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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=391523" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Edith: A Tale Of The Woods</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Du Heilige! rufe dein Kind zur?ch habe genossen das irdische Gl?ch habe gelebt und geliebet. ~<br>Wallenstein</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The woods? oh! solemn are the boundless woods<br>Of the great Western World, when day declines,<br>And louder sounds the roll of distant floods,<br>More deep the rustling of the ancient pines;<br>When dimness gathers on the stilly air,<br>And mystery seems o'er every leaf to brood,<br>Awful it is for human heart to bear<br>The might and burden of the solitude! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Yet, in that hour, midst those green wastes, there sate<br>One young and fair,?and oh! how desolate!<br>But undismay'd; while sank the crimson light,<br>And the high cedars darken'd with the night,<br>Alone she sate; tho' many lay around,<br>They, pale and silent on the bloody ground,<br>Were sever'd from her need and from her wo,<br>Far as Death severs Life. O'er that wild spot<br>Combat had rag'd, and brought the valiant low,<br>And left them, with the history of their lot,<br>Unto the forest oaks. A fearful scene<br>For her whose home of other days had been<br>Midst the fair halls of England! but the love<br>Which fill'd her soul was strong to cast out fear,<br>And by its might upborne all else above,<br>She shrank not?mark'd not that the dead were near. <br>Of him alone she thought, whose languid head<br>Faintly upon her wedded bosom fell;<br>Memory of aught but him on earth was fled,<br>While heavily she felt his life-blood well<br>Fast o'er her garments forth, and vainly bound<br>With her torn robe and hair the streaming wound,<br>Yet hoped, still hoped!?Oh! from such hope how long<br>Affection wooes the whispers that deceive,<br>Ev'n when the pressure of dismay grows strong,<br>And we, that weep, watch, tremble, ne'er believe<br>The blow indeed can fall! So bow'd she there<br>Over the dying, while unconscious prayer<br>Fill'd all her soul. Now pour'd the moonlight down,<br>Veining the pine-stems thro' the foliage brown,<br>And fire-flies, kindling up the leafy place,<br>Cast fitful radiance o'er the warrior's face,<br>Whereby she caught its changes: to her eye,<br>The eye that faded look'd through gathering haze,<br>Whence love, o'ermastering mortal agony,<br>Lifted a long, deep, melancholy gaze, <br>When voice was not: that fond, sad meaning pass'd?<br>She knew the fulness of her wo at last!<br>One shriek the forests heard,?and mute she lay,<br>And cold; yet clasping still the precious clay<br>To her scarce-heaving breast. O Love and Death!<br>Ye have sad meetings on this changeful earth,<br>Many and sad! but airs of heavenly breath<br>Shall melt the links which bind you, for your birth<br>Is far apart. <br>Now light, of richer hue<br>Than the moon sheds, came flushing mist and dew;<br>The pines grew red with morning; fresh winds play'd,<br>Bright-colour'd birds with splendour cross'd the shade,<br>Flitting on flower-like wings; glad murmurs broke<br>From reed, and spray, and leaf, the living strings<br>Of Earth's Eolian lyre, whose music woke<br>Into young life and joy all happy things.<br>And she too woke from that long dreamless trance,<br>The widow'd Edith: fearfully her glance <br>Fell, as in doubt, on faces dark and strange,<br>And dusky forms. A sudden sense of change<br>Flash'd o'er her spirit, ev'n ere memory swept<br>The tide of anguish back with thoughts that slept;<br>Yet half instinctively she rose, and spread<br>Her arms, as 'twere for something lost or fled,<br>Then faintly sank again. The forest-bough,<br>With all its whispers, wav'd not o'er her now,?<br>Where was she? Midst the people of the wild,<br>By the red hunter's fire: an aged chief,<br>Whose home look'd sad?for therein play'd no child?<br>Had borne her, in the stillness of her grief,<br>To that lone cabin of the woods; and there,<br>Won by a form so desolately fair,<br>Or touch'd with thoughts from some past sorrow sprung,<br>O'er her low couch an Indian matron hung;<br>While in grave silence, yet with earnest eye,<br>The ancient warrior of the waste stood by, <br>Bending in watchfulness his proud grey head,<br>And leaning on his bow.<br>And life return'd,<br>Life, but with all its memories of the dead,<br>To Edith's heart; and well the sufferer learn'd<br>Her task of meek endurance, well she wore<br>The chasten'd grief that humbly can adore,<br>Midst blinding tears. But unto that old pair,<br>Ev'n as a breath of spring's awakening air,<br>Her presence was; or as a sweet wild tune<br>Bringing back tender thoughts, which all too soon<br>Depart with childhood. Sadly they had seen<br>A daughter to the land of spirits go,<br>And ever from that time her fading mien,<br>And voice, like winds of summer, soft and low,<br>Had haunted their dim years; but Edith's face<br>Now look'd in holy sweetness from her place,<br>And they again seem'd parents. Oh! the joy,<br>The rich deep blessedness?tho' earth's alloy, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Fear, that still bodes, be there?of pouring forth<br>The heart's whole power of love, its wealth and worth<br>Of strong affection, in one healthful flow,<br>On something all its own!?that kindly glow,<br>Which to shut inward is consuming pain,<br>Gives the glad soul its flowering time again,<br>When, like the sunshine, freed.?And gentle cares<br>Th' adopted Edith meekly gave for theirs<br>Who lov'd her thus: her spirit dwelt the while,<br>With the departed, and her patient smile<br>Spoke of farewells to earth;?yet still she pray'd,<br>Ev'n o'er her soldier's lowly grave, for aid<br>One purpose to fulfil, to leave one trace<br>Brightly recording that her dwelling-place<br>Had been among the wilds; for well she knew<br>The secret whisper of her bosom true,<br>Which warn'd her hence. <br>And now, by many a word<br>Link'd unto moments when the heart was stirr'd,<br>By the sweet mournfulness of many a hymn,<br>Sung when the woods at eve grew hush'd and dim,<br>By the persuasion of her fervent eye,<br>All eloquent with child-like piety,<br>By the still beauty of her life, she strove<br>To win for heaven, and heaven-born truth, the love<br>Pour'd out on her so freely.?Nor in vain<br>Was that soft-breathing influence to enchain<br>The soul in gentle bonds: by slow degrees<br>Light follow'd on, as when a summer breeze<br>Parts the deep masses of the forest shade<br>And lets the sunbeam through:?her voice was made<br>Ev'n such a breeze; and she, a lowly guide,<br>By faith and sorrow rais'd and purified,<br>So to the Cross her Indian fosterers led,<br>Until their prayers were one. When morning spread<br>O'er the blue lake, and when the sunset's glow<br>Touch'd into golden bronze the cypress-bough, <br>And when the quiet of the Sabbath time<br>Sank on her heart, tho' no melodious chime<br>Waken'd the wilderness, their prayers were one.<br>?Now might she pass in hope, her work was done!<br>And she was passing from the woods away;<br>The broken flower of England might not stay<br>Amidst those alien shades; her eye was bright<br>Ev'n yet with something of a starry light,<br>But her form wasted, and her fair young cheek<br>Wore oft and patiently a fatal streak,<br>A rose whose root was death. The parting sigh<br>Of autumn thro' the forests had gone by,<br>And the rich maple o'er her wanderings lone<br>Its crimson leaves in many a shower had strown,<br>Flushing the air; and winter's blast had been<br>Amidst the pines; and now a softer green<br>Fring'd their dark boughs; for spring again had come,<br>The sunny spring! but Edith to her home<br>Was journeying fast. Alas! we think it sad<br>To part with life, when all the earth looks glad <br>In her young lovely things, when voices break<br>Into sweet sounds, and leaves and blossoms wake:<br>Is it not brighter then, in that far clime<br>Where graves are not, nor blights of changeful time,<br>If here such glory dwell with passing blooms,<br>Such golden sunshine rest around the tombs?<br>So thought the dying one. 'Twas early day,<br>And sounds and odours with the breezes' play,<br>Whispering of spring-time, thro' the cabin-door,<br>Unto her couch life's farewell sweetness bore;<br>Then with a look where all her hope awoke,<br>'My father!'?to the grey-hair'd chief she spoke?<br>'Know'st thou that I depart?'?'I know, I know,'<br>He answer'd mournfully, 'that thou must go<br>To thy belov'd, my daughter!'?'Sorrow not<br>For me, kind mother!' with meek smiles once more<br>She murmur'd in low tones; 'one happy lot<br>Awaits us, friends! upon the better shore;<br>For we have pray'd together in one trust,<br>And lifted our frail spirits from the dust<br>To God, who gave them. Lay me by mine own,<br>Under the cedar-shade: where he is gone,<br>Thither I go. There will my sisters be,<br>And the dead parents, lisping at whose knee<br>My childhood's prayer was learn'd?the Saviour's prayer<br>Which now ye know?and I shall meet you there,<br>Father and gentle mother!?ye have bound<br>The bruised reed, and mercy shall be found<br>By Mercy's children.'?From the matron's eye<br>Dropp'd tears, her sole and passionate reply;<br>But Edith felt them not; for now a sleep,<br>Solemnly beautiful, a stillness deep,<br>Fell on her settled face. Then, sad and slow,<br>And mantling up his stately head in wo,<br>'Thou'rt passing hence,' he sang, that warrior old,<br>In sounds like those by plaintive waters roll'd. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Thou'rt passing from the lake's green side,<br>And the hunter's hearth away;<br>For the time of flowers, for the summer's pride,<br>Daughter! thou canst not stay. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Thou'rt journeying to thy spirit's home,<br>Where the skies are ever clear!<br>The corn-month's golden hours will come,<br>But they shall not find thee here. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And we shall miss thy voice, my bird!<br>Under our whispering pine;<br>Music shall midst the leaves be heard,<br>But not a song like thine. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">A breeze that roves o'er stream and hill,<br>Telling of winter gone,<br>Hath such sweet falls?yet caught we still<br>A farewell in its tone. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">But thou, my bright one! thou shalt be<br>Where farewell sounds are o'er;<br>Thou, in the eyes thou lov'st, shalt see<br>No fear of parting more. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The mossy grave thy tears have wet,<br>And the wind's wild moanings by,<br>Thou with thy kindred shalt forget,<br>Midst flowers?not such as die. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The shadow from thy brow shall melt,<br>The sorrow from thy strain,<br>But where thine earthly smile hath dwelt,<br>Our hearts shall thirst in vain. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Dim will our cabin be, and lone,<br>When thou, its light, art fled;<br>Yet hath thy step the pathway shown<br>Unto the happy dead. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And we will follow thee, our guide!<br>And join that shining band;<br>Thou'rt passing from the lake's green side?<br>Go to the better land!' </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The song had ceas'd, the listeners caught no breath,<br>That lovely sleep had melted into death.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Felicia+Dorothea+Hemans">Felicia Dorothea Hemans</a><div class=q>
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Wallenstein

The woods? oh! solemn are the boundless woods
Of the great Western World, when day declines,
And louder sounds the roll of distant floods,
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