disease a war hath waged <br>Against young joy,--where pestilence hath raged, <br>And beauty hath departed from the earth <br>With none to weep her.--I have seen the birth <br>Of the lorn infant, greeted but with tears, <br>And dim forebodings, and remorseful fears, <br>When to the weary one the grave would show <br>Less dreadful than a long long life of woe. <br>I've been in prisons, where in lone despair, <br>Barr'd from God's precious gifts, the sun and air, <br>The debtor pines, for a little gold, <br>His fellow man in iron chains would hold: <br>There have I seen the bright inquiring eye <br>Fade into dull and listless vacancy; <br>There have I seen the meek grow stern and wild; <br>And the strong man sit weeping like a child; <br>Till God's poor tortured creatures in their heart <br>Were fain to Curse their Maker, and depart. <br>All have I seen--and I have watch'd apart <br>The fruitless struggles of a breaking heart, <br>Bruised, crush'd, and wounded by the spoiler's power, <br>And left to wither like a trodden flower; <br>Till I have learnt with ease each thought to trace <br>That flush'd across the fair and fading face, <br>And known the source of tears, which day by day <br>Weakness hath shed, and pride hath brush'd away. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'It was in Erin--in the autumn time, <br>By the broad Shannon's banks of beauty roaming; <br>I saw a scene of mingled woe and crime-- <br>Oh! ev'n to my sear'd eyes the tears seem'd coming! <br>It was a mother standing gaunt and wild, <br>Working her soul to murder her young child, <br>Who lay unconscious in its soft repose <br>Upon the breast, that heaved with many woes. <br>She stood beside the waters, but her eyes <br>Were not upon the river, nor the skies, <br>Nor on the fading things of earth. Her soul <br>Was rapt in bitterness--and evening stole <br>Chill o'er her form, while yet with nerveless hand <br>She sought to throw her burden from the land. <br>'Twas pitiful to see her strive in vain, <br>Rise sternly up, then melt to love again; <br>With horrible energy, and lip compress'd, <br>Hold forth her child--then strain it to her breast <br>Convulsively; as if some gentle thought <br>Of all its helpless beauty first was brought <br>Into her 'wilder'd mind--the soft faint smiles, <br>Whose charm the mother of her tears beguiles, <br>Which speak not aught of mirth or merriment, <br>But of full confidence, and deep content, <br>And ignorance of woe:--the murmur'd sounds <br>Which were to her a language, rise up now-- <br>And, like a torrent bursting from its bounds, <br>Swell in her heart, and shoot across her brow. <br>Oh! she who plans its death in her despair, <br>Hath tended it with fond and watchful care; <br>Hath borne it wearily for many a mile, <br>Repaid with one fond glance, or gentle smile: <br>Hath watch'd through long dark nights with patient love, <br>When some light sickness struck her nestling dove; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And yearn'd to bear its pain, when that meek eye <br>Turn'd on her, with appealing agony! <br>Look on her now!--that faint and feverish start <br>Hath waken'd all the mother in her heart: <br>That feeble cry hath thrill'd her very frame :-- <br>Was it for murder such a soft heart came? <br>She will not do it--Fool! the spirit there <br>Is stronger far than love--it is despair! <br>Mothers alone may read that mother's woe: <br>Her heart may break--but she will strike the blow. <br>Once more she pauses; bending o'er its face, <br>Calm and unconscious in its timid grace; <br>Then murmurs to it by the chilly wave, <br>Ere one strong effort dooms it to the grave:-- </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Thou of the sinless breast! <br>Which passion hath not heaved, nor dark remorse <br>Swell'd with its full and agonizing curse-- <br>Lo! thou art come to rest! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Warm is thy guileless heart, <br>Whose slight quick pulses soon shall beat no more: <br>Hear'st thou the strong trees rock?--the loud winds roar? <br>I and my child must part! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Deep 'neath the sullen sky, <br>And the dark waters which do boil and foam, <br>Greedy to take thee to their silent home-- <br>My little one must lie! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Peace to thy harmless soul! <br>There is a heaven where thou mayst dwell in peace; <br>Where the dark howling of the waters cease, <br>Which o'er thy young head roll. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'There, in the blue still night, <br>Thou'lt watch, where stars are gleaming from the sky, <br>O'er the dark spot where thou wert doom'd to die, <br>And smile, a cherub bright.' </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'A plash upon the waves--a low <br>Half-stifled sob, which seem'd as though <br>The choked breath fought against the stream-- <br>And all was silent as a dream. <br>Then rose the shriek that might not stay, <br>Though much that soul had braved; <br>And ere its echo died away, <br>Her little one was saved. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Sudden I plunged, and panting caught <br>The bright and floating hair, <br>Which on the waters lustre brought, <br>As if 'twere sunshine there. <br>I stood beside that form of want and sin, <br>That miserable woman in her tears; <br>Who wept, as though she had not cast it in <br>To perish with the sorrows of past years. <br>She thank'd me with a bitter thankfulness, <br>And thus I spoke: 'Oh! woman, if it is <br>Sickness and poverty, and lone distress, <br>That prompted thee to do a deed like this, <br>Take gold, and wander forth, and let me be <br>A parent to the child renounced by thee!' <br>Greedily did she gaze upon the gold, <br>With a wild avarice in her hollow eye; <br>And stretch'd her thin damp fingers, clammy cold, <br>To seize the glittering ore with ecstasy. <br>But when I claim'd the little helpless thing, <br>For whose young life that gold had paid the worth; <br>Close to the breast where it lay shivering, <br>She strain'd it gaspingly, and then burst forth:-- </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'I would have slain it! Fool! 'tis true I would; <br>Because I saw it pine, and had no food: <br>Because I could not bear its faint frail cry, <br>Which told my brain such tales of agony: <br>Because its dumb petitioning glances said, <br>Am I thy child? and canst not give me bread? <br>Because, while faint and droopingly it lay <br>Within my failing arms from day to day, <br>The tigress rose within my soul--I could <br>Have slain a man, and bid it lap his blood! <br>My little one!--my uncomplaining child! <br>Whose lengthen'd misery drove thy mother wild, <br>Did they believe that aught but death could part <br>These nestling limbs from her poor tortured heart?-- <br>No! had the slimy waters gurgled o'er <br>Thy corpse, and wash'd the slippery reed-grown shore, <br>Leaving no trace, except in my despair, <br>Of what had once disturb'd the stillness there-- <br>I could have gazed upon it, and not wept; <br>For calmly then my little one had slept. <br>No nightly moans would then have wrung my soul; <br>No daylight withering bid the tear-drop roll. <br>In my dark hours of misery and want, <br>The memory of thy pallid face might haunt, <br>Not, not to wring my heart with vain regret, <br>But to remind what thou hadst suffer'd yet, <br>If from life's wretchedness I had not freed <br>Thy grateful soul, which thank'd me for the deed. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I lost thee--but I have thee here again, <br>Close to the heart which now can feel no pain. <br>Cling to me!--let me feel that velvet cheek-- <br>Look at me, with those eyes so dove-like meek! <br>Press thy pale lips to mine, and let me be <br>Repaid for all I have endured for thee. <br>Part from thee!--never! while this arm hath strength <br>To hold thee to the bosom where thou liest: <br>Praise be to God, bright days have dawn'd at length! <br>I need not watch thy struggles as thou diest. <br>Part from thee! never--no, my pale sweet flower! <br>The wealth of worlds would bribe my heart in vain, <br>Though 'twere to give thee up for one short hour-- <br>Take back thy gold--I have my babe again! <br>Yet give me food, and I will clasp thy knees, <br>And night and day will kneel for thee to Heaven; <br>Else will a lingering death of slow disease, <br>Or famine gaunt, be all that thou hast given. <br>And when I die-- then, then be kind'--She ceased: <br>Her parted lips were tinged with crimson gore, <br>Her faint hand half, and only half, released <br>The unconscious form she had been weeping o'er: <br>Worn nature could not bear the sudden strife; <br>I look'd upon her--but there was no life! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'That little outcast grew a fairy girl, <br>A beautiful, a most beloved one. <br>There was a charm in every separate curl <br>Whose rings of jet hung glistening in the sun, <br>Which warm'd her marble brow. There was a grace <br>Peculiar to herself, ev'n from the first: <br>Shadows and thoughtfulness you seem'd to trace <br>Upon that brow, and then a sudden burst <br>Of sunniness and laughter sparkled out, <br>And spread their rays of joyfulness about. <br>Like the wild music of her native land, <br>Which wakes to joy beneath the minstrel's hand, <br>Yet at its close gives forth a lingering tone-- <br>Sad, as if mourning that its mirth is gone, <br>And leaves that note to dwell within your heart, <br>When all the sounds of joyfulness depart: <br>So in her heart's full chords there seem'd to be <br>A strange and wild, but lovely melody: <br>Half grief--half gladness--but the sadness still <br>Hanging like shadows on a summer rill. <br>And when her soul from its deep silence woke, <br>And from her lip sweet note of answer broke, <br>Memory in vain would seek the smile that play'd <br>With her slow words, like one beam in the shade; <br>Her sorrow hung upon your heart for years-- <br>And all her sweet smiles darken'd into tears. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I loved her, as a father loves his child: <br>For she was dutiful, and fond, and mild, <br>As children should be--and she ripen'd on <br>Like a young rosebud opening to the sun; <br>Till the full light of womanhood was shed, <br>Like a soft glory, round about her head. <br>In all my wanderings, through good and ill, <br>In storm and sunshine, she was with me still: <br>Not like a cold sad shadow, forced to glide <br>Weary--unloved--unnoticed, by my side: <br>But with her whole heart's worship, ever near, <br>To love, to smile, to comfort, and to cheer. <br>Her gentle soul would fear to hurt a worm; <br>Yet danger found her unappall'd and firm: <br>Her lip might blanch, but her unalter'd eye <br>Said, I am ready for thy sake to die. <br>She stood by me and fear'd not, in that place <br>When the scared remnant of my wretched race <br>Gave England's Richard gifts, to let them be <br>All unmolested in their misery: <br>And while their jewels sparkled on his hand, <br>His traitor lips gave forth the dark command <br>Which, midst a drunken nation's loud carouse, <br>Sent unexpected death from house to house, <br>Bade strong arms strike, where none their force withstood, <br>And woman's wail be quench'd in woman's blood. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">She stood by me and fear'd not, when again, <br>A bloody death cut short a life of pain; <br>When, with red glaring eyes and desperate force, <br>Brother laid brother low, a prostrate corse, <br>Rather than yield their bodies up to those, <br>In word, in act, and in religion--foes. <br>She gazed and fainted not, while all around <br>They lay like slaughter'd cattle on the ground; <br>With the wide gash in each extended throat, <br>Calling for vengeance to the God who smote <br>On Israel's side, ere Israel fell away, <br>And in her guilt was made the stranger's prey. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'And after that, we dwelt in many lands, <br>And wander'd through the desert's burning sands; <br>Where, strange to say, young Miriam sigh'd to be: <br>Where nature lay stretch'd out so silently <br>Beneath the glorious sun, and here and there <br>The fountains bubbled up, as fresh and fair <br>As if the earth were fill'd with them, and none <br>In their last agonizing thirst sank down, <br>With eyes turn'd sadly to far distant dreams <br>Of unseen gushing waters, and cool streams. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'There is a little island all alone <br>In the blue Mediterranean; and we went <br>Where never yet a human foot had gone, <br>And dwelt there, and young Miriam was content. <br>There was a natural fountain, where no ray <br>Of light or warmth had ever found its way, <br>Thick clustered o'er with flowers; and there she made <br>A bower of deep retirement and shade; <br>And proud she was, when, rosy with the glow <br>Of triumph and exertion, she could show <br>Her palace of green leaves,--and watch my eyes <br>For the expected glance of pleased surprise. <br>Oh! she was beautiful!--if ever earth <br>To aught of breathing loveliness gave birth. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'One evening--one sweet evening, as we stood, <br>Silently gazing on the silent flood: <br>A sudden thought rose swelling in my heart: <br>Ought my sweet Miriam thus to dwell apart <br>From human kind? So good, so pure, so bright, <br>So form'd to be a fervent heart's delight; <br>Was she to waste the power and will to bless <br>In ministering to my loneliness? <br>And then a moment's glance took in her life-- <br>I saw my Miriam a blessed wife; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I saw her with fair children round her knee, <br>I heard their voices in that home of glee, <br>And turn'd to gaze on her:--if ever yet, <br>Turning with shadowy hope, and vain regret, <br>And consciousness of secret guilt or woe, <br>Thine eyes have rested on the open brow <br>Of sinless childhood--thou hast known what I <br>Felt, when my glance met Miriam's cloudless eye. <br>Oh! Thought, thou mould where misery is cast-- <br>Thou joiner of the present with the past-- <br>Eternal torturer! wherefore can we not <br>Through all our life be careless of our lot <br>As in our early years?--No cares to come <br>Threw their vain shadow o'er her bosom's home; <br>No bitter sorrow, with its vain recall, <br>Poison'd her hope--the present hour was all. <br>I gazed on her--and as a slow smile broke <br>Of meek affection round her rosy mouth, <br>I thought the simple words my heart would choke, <br>'Would Miriam weep to leave the sunny south?' <br>Silent she stood--then, in a tone scarce heard, <br>Faulter'd forth, 'father!' Oh! it wrung, that word; <br>And snatching her with haste unto my breast, <br>Where in her childhood's hour of sunny rest <br>Calmly her innocent head had often slept, <br>With a strange sense of misery--I wept. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Oh! weary days, oh! weary days, <br>Of flattery and empty praise, <br>When in the tainted haunts of men <br>My Miriam was brought again. <br>With vacant gaze and gentle sigh, <br>She turned her from them mournfully; <br>As if she rather felt, than saw, <br>That they were near:--they scarce could draw <br>A word of answer from her tongue, <br>Where once such merry music rung, <br>Save when the island was their theme-- <br>And then, as waking from a dream, <br>Her soft eye lighted for a while, <br>And round her mouth a playful smile <br>Stole for a moment, and then fled, <br>As if the hope within were dead. <br>Where'er I gazed, where'er I went, <br>Her earnest look was on me bent <br>Stealthily, as she wish'd to trace <br>Her term of exile on my face. <br>And many sought her hand in vain. <br>With pleading voice, and look of pain. <br>Weepingly she would turn away <br>When I besought her to be gay; <br>And resolutely firm, withstood <br>The noble and the great of blood; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Though they woo'd humbly, as they woo <br>Who scarcely hope for what they sue. <br>Oh! glad was Miriam, when at last <br>I deem'd our term of absence past: <br>And as her light foot quickly sprang <br>From out our bark, 'twas thus she sang:-- </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'The world! the sunny world! I love <br>To roam untired, till evening throws <br>Sweet shadows through the pleasant grove, <br>And bees are murmuring on the rose. <br>I love to see the changeful flowers <br>Lie blushing in the glowing day-- <br>Bend down their heads to 'scape the showers, <br>Then shake the chilly drops away. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'The world! the sunny world! oh bright <br>And beautiful indeed thou art-- <br>The brilliant day, the dark-blue night, <br>Bring joy--but not to every heart. <br>No! till, like flowers, those hearts can fling <br>Grief's drops from off their folded leaves, <br>'Twill only smile in hope's bright spring, <br>And darken when the spirit grieves.' </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'She was return'd; but yet she grew not glad; <br>Her cheek wore not the freshness which it had. <br>The withering of the world, like the wild storm <br>Over a tender blossom, left her form <br>With traces of the havoc that had been, <br>Ev'n in the sunny calm, and placid scene. <br>Her brow was darken'd with a gentle cloud; <br>Her step was slower, and her laugh less loud; <br>And oft her sweet voice faulter'd, though she said <br>Nothing in which deep meaning could be read. <br>I watch'd her gestures when she saw me not, <br>And once--(oh! will that evening be forgot?) <br>I stole upon her, when she little thought <br>Aught but the moaning wind her whispers caught. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'She sat within her bower, where the sun <br>Linger'd, as loth to think his task was done: <br>And languidly she raised her heavy gaze, <br>To meet the splendour of his parting rays. <br>O'er the smooth cheek which rested on her hand; <br>Down the rich curls by evening breezes fann'd; <br>Upon the full red lip, and rounded arm, <br>The swan-like neck, so snowy, yet so warm-- <br>Each charm the rosy light was wandering o'er, <br>Brightening what seem'd all-beautiful before. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I paused a moment, gazing yet unseen <br>Beneath the sleeping shadows dark and green; <br>And thought, how strange that one so form'd to bless <br>Should better love to live in loneliness. <br>Pure, but not passionless, was that soft brow <br>So warmly gilded by the sunset now; <br>And in her glistening eye there shone a tear, <br>Like those we shed when dreaming--for some dear <br>But lost illusion, which returns awhile <br>Our nights to brighten with remember'd smile, <br>And yet we feel is lost, though sleep, strong sleep, <br>Chains the swoln lid, that fain would wake and weep. <br>I sat me down beside her; round the zone <br>That clasp'd her slender waist my arm was thrown: <br>And the bright ringlets of her shining hair <br>My fond hand parted on her forehead fair; <br>And thus I spoke, as with a smile and sigh <br>She murmur'd forth a welcome timidly: <br>'Again within the desert and at rest, <br>Say, does my Miriam find herself more blest, <br>Than when gay throngs in fond devotion hung <br>Upon the sportive accents of her tongue? <br>Is all which made the city seem so gay, <br>The song, the dance, all dream-like pass'd away? <br>The sighs, the vows, the worshipping forgot? <br>And art thou happier in this lonely spot? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Is there no form, all vision-like enshrined <br>Deep 'mid the treasures of thy guileless mind? <br>And, deaf to every pure and faithful sigh, <br>Say, would my desert rose-bud lonely die?' <br>High, 'neath the arm which carelessly caress'd, <br>Rose the quick beatings of that gentle breast; <br>And the slight pulses of her fair young hand, <br>Which lay so stirlessly within my own, <br>Trembled and stopp'd, and trembled, as I scann'd <br>The flushing cheek on which my glance was thrown. <br>'She loves,' said I; while selfish bitter grief <br>Swell'd in my soul;--'she loves, and I must live <br>Alone again, more wretched for the brief <br>Bright sunshine which her presence used to give.' <br>And then with sadden'd tones, (which, though I strove <br>To make them playful, tremulously came) <br>I murmur'd:'Yes! he lives, whom thou canst love. <br>His name, dear Miriam--whisper me his name.' <br>There was a pause, and audibly she drew <br>Her heaving breath; and faint and fainter grew <br>The hand that lay in mine; and o'er her brow <br>Flush'd shadows chased each other to and fro: <br>Till like a scorch'd-up flower, with languid grace <br>That young head droop'd, but sought no resting-place. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Dreams pass'd across my soul--dreams of old days-- <br>Of forms which in the quiet grave lay sleeping; <br>Of eyes which death had stripp'd of all their rays, <br>And weary life had quench'd with bitter weeping: <br>Dreams of the days when, human still, my heart <br>Refused to feel immortal, and kept clinging <br>To transient joys, which came and did depart <br>As fresh flowers wither, which young hands are flinging. <br>Dreams of the days I loved, and was beloved-- <br>When some young heart for me its sighs was giving, <br>And fond lips murmur'd forth the vow that proved <br>Its truth in death, its tenderness when living: <br>And dreaming thus, I sigh'd. Answering, there came <br>A deep, low, tremulous sob, which thrill'd my frame. <br>A moment, that young form shrunk back abash'd <br>At its own feelings; and all vainly dash'd <br>The tear aside, which speedily return'd <br>To quench the cheek where fleeting blushes burn'd. <br>A moment, while I sought her fears to stay, <br>The timid girl in silence shrank away-- <br>A moment, from my grasp her hand withdrew-- <br>A moment, hid her features from my view-- <br>Then rising, sank with tears upon my breast, <br>Her struggles and her love at once confess'd. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Years--sorrow--death--the hopes that leave me lone, <br>All I have suffer'd, and must suffer on; <br>The love of other bright things which may pass <br>In half eclipse, beyond the darken'd glass <br>Through which my tearful soul hath learnt to gaze-- <br>The fond delusions of all future days:-- <br>All that this world can bring, hath not the power <br>To blot from memory that delicious hour. <br>She, who I thought would leave me desolate-- <br>For whom I brooded o'er a future fate; <br>She, who had wander'd through each sunny land, <br>Yet found no heart that could her love command-- <br>She lay within my arms, my own--my own-- <br>Unsought, unwoo'd, but oh! too surely won. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'She was not one of many words and vows, <br>And breathings of her love, and eager shows <br>Of warm affection;--in her quiet eye, <br>Which gazed on all she worshipp'd silently, <br>There dwelt deep confidence in what she loved, <br>And nothing more--till some slight action proved <br>My ceaseless thought of her: then her heart woke, <br>And fervent feeling like a sunrise broke <br>O'er her illumined face. Her love for me <br>Was pure and deep, and hidden as the fount </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Which floweth 'neath our footsteps gushingly, <br>And of whose wanderings none may take account; <br>And like those waters, when the fountain burst <br>To light and sunshine, which lay dark at first, <br>Quietly deep, it still kept flowing on-- <br>Not the less pure for being look'd upon. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'And then she loved all things, and all loved her. <br>Each sound that mingleth in the busy stir <br>Of nature, was to her young bosom rife <br>With the intelligence of human life. <br>Edith, my playful Edith, when her heart <br>Tenderly woke to do its woman's part, <br>Fill'd with a sentiment so strong and new, <br>Each childish passion from her mind withdrew, <br>And looking round upon the world beheld <br>Her Isbal only. By deep sorrow quell'd, <br>Xarifa's was a melancholy love. <br>The plashing waters, the blue sky above, <br>The echo speaking from the distant hill, <br>The murmurs indistinct which sweetly fill <br>The evening air--all had for her a tone <br>Of mournful music--and I stood alone <br>The one thing that could bid her heart rejoice <br>With the deep comfort of a human voice. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Not so, young Miriam. Love, within her breast, <br>Had been a welcome and familiar guest <br>Ev'n from her childhood:--I was link'd with all <br>The sunny things that to her lot might fall; <br>The past--the present--and the future, were <br>Replete with joys in which I had my share. <br>Nothing had been, or ever could be, felt <br>Singly, within the heart where such love dwelt-- <br>Her birds, her trees, her favourite walks, her flowers, <br>She knew them not as hers--they were all ours. <br>And thus she loved in her imaginings <br>Our earth, and all its dumb and living things; <br>Oft whispering in her momentary glee, <br>It was the world I dwelt in; part of me: <br>And, bound by a sweet charm she might not break, <br>She look'd upon that world, and loved it for my sake. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'How shall I tell it? Linda, a dark pain <br>Is in my heart, and in my burning brain.-- <br>Where is she?--where is Miriam?--who art thou? <br>Oh! wipe the death-dew from her pallid brow; <br>I dare not touch her! See, how still she lies, <br>Closing in weakness her averted eyes: <br>Gaspingly struggling for her gentle breath-- <br>And stretching out her quivering limbs in death! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Will no one save her? Fool!--the shadow there <br>Is the creation of thine own despair. <br>No love, no agony, is in her heart: <br>In sin, in suffering, she hath now no part. <br>She is gone from thee--sooner doom'd to go <br>Than Nature meant; but thou didst will it so. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Oh, Linda! the remembrance of that day, <br>When sad Xarifa's spirit pass'd away, <br>Haunted me ever with a power that thou, <br>Who hast not sinn'd or suffer'd, canst not know. <br>My joys were turn'd to miseries, and wrought <br>My heart into delirium; I thought <br>That, as she wept, so Miriam would weep, <br>And start and murmur in her troubled sleep: <br>That, as she doubted, Miriam too would find <br>A dark suspicion steal across her mind: <br>That, as she faded, Miriam too would fade, <br>And lose the smile that round her full lips play'd: <br>That as she perish'd--Miriam too would die, <br>And chide me with her last reproachful sigh. <br>Often when gazing on her open brow, <br>And the pure crimson of her soft cheek's glow-- <br>Sudden, a dark unhappy change would seem <br>To fall upon her features like a dream. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">In vain her merry voice, with laughing tone, <br>Bade the dim shadow from my heart begone: <br>Pale--pale and sorrowful--she seem'd to rise, <br>Death on her cheek, and darkness in her eyes; <br>The roundness of her form was gone, and care <br>Had blanch'd the tresses of her glossy hair. <br>Wan and reproachful, mournfully and mild <br>Her thin lips moved, and with an effort smiled. <br>And when with writhing agony I woke <br>From the delusion, and the dark spell broke; <br>And Miriam stood there, smiling brilliantly, <br>Shuddering, I said, 'And yet these things must be.' <br>Must be;--that young confiding heart must shrink <br>From my caress; the joyous eyes which drink <br>Light from the sunshine that doth play within, <br>Must grovel downcast with a sense of sin; <br>Or, startled into consciousness, will gaze <br>Bewilderingly upon the sunset rays; <br>And, meeting mine, with sorrow wild and deep, <br>Heart and eyes sinking, turn again to weep. <br>Yes, these things must be: if, when years have pass'd, <br>Each leaving her more fading than the last, <br>She turns to the companion of her track, <br>And, while her wandering thoughts roam sadly back, <br>Seeks in her soul the reason why his form <br>Laughs at the slow decay or ruffling storm, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">That hath wreck'd better things;--while on her sight, <br>With the deep horrible glare, and certain light <br>Of hell to a lost soul, the slow truth breaks; <br>Till, as one wounded in his sleep, awakes <br>To writhe, and shriek, and perish--silently: <br>Her heart is roused--to comprehend and die. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'To die!--and wherefore should she not depart <br>Ere doubt hath agonized the trusting heart? <br>Wherefore not pass away from earth, ere yet <br>Its mossy bosom with her tears is wet?-- <br>It was a summer's morning, when the first <br>Glance of that dreadful haunting vision burst <br>Upon my mind:--I doom'd her then to die, <br>For then I pictured to my heart and eye <br>A world where Miriam was not:--often after, <br>Amid the joyous ringing of her laughter, <br>In sunshine and in shade, those thoughts return'd, <br>Madden'd my brain, and in my bosom burn'd. <br>Oh, God! how bitter were those idle hours, <br>When softly bending o'er her fragrant flowers, <br>She form'd her innocent plans, and playfully <br>Spoke of that future which was not to be! <br>How bitter were her smiles--her perfect love-- <br>Her deep reliance, which no frowns could move, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">On the affections of my murderous heart, <br>Where the thought brooded,--when shall she depart? <br>As Jephthah gazed upon her smiling face, <br>Who bounded forth to claim his first embrace; <br>And felt, with breathless and bewilder'd pause, <br>Her early death foredoom'd--her love the cause: <br>As Jephthah struggled with the vow that still <br>Bound his pain'd soul against his own free will; <br>And heard her fond and meekly-worded prayer, <br>To climb the well-known hills, and wander there, <br>Weeping to think that in her virgin pride <br>The beautiful must perish--no man's bride; <br>And that her name must die away from earth; <br>And that her voice must leave the halls of mirth, <br>And they be not less mirthful: so to me <br>It was to gaze on Miriam silently: <br>Miriam, who loved me; who, if I had said, <br>'Lo! thou must perish--bow thy gentle head,'-- <br>Would have repress'd each faint life-longing sigh, <br>Bared her white bosom, and knelt down to die, <br>Without a murmur.--So when she upraised <br>Her quiet eyes, and on my features gazed, <br>Asking me to come forth and roam with her <br>Around her favourite haunts, the maddening stir <br>Of agony and vain resolve would rend <br>My bosom, and to earth my proud head bend. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">It seem'd to me as if that gentle prayer <br>She breathed--to bid farewell to all her share <br>Of life and sunshine; to behold again <br>The high bright happy hills and outstretch'd plain; <br>And then--come back and die. I left that isle, <br>And Miriam follow'd with a tearful smile, <br>Glad to be with me, sorrowful to go <br>From the dear scene of joy and transient woe. <br>As Eve to Eden--towards that land of rest <br>She gazed, then turn'd, and wept upon my breast. <br>To Italy's sweet shores we bent our course; <br>And for a while my grief and my remorse, <br>And all my fearful thoughts, forsook me, when <br>We mingled in the busy haunts of men. <br>But oh! the hour was fix'd--though long delay'd; <br>Like the poor felon's doom, which some reprieve hath stay'd. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'One night a dream disturb'd my frenzied soul. <br>Methought, to Miriam I confess'd the whole <br>Of what thou know'st, and watch'd her young glad face, <br>That on her brow her feelings I might trace. <br>Methought that, as I gazed, the flushing red <br>Once more upon her cheek and bosom spread, <br>As when she told her love; and then--and then-- <br>(How strongly does that vision rise again!) </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Each hue of life by gradual shades withdrew, <br>Till ev'n her dark blue eyes seem'd fading too. <br>Paler and paler--whiter and more white-- <br>Gazing upon me in the ghastly light, <br>Her features grew; till all at length did seem <br>Like moving marble, in that sickly dream, <br>Except the faded eyes; they faintly kept <br>The hue of life, and look'd on me, and wept. <br>And still she spoke not, but stood weeping there, <br>Till I was madden'd with mine own despair-- <br>And woke. She lay beside me, who was soon <br>To perish by my hand: the pale clear moon <br>O'er her fair form a marble whiteness threw, <br>And wild within my heart the madness grew. <br>I rush'd from out that chamber, and I stood <br>By the dim waters of the moon-lit flood; <br>And in that hour of frantic misery, <br>I thought my vision told how she would die, <br>Pining and weeping.--I return'd again, <br>And gazed upon her with a sickening pain. <br>Her fair soft arms were flung above her head, <br>And the deep rose of sleep her cheek was tinging: <br>The tear which all who follow me must shed, <br>Slept 'neath the lashes which those orbs were fringing. <br>And there she lay--so still, so statue-like-- <br>I stagger'd to her-- </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I lifted up my desperate arm to strike-- <br>Linda--I slew her! <br>Once--only once--she faintly strove to rise; <br>Once--only once--she call'd upon my name; <br>And o'er the dark blue heaven of those eyes, <br>Death, with its midnight shadows, slowly came. <br>That tone's despairing echo died away; <br>The last faint quivering pulsation ceased <br>To thrill that form of beauty, as it lay <br>From all the storms and cares of life released: <br>And I sat by the dead. Fast o'er my soul <br>A dream of memory's treasured relics stole. <br>And the day rose before me, and the hour, <br>When Miriam sat within her own sweet bower, <br>The red rich sunset lighting on her cheek; <br>Afraid to trust herself to move or speak, <br>Conscious and shrinking--while I strove to trace <br>Her bosom's secret on her guileless face. <br>I turn'd to press her to my burning heart-- <br>I that had slain her--Wherefore did I start? <br>Cold, pure, and pale, that glowing cheek was laid, <br>And motionless each marble limb was lying; <br>Closed were those eyes which tears of passion shed, <br>And hush'd the voice that call'd on me in dying. <br>Gone!--gone!--that frozen bosom never more, <br>Press'd to mine own, in rapture shall be beating: <br>Gone!--gone!--her love, her struggles--all was o'er, <br>Life--weary life, would bring for us no meeting! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'They bore her from me, and they laid her low, <br>With all her beauty, in the cheerless tomb; <br>And dragg'd me forth, all weak with pain and woe, <br>Heedless of death, to meet a murderer's doom. <br>The wheel--the torturing wheel--was placed to tear <br>Each quivering limb, and wring forth drops of pain; <br>And they did mock me in my mute despair, <br>And point to it, and frown--but all in vain. <br>The hour at length arrived--a bright sweet day <br>Rose o'er the world of torture, and of crime; <br>And human blood-hounds and wild birds of prey <br>Waited with eagerness their feasting time. <br>And as I gazed, a wild hope sprang within <br>My feverish breast:--perchance this dreadful death <br>And my past sufferings might efface my sin; <br>And I might now resign my weary breath. <br>And as the blessed thought flash'd o'er my mind, <br>I gazed around, and smiled.--To die--to die-- <br>Oh little thought those wolves of human kind, <br>What rapture in that word may sometimes lie! <br>They stripp'd my unresisting limbs, and bound; <br>And the huge ponderous engine gave a sound </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Like a dull heavy echo of the moans, <br>The exhausted cries, the deep and sullen groans, <br>Of all its many victims. Through each vein <br>Thrill'd the strange sense of swift and certain pain; <br>And each strong muscle from the blood-stain'd rack, <br>Conscious of suffering, quiveringly shrank back. <br>But I rejoiced--I say I did rejoice: <br>And when from the loud multitude a voice <br>Cried 'Death!' I wildly echoed it, and said <br>'Death! Death! oh, lay me soon among the dead.' <br>And they did gaze on me with fiendish stare, <br>Half curiosity, and half the glare <br>Of bloody appetite; while to and fro, <br>Nearer and nearer, wheel'd the carrion crow, <br>As seeking where to strike.--A pause, and hark! <br>The signal sound! <br>When sudden as a dream, the heavens grew dark <br>On all around: <br>And the loud blast came sweeping in its wrath, <br>Scattering wide desolation o'er its path: <br>And the hoarse thunder struggled on its way; <br>And livid lightning mock'd the darken'd day <br>With its faint hellish lights.--They fled, that crowd, <br>With fearful shrieks, and cries, and murmurs loud, <br>And left me bound. The awful thunder crash'd <br>Above my head; and in my up-turn'd eyes </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The gleams of forked fire brightly flash'd, <br>Then died along the dark and threatening skies: <br>And the wild howling of the fearful wind <br>Madden'd my ringing brain; while, swiftly driven, <br>The torrent showers fell all thick and blind, <br>Till mingling seem'd the earth and angry heaven, <br>A flash--a sound--a shock--and I was free-- <br>Prostrate beside me lay the shiver'd wheel <br>In broken fragments--I groan'd heavily, <br>And for a while I ceased to breathe or feel. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'And I arose again, to know that death <br>Was not yet granted--that the feverish hope <br>Of yielding up in torture my cursed breath <br>Was quench'd for ever; and the boundless scope <br>Of weary life burst on my soul again, <br>Like the dim distance of the heaving main <br>On some lost mariner's faint failing eyes; <br>Who, fondly dreaming of his native shore, <br>(While in his throat the gurgling waters rise) <br>Fancies he breathes that welcome air once more, <br>And far across the bleak lone billows sees <br>Its blue cool rivers, and its shady trees; <br>Till when, upraised a moment by the wave, <br>He views the watery waste, and sickening draws <br>One long last gasping sigh for a green grave, <br>Ere helplessly he sinks in Ocean's yawning jaws. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Night fell around. The quiet dews were weeping <br>Silently on the dark and mournful earth; <br>And Sorrow pale its sleepless watch was keeping, <br>And slumber weigh'd the closing lid of mirth; <br>While the full round-orb'd moon look'd calmly down <br>From her thin cloud, as from a light-wreathed crown: <br>And I went out beneath her silver beams; <br>And through my 'wilder'd brain there pass'd dark dreams <br>Of Miriam, and of misery, and death; <br>And of that tomb, and what lay hid beneath: <br>And I did lay my head upon that grave, <br>Weepingly calling on her gentle name; <br>And to the winds my grieving spirit gave <br>In words which half without my knowledge came:-- </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Thou art gone, with all thy loveliness, <br>To the silence of the tomb, <br>Where the voice of friends can never bless, <br>Nor the cool sweet breezes come; <br>Deep, deep beneath the flowers bright, <br>Beneath the dark blue sky, <br>Which may not send its joyous light <br>To gladden those who die. <br>This world to thee was not a world of woe: <br>My bird of beauty! wherefore didst thou go? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Thou art gone, and gone for ever--thou <br>In whom my life was bound: <br>The seal of death is on thy brow, <br>And in thy breast a wound. <br>Who could have slain thee, thou who wert <br>So helpless and so fair? <br>When strong arms rose to do thee hurt, <br>Why was not Isbal there? <br>Didst thou not call upon him in thy woe? <br>My bird of beauty! wherefore didst thou go? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Thou art gone!--Oh! fain my heart would rest, <br>And dream--but thou art gone; <br>The head that lay upon my breast <br>Is hid beneath that stone. <br>And art thou there? and wilt thou ne'er <br>Rise up from that dark place, <br>And, shaking back thy glossy hair, <br>Laugh gladly in my face? <br>This world to thee was not a world of woe: <br>I loved thee--wherefore, wherefore didst thou go? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Return, return! Oh! if the rack-- <br>If nature's death-like strife, <br>Borne silently, could bring thee back <br>Once more to light, and life: <br>Ev'n if those lips that used to wreathe <br>Smiles that a glory shed, <br>Ne'er parted but in scorn, to breathe <br>Dark curses on my head:-- <br>Oh! I could bear it all, nor think it woe: <br>My bird of beauty! wherefore didst thou go? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Once more--once more--oh! yet once more! <br>If I could see thee stand, <br>A breathing creature, as before <br>I smote thee with this hand. <br>If that dear voice--oh! must these groans, <br>This agony be vain? <br>Will no one lift the ponderous stones, <br>And let thee rise again? <br>Thou wert not wont in life to work me woe: <br>My bird of beauty! wherefore didst thou go?' </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'And then I reason'd--Wherefore should the sod <br>Hold all of her, which hath not gone to God? <br>I have the power again that form to see-- <br>I have the wish once more with her to be: <br>And wherefore should we fear to look upon <br>What, from our sight, some few short hours is gone? <br>Wherefore the thrill our senses which comes o'er <br>At sight of what shall breathe and feel no more? <br>Oh! Miriam, can there be indeed a place <br>Where I must dread to look upon thy face?-- <br>And then I knelt, and desperately did tear</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Caroline+Elizabeth+Sarah+Norton">Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=354043" data-title="The Undying One- Canto III de Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton" data-description="'THERE is a sound the autumn wind doth make Howling and moaning, listlessly and low: Methinks that to a heart that ought to break All the earth's voices seem to murmur so. The visions that crost Our path in light-- The things that we lost I..."></div> </div> </div>

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