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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=396171" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Oscar Of Alva: A Tale</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">How sweetly shines through azure skies, <br>The lamp of heaven on Lora's shore;<br>Where Alva's hoary turrets rise, <br>And hear the din of arms no more!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But often has yon rolling moon <br>On Alva's casques of silver play'd;<br>And view'd at midnight's silent noon, <br>Her chief's in gleaming mail array'd:</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And on the crimson'd rocks beneath, <br>Which scowl o'er ocean's sullen flow,<br>Pale in the scatter'd runks of death, <br>She saw the gasping warrior low;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">While many an eye which ne'er again <br>Could mark the rising orb of day,<br>T'urn'd feebly from the gory plain, <br>Beheld in death her fading ray.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Once to those eyes the lamp of Love, <br>They blest her dear propitious light;<br>But now she glimmer'd from above, <br>A sad, funereal torch of night.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Faded is Alva's noble race, <br>And gray her towers are seen afar;<br>No more her heroes urge the chase, <br>Or roll the crimson tide of war.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But who was last of Alva's clan? <br>Why grows the moss on Alva's stone?<br>Her towers resound no steps of man, <br>They echo to the gale alone.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And when that gale is fierce and high, <br>A sound is heard in yonder hall;<br>It rises hoarsely through the sky, <br>And vibrates o'er the mould'ring wall.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Yes, when the eddying tempest sighs, <br>It shakes the shield of Oscar brave;<br>But there no more his banners rise, <br>No more his plumes of sable wave.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Fair shone the sun on Oscar's birth, <br>When Angus hail'd his eldest born<br>The vassals round their chieftain's hearth <br>Crowd to applaud the happy morn.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">They feast upon the mountain deer, <br>The pibroch raised its piercing note;<br>To gladden more their highland cheer, <br>The strains in martial numbers float:</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And they who heard the war-notes wild <br>Hoped that one day the pibroch's strain<br>Should play belore the hero's child <br>While he should lead the tartan train.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Another year is qulckly past, <br>And Angus hails another son;<br>His natal day is like the last, <br>Nor soon the jocund feast was done.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Taught by their sire to bend the bow, <br>On Alva's dusky hills of wind,<br>The boys in childhood chased the roe, <br>And left their hounds in speed behind.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But ere their years of youth are o'er, <br>They mingle in the ranks of war;<br>They lightly wheel the bright claymore <br>And send the whistling arrow far.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Dark was the flow of Oscar's hair, <br>Wildly it stream'd along the gale;<br>But Allan's locks were bright and fair, <br>And pensive seem'd his cheek, and pale.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But Oscar own'd a hero's soul,<br>His dark eye shone through beams of truth;<br>Allan had early learn'd control, <br>And smooth his words had been from youth.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Both, both were brave; the Saxon spear <br>Was shiver'd oft beneath their steel;<br>And Oscar's bosom scorn'd to fear, <br>But Oscar's bosom knew to feel;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">While Allan's soul belied his form, <br>Unworthy with such charms to dwell:<br>Keen as the lightning of the storm, <br>On foe, his deadly vengeance fell.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">From high Southannon's distant tower <br>Arrived a young and noble dame;<br>With Kenneth's lands to form her dower, <br>Glenalvon's blue-eyed daughter came;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And Oscar claim'd the beauteous bride, <br>And Angus on his Oscar srniled:<br>It soothed the father's feudal pride <br>Thus to obtain Glenalvon's child.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Hark to the pibroch's pleasing note! <br>Hark to the swelling nuptial song!<br>In joyous strains the voices float, <br>And still the choral peal prolong.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">See how the heroes' blood-red plumes <br>Assembled wave in Alva's hall;<br>Each youth his varied plaid assumes, <br>Attending on thir chieftain's call.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">It is not war their aid demands, <br>The pibroch plays the song of peace;<br>To Oscar's nuptials throng the bands, <br>Nor yet the sounds of pleasure cease.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But where is Oscar? sure 'tis late:<br>Is this a bridegroom's ardent flame? <br>While thronging guests and ladies wait,<br>Nor Oscar nor his brother came.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">At length young Allan join'd the bride; <br>'Why comes not Oscar?' Angus said:<br>Is he not here?' the youth replied;<br>'With me he roved not o'er the glade:</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Perchance, forgetful of the day, <br>'Tis his to chase the bounding roe;<br>Or ocean's waves prolong his stay; <br>Yet Oscar's bark is seldom slow.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Oh, no!' the anguish'd Sire rejoin'd, <br>'Nor chase nor wave, my boy delay;<br>Would he to Mora seem unkind? <br>Would aught to her impede his way?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Oh, search, ye chiefs! oh, search around! <br>Allan, with these through Alva fly;<br>Till Oscar, till my son is found, <br>Haste, haste, nor dare attempt reply.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">All is confusion — through the vale <br>The name of Oscar hoarsely rings,<br>It rises on the murmuring gale, <br>Till night expands her dusky wings;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">It breaks the stillness of the night, <br>But echoes through her shades in vain;<br>It sounds through morning's misty light, <br>But Oscar comes not o'er the plain.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Three days,three sleepless nights, the Chief<br>For Oscar search'd each mountaln cave:<br>Then hope is lost; in boundless grief, <br>His locks in gray-torn ringlets wave.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Oscar! my son! thou God of heaven, <br>Restore the prop of sinking age!<br>Or if that hope no more is given, <br>Yield his assassin to my rage.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Yes, on some desert rocky shore <br>My Oscar's whiten'd bones must lie;<br>Then grant, thou God! I ask no more, <br>With him his frantic sire may die!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Yet he may live, — away, despalr! <br>Be calm, my soul! he yet may live;<br>T'arraign my fate, my voice forbear! <br>O God! my impious prayer forgive.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'What, if he live for me no more, <br>I sink forgotten in the dust,<br>The hope of Alva's age is o'er:<br>Alas! can pangs like these be just?'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Thus did the hapless parent mourn, <br>Till Time, which soothes severest woe,<br>Had bade serenity return <br>And made the tear-drop cease to flow.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">For still some latent hope survived <br>That Oscar might once more appear;<br>His hope now droop'd and now revived, <br>Till Time had told a tedious year.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Days roll'd along, the orb of light <br>Again had run his destined race;<br>No Oscar bless'd his father's sight, <br>And sorrow left a fainter trace.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">For youthful Allan still remain'd, <br>And now his father's only joy:<br>And Mora's heart was quickly gain'd, <br>For beauty crown'd the fair-hair'd boy.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">She thought that Oscar low was laid, <br>And Allan's face was wondrous fair;<br>If Oscar lived, some other maid <br>Had clairn'd his faithless bosom's care.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And Angus said, if one year more <br>In fruitless hope was pass'd away,<br>His fondest scruples should be o'er, <br>And he would name their nuptial day.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Slow roll'd the moons, but blest at last <br>Arrived the dearly destined morn<br>The year of anxious trembling past, <br>What smiles the lovers' cheeks adorn!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Hark to the pibroch's pleasing note! <br>Hark to the swelling nuptial song!<br>In joyous strains the voices float, <br>And still the choral peal prolong.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Again the clan, in festive crowd, <br>Throng through the gate of Alva's hall;<br>The sounds of mirth re-echo loud, <br>And all their former joy recall.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But who is he, whose darken'd brow <br>Glooms in the midst of general mirth?<br>Before his eyes' far fiercer glow <br>The blue flames curdle o'er the hearth.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Dark is the robe which wraps his form, <br>And tall his plume of gory red;<br>His voice is like the rising storm, <br>But light and trackless is his tread.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Tis noon of night, the pledge goes round, <br>The bridegroom's health is deeply quaff'd;<br>With shouts the vaulted roofs resound, <br>And all combine to hail the draught.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Sudden the stranger-chief arose, <br>And all the clamorous crowd are hush'd;<br>And Angus' cheek with wonder glows, <br>And Mora's tender bosom blush'd</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Old rnan!'he cried,'this pledge is done; <br>Thou saw'st 'twas duly drank by me;<br>It hail'd the nuptials of thy son:<br>Now will I claim a pledge from thee.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'While all around is mirth and joy, <br>To bless thy Allan's happy lot,<br>Say, hadst thou ne'er another boy? <br>Say, why should Oscar be forgot?'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Alas!' the hapless sire replied, <br>The big tear starting as he spoke<br>'When Oscar left my hail, or died, <br>This aged heart was almost broke,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Thrice has the earth revolved her course <br>Since Oscar's form has bless'd my sight;<br>And Allan is my last resource,<br>Since martial Oscar's death or flight.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>'Tis well,' replied the stranger stern,<br>And fiercely flash'd his rolling eye; <br>'Thy Oscar's fate I fain would learn;<br>Perhaps the hero did not die.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Perhaps, if those whom most he loved<br>Would call, thy Oscar might return; <br>Perchance the chief has only roved;<br>For him thy beltane yet may burn.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Fill high the bowl the table round, <br>We will not climb the pledge by stealth; <br>With wine let every cup be crown'd<br>Pledge me departed Oscar's health.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'With all my soul,' old Angus said, <br>And fill'd his goblet to the brim:<br>'Here's to my boy! alive or dead'<br>I ne'er shall find a son like him'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Bravely. old man this health has sped; <br>But why does Allan trembling stand? <br>Come, drink remembrance of the dead, <br>And raise thy cup with firmer hand.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The crimson glow of Allan's face <br>Was turn'd at once to ghastly hue; <br>The drops of death each other chase <br>Adown in agonizing dew.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Thrice did he raise the goblet high, <br>And thrice his lips refused to taste; <br>For thrice he caught the stranger's eye<br>On his with deadly fury placed.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'And is it thus a brother's hails <br>A brother's fond remembrance here?<br>If thus affection's strength prevails' <br>What might we not expect from fear?'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Roused by the sneer, he raised the bowl,<br>'Would Oscar now could share our mirth!'<br>Internal fear appall'd his soul;<br>He said and dash'd the cap to earth,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Tis he! I hear my murderer's voice!' <br>Loud shrieks a darkly gleaming form. <br>'A murderer's voice!' the roof replies, <br>And deeply swells the bursting storm,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The tapers wink, the chieftains shrink, <br>The stranger's gone, — amidst the crew, <br>A form was seen in tartan green, <br>And tall the shade terrific grew.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">His waist was bound with a broad belt round,<br>His plume of sable stream'd on high; <br>But his breast was bare, with the red wounds there,<br>And fix'd was the glare of his glassy eye.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And thrice he smiled, with his eyes so wild, <br>On Angus bending low the knee; <br>And thrice he frown'd on a chief on the ground<br>Whom shivering crowds with horror see</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The bolts loud roll from pole to pole<br>The thunders through the welkin ring,<br>And the gleaming form, through the mist of the storm,<br>Was borne on high by the whirlwind's wing</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Cold was the feast, the revel ceased.<br>Who lies upon the stony floor? <br>Oblivion press'd old Angus' breast,<br>At length his life-pulse throbs once more.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Away, away! let the leech essay<br>To pour the light on Allan's eyes;'<br>His sand is done, – his race is run –<br>Oh! never more shall Allan rise!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But Oscar's breast is cold as clay, <br>His locks are lifted by the gale;<br>And Allan's barbed arrow lay <br>With him In dark Glentanar's vale.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And whence the dreadful stranger came, <br>Or who, no mortal wight can tell; <br>But no one doubts the form of flame, <br>For Alva's sons knew Oscar well.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ambition nerved young Allan's hand,<br>Exulting demons wing'd his dart;<br>While Envy waved her burnng brand, <br>And pour'd her venom round his heart.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Swift is the shaft from Allan's bow; <br>Whose streaming life-blood stains his side?<br>Dark Oscar's sable crest is low, <br>The dart has drunk his vital tide.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And Mora's eyes could Allan move, <br>She bade his wounded pride rebel:<br>Alas! that eyes which beam'd with love <br>Should urge the soul to deeds of hell.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Lo! seest thou not a lonely tomb <br>Which rises o'er a warrior dead? <br>It glimmers through the twilight gloom;<br>Oh! that is Allan's nuptial bed.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Far distant far, the noble grave<br>Which held his clan's great ashes stood;<br>And o'er his corse no banners wave,<br>For they were stain'd with kindred blood.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">What minstrel gray, what hoary bard, <br>Shall Allan's deeds on harp-strings raise?<br>The song is glory's chief reward,<br>But who can strike a murderer's praise?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Unstrung, untouch'd, th harp must stand,<br>No minstrel dare the theme awake;<br>Guilt would benumb his palsied hand, <br>His harp in shuddering chords would break.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">No lyre of fame, no hallow'd verse, <br>Shall sound his glories high in air:<br>A dying father's bitter curse, <br>A brother's death-groan echoes there.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Byron">Byron</a><div class=q>
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<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=396171" data-title="Oscar Of Alva: A Tale de Byron" data-description="How sweetly shines through azure skies, 
The lamp of heaven on Lora's shore;
Where Alva's hoary turrets rise, 
And hear the din of arms no more!

But often has yon rolling moon 
On Alva's casques of silver play'd;
And view'd at midnight's silent n..."></div>
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