Lays of Ancient Virginia | Page 3

oaken bower.
As flows the stream, with calm, unruffled wave,?O'er shining sands, to kiss the glassy main,?So flowed the life their gracious Maker gave,?Nor felt the obstructive power of obvious pain;?So deep o'er them was Passion's rapturous reign,?That mid their bower's delicious solitude,?They dreamed their hearts might never sigh again;?By love their gentle spirits were subdued,?To the deep rapture of a heavenly seeming mood.
Alas! the race of Pocahontas flow,?As waves, away, which can return no more;?No more o'er plain and peak they bear the bow,?Or shove the skiff from yonder curving shore;?Their reign, their histories, their names are o'er;?The plow insults their sires' indignant bones;?The very land disowns its look of yore;?Vast cities rise, and hark! I hear the tones?Of many mingling Tongues; and boundless labour groans.
And paler nymphs are sweetly wooed and won,?Upon this soil, and they are happy too,?But of these fairer English damsels, none?Have shown devotion more divinely true,?Than thou, untutor'd maid of dusky hue;?Nor shall thy tribes from memory vanish quite,?While beauteous deeds as angels ofttimes do,?Still sway the generous mind with heavenly might,?For thine would snatch even worse from Time's oblivious night.
The tallest fir, that decks the blooming grove,?Decays the first, the most abounding rose,?By worms is first consumed; the pearl we love?Is stolen first, the star that brightest glows?To gild the gloom, is first that sets, and those?Whose lovely lives on earth we prized the most,?And most assuaged the pangs of thronging woes,?Which--oh how oft! our fated paths have cross'd,?By all are ever mourned, "the loved and early lost."
So Rolfe's dear spouse was early snatched away,--?But left one pledge of her undying love--?(Perchance her happy spirit oft would stray?Round their dear footsteps wheresoe'er they rove)?And Europe's turf grow green her heart above.?No more could grief or joy disturb her breast.?Soft by her tomb let musing Fancy move!?Let not a sound of thoughtlessness molest?The melancholy spot of her eternal rest!
Her fair form sank low in the gloomy earth--?Her spirit soared and found a brighter home,?Where now with sun-bright smiles, she wanders forth,?Beneath the glories of a heavenly dome;?Where Seraphs o'er bright fields forever roam,?And flowers aloft Life's never dying tree,?Whither no evil thing can ever come;?Where now she blends her heart and harp to sing?A ceaseless song of praise to her Eternal King.
But oft the eye which scans yon ruin old,?Where Jamestown erst in simple grandeur rose,?Shall fill with tears--as there it doth behold--?For it will speak to him of heroes' woes,?Felt erewhile whence this river gently flows,--?And sprang this famous, Hero-bearing State;--?And while with pride his patriot bosom glows,?His heart her gentle history will relate,?And warmly laud her deeds, and mourn her early fate.
[Footnote A: Jamestown.]
[Footnote B: Whip-poor-will.]
A SONG.
Amid the tempest, wild and dark,?Upon Life's troubled sea;?One only star illumes the scene,?With heavenly brilliancy.
Oh! sweetly o'er the howling deeps,?Its venturing beam shines out;?And bright, relieves my weeping eye,?And calms my soul from doubt.
That star is pure Religion's light.?A pole star, calm but blest,?It guides my lost and trembling bark,?To Heaven's sweet port of rest.
ELFINDALE.
PART FIRST.
Sweet Frankie lives in Elfindale;?Where all the flowers are fair, and frail?(Like her fair self,) a slender fairy,?And like a zephyr, playsome, airy,?But lovelier far, than buxom Mary.?Now, since I saw her full, bright eyes,?And heard her tongue's rich melodies,
Solace the evening air,?Sweet Elfindale, e'er loved of yore,?Has grown more fair, beloved more,?A part of some fay-walked shore,
A haunt of beauties rare.?The gay dawn smells more fragrant there,?(When youthful May, new, fresh and fair,?Comes, bird-like through the laughing air,)
Than it was even of old;?And Evening throws a richer dress,?(O'er Elfindale's mild loveliness,)
Of fading pink and gold.?The moonlight nights are lovelier now,
On silent Elfindale;?More pure the beams, more soft the glow,
That sleeps upon the vale:?So much of beauty God hath given?To sweetest Frankie--gracious Heaven!?She spares so much to beautify,?Fair Elfindale to my charm'd eye,--?And yet she loses none at all?Of that which holds my soul in thrall.?Now, if my harp shall echo well,?The story of her life, and tell,?In worthy feet, her beauty's power?That flourished as a springtime flower,?I shall be richer, happier far?Than one should own a round, bright star.?And what if the fair maid should smile,
To hear my warbled strain??Ah! that would all my grief beguile,
Undo the life of Pain.?I one time saw a laughing mirth?Leap in the maiden's eyes,?And thought the too aspiring earth?Had robbed the jewelled skies,?Of one bright angel, even her:?She made my very being stir.
I ne'er saw sweet Frankie's mother,
What I had glowed to see,?Yet think no mortal earth's another,
Bore child so fair as she.?I ween that mother was a queen
In royal qualities,?And in her lofty eyes and mien,
Lurked lovely majesties.?I ne'er saw sweet Frankie's mother,
What I had glowed to see;?But cannot, long-lost mother! smother
The love that swells for thee.
When Frankie came into this world,
In lovely Elfindale,?The winds were lulled, and waves lay curled,
Beneath the moonlight