A Wreath of Virginia Bay Leaves | Page 7

set his teeth?And draw his dagger from its sheath??He breasts his charger at the leap--?He pricketh him full sharp and deep:?He leaps, and then with heaving flank?Gains footing on the other bank:?A moment--'mid the pass's gloom,?Vanish both veil and dancing plume--?It seems a dream. No! there is proof,?The clatter of a flying hoof,?And too, the lady's steed remains,?With empty seat, and flying reins;?And then is borne to that wild rout,?A long and proud triumphant shout.?And he who led the pirate band,?Urg'd on his horse, with spur and hand;?The long locks drifted from his brow,?Like midnight waves from storm-vexed prow;?And darkly flashed his eyes of jet?Beneath the brows which almost met.?Stern was his face; but war and crime,?--For he had sinn'd in many a clime--?Had plough'd it deeper far than time.?He was their chief: will he draw rein??Will he the yawning rift refrain??And with his halting band remain??He rais'd up in his stirrups, high,?Better the chasm to descry,?And measure with his hawk-like eye,?While his dark steed begrim'd with toil,?Tried madly, vainly, to recoil!?A mutter'd curse--a sabre goad--?Full at the leap the robber rode:?Great God! his horse near dead and spent,?Scarce halfway o'er the chasm went.?That fearful rush, and daring bound,?Was followed by a crashing sound--?A sudden, awful knell!?For down, more than a thousand feet,?Where mist and mountain torrent meet,?That reckless rider fell.
His band drew up:--they could not speak,?For long, and loud his charger's shriek?Was heard in an unearthly scream,?Above that roaring mountain stream--?Like fancied sound in fever'd dream,?When the sick brain with crazy skill?Weaves fantasies of woe and ill.?Some said: no steed gave forth that yell,?And hinted solemnly of--hell!?And others said, that from his vest?A miniature with haughty crest?And features like the lady's 'pressed,?Fell on the rugged bank:?But who he was, none knew or tell;
They simply point out where he fell?When horse and horseman sank.?Like Ravenswood he left no trace--?Tradition only points the place.
Rude is my hand, and rude my lay--?Rude as the Inn, time-worn and grey,?Where resting, on the mountain-way,?I heard the tale which I have tried?To tell to thee; and saw the wide?Deep rift--ten yards from side to side--?Great God! it was a fearful ride?The robber took that day.
THREE SUMMER STUDIES.
I.
The cock hath crow'd. I hear the doors unbarr'd;?Down to the moss-grown porch my way I take,?And hear, beside the well within the yard,?Full many an ancient, quacking, splashing drake,?And gabbling goose, and noisy brood-hen--all?Responding to yon strutting gobbler's call.
The dew is thick upon the velvet grass--?The porch-rails hold it in translucent drops,?And as the cattle from th' enclosure pass,?Each one, alternate, slowly halts and crops?The tall, green spears, with all their dewy load,?Which grow beside the well-known pasture-road.
A lustrous polish is on all the leaves--?The birds flit in and out with varied notes--?The noisy swallows twitter 'neath the eaves--?A partridge-whistle thro' the garden floats,?While yonder gaudy peacock harshly cries,?As red and gold flush all the eastern skies.
Up comes the sun: thro' the dense leaves a spot?Of splendid light drinks up the dew; the breeze?Which late made leafy music dies; the day grows hot,?And slumbrous sounds come from marauding bees:?The burnish'd river like a sword-blade shines,?Save where 'tis shadow'd by the solemn pines.
II.
Over the farm is brooding silence now--?No reaper's song--no raven's clangor harsh--?No bleat of sheep--no distant low of cow--?No croak of frogs within the spreading marsh--?No bragging cock from litter'd farm-yard crows,?The scene is steep'd in silence and repose.
A trembling haze hangs over all the fields--?The panting cattle in the river stand?Seeking the coolness which its wave scarce yields.?It seems a Sabbath thro' the drowsy land:?So hush'd is all beneath the Summer's spell,?I pause and listen for some faint church bell.
The leaves are motionless--the song-bird's mute--?The very air seems somnolent and sick:?The spreading branches with o'er-ripen'd fruit?Show in the sunshine all their clusters thick,?While now and then a mellow apple falls?With a dull sound within the orchard's walls.
The sky has but one solitary cloud,?Like a dark island in a sea of light;?The parching furrows 'twixt the corn-rows ploughed?Seem fairly dancing in my dazzled sight,?While over yonder road a dusty haze?Grows reddish purple in the sultry blaze.
III.
That solitary cloud grows dark and wide,?While distant thunder rumbles in the air,?A fitful ripple breaks the river's tide--?The lazy cattle are no longer there,?But homeward come in long procession slow,?With many a bleat and many a plaintive low.
Darker and wider-spreading o'er the west?Advancing clouds, each in fantastic form,?And mirror'd turrets on the river's breast?Tell in advance the coming of a storm--?Closer and brighter glares the lightning's flash?And louder, nearer, sounds the thunder's crash.
The air of evening is intensely hot,?The breeze feels heated as it fans my brows--?Now sullen rain-drops patter down like shot--?Strike in the grass, or rattle 'mid the boughs.?A sultry lull: and then a gust again,?And now I see the thick-advancing rain.
It fairly hisses as it comes along,?And where