The Lay of Marie - And Vignettes in Verse | Page 5

good! but make her thine!?Let her soft footsteps gently move,?Nor waken grief, nor injure love;?Carelessly trampling on the ground?That priceless gem, so rarely found;?That treasure, which, should angels guard,?Would all their vigilance reward!
"'My mind refuses still to fear?She should be cold or insincere;?That aught like meanness should debase?One of our rash and wayward race,?No! most I dread intemperate pride,?Deaf ardour, reckless, and untried,?With firm controul and skilful rein,?Its hurrying fever to restrain!
"'Others might wish their soul's delight?Should be most lovely to the sight;?And beauty vainly I ador'd,?Serv'd with my eye, my tongue, my sword;?Nay, let me not from truth depart!?Enshrin'd and worship'd it at heart.?Oft, when her mother fix'd my gaze,?Enwrapt, on bright perfection's blaze,?Hopes the imperious spell beguil'd,?Transcendant thus to see my child:?But now, for charms of form or face,?Save only purity and grace;?Save sweetness, which all rage disarms,?Would lure an infant to her arms?In instantaneous love; and make?A heart, like mine, with fondness ache;?I little care, so she be free?From such remorse as preys on me!'
"My dearest father!--Yet he grew?Profoundly anxious, as he knew?More of the dangers lurking round;?But I was on enchanted ground!?Delighted with my minstrel art,?I had a thousand lays by heart;?And while my yet unpractis'd tongue?Descanted on the strains I sung,?Still seeking treasure, like a bee,?I laugh'd and caroll'd, wild with glee!
"Delicious moments then I knew,?When the rough winds against me blew:?When, from the top of mountain steep,?I glanc'd my eye along the deep;?Or, proud the keener air to breathe,?Exulting saw the vale beneath.?When, launch'd in some lone boat, I sought?A little kingdom for my thought,?Within a river's winding cove,?Whose forests form a double grove,?And, from the water's silent flow,?Appear more beautiful below;?While their large leaves the lilies lave,?Or plash upon the shadow'd wave;?While birds, with darken'd pinions, fly?Across that still intenser sky;?Fish, with cold plunge, with startling leap,?Or arrow-flight across the deep;?And stilted insects, light-o-limb,?Would dimple o'er the even brim;?If, with my hand, in play, I chose?The cold, smooth current to oppose,?As fine a spell my senses bound?As vacant bosom ever found!
"And when I took my proudest post,?Near him on earth I valued most,?(No after-time could banish thence?A father's dear pre-eminence,)?And felt the kind, protecting charm,?The clasp of a paternal arm;?Felt, as instinctively it prest,?The sacred magnet of his breast,?'Gainst which I lean'd, and seem'd to grow,?With that deep fondness none can know,?Whom Providence does not assign?A parent excellent as mine!?That faith beyond, above mistrust,?That gratitude, so wholly just,?Each several, crowding claim forgot,?Whose source was light, without a blot;?No moment of unkindness shrouding,?No speck of anger overclouding:?An awful and a sweet controul,?A rainbow arching o'er the soul;?A soothing, tender thrill, which clung?Around the heart, while, all unstrung,?The thought was still, and mute the tongue!
"O! in that morn of life is given?To one so tun'd, a sumptuous dower!?Joys, which have flown direct from heaven,?And Graces, captive in her bower.
"Thoughts which can sail along the skies,?Or poise upon the buoyant air;?And make a peasant's soul arise?A monarch's mighty power to share.
"When all that we perceive below,?By land or sea, by night or day,?The past, the future, and the flow?Of present times, their tribute pay.
"Each bird, from cleft, from brake, or bower,?Bears her a blessing on its wings;?And every rich and precious flower?Its fragrance on her spirit flings.
"There's not a star that shines above?But pours on her a partial ray;?Endearments, like maternal love,?Her love to Nature's self repay.
"Faith, Hope, and Joy about her heart,?Close interlace the angel arm;?And with caresses heal the smart?Of every care, and every harm.
"Amid the wealth, amid the blaze?Of luxury and pomp around,?How poor is all the eye surveys?To what we know of fairy ground!"
She ceases, and her tears flow fast--?O! can this fit of softness last,?Which, so unlook'd for, comes to share?The sickly triumph of despair??Upon the harp her head is thrown,?All round is like a vision flown;?And o'er a billowy surge her mind?Views lost delight left far behind.
THE LAY OF MARIE.
CANTO SECOND.
Some, fearing Marie's tale was o'er,?Lamented that they heard no more;?While Brehan, from her broken lay,?Portended what she yet might say.?As the untarrying minutes flew,?More anxious and alarm'd he grew.?At length he spake:--"We wait too long?The remnant of this wilder'd song!?And too tenaciously we press?Upon the languor of distress!?'Twere better, sure that hence convey'd,?And in some noiseless chamber laid,?Attentive care, and soothing rest,?Appeas'd the anguish of her breast."
Low was his voice, but Marie heard:?He hasten'd on the thing he fear'd.?She rais'd her head, and, with deep sighs,?Shook the large tear-drops from her eyes;?And, ere they dried upon her cheek,?Before she gather'd force to speak,?Convulsively her fingers play'd,?While his proud heart the prelude met,?Aiming at calmness, though dismay'd,?A loud, high measure, like a threat;?Soon sinking to that lower [Errata: slower] swell?Which love and sorrow know so well.
"How solemn is the sick man's room?To friends or kindred lingering near!?Poring on that uncertain