The Lay of Marie - And Vignettes in Verse | Page 6

gloom?In silent heaviness and fear!
"How sad, his feeble hand in thine,?The start of every pulse to share!?With painful haste each wish divine,?Yet fed the hopelessness of care!
"To turn aside the full-fraught eye,?Lest those faint orbs perceive the tear!?To bear the weight of every sigh,?Lest it should reach that wakeful ear!
"In the dread stillness of the night,?To lose the faint, faint sound of breath!?To listen in restrain'd affright,?To deprecate each thought of death!
"And, when a movement chas'd that fear,?And gave thy heart-blood leave to flow,?In thrilling awe the prayer to hear?Through the clos'd curtain murmur'd low!
"The prayer of him whose holy tongue?Had never yet exceeded truth!?Upon whose guardian care had hung?The whole dependence of thy youth!
"Who, noble, dauntless, frank and mild,?Was, for his very goodness, fear'd;?Belov'd with fondness like a child,?And like a blessed saint rever'd!
"I have known friends--but who can feel?The kindness such a father knew??I serv'd him still with tender zeal,?But knew not then how much was due!
"And did not Providence ordain?That we should soon be laid as low,?No heart could such a stroke sustain,--?No reason could survive the blow!
"After that fatal trial came,?The world no longer was the same.?I still had pleasures:--who could live?Without the healing aid they give??But, as a plant surcharg'd with rain,?When radiant sunshine comes again,?Just wakes from a benumbing trance,?I caught a feverish, fitful glance.?The dove, that for a weary time?Had mourn'd the rigour of the clime,?And, with its head beneath its wing,?Awaited a more genial spring,?Went forth again to search around,?And some few leaves of olive found,?But not a bower which could impart?Its interchange of light and shade;?Not that soft down, to warm the heart,?Of which her former nest was made.?Smooth were the waves, the ether clear,?Yet all was desert, cold, and drear!
"Affection, o'er thy clouded sky?In flocks the birds of omen fly;?And oft the wandering harpy, Care,?Must thy delicious viands share:?But all the soul's interior light,?All that is soothing, sweet, and bright,?All fragrance, softness, colour, glow,?To thee, as to the sun, we owe!
"Years past away! swift, varied years!?I learnt the luxury of tears;?And all the orphan's wretched lot,?'Midst those she pleas'd and serv'd, forgot.
"By turns applauded and despis'd,?Till one appear'd who duly priz'd;?Bound round my heart a welcome chain,?And earthward lur'd its hopes again;?When, careless of all worldly weal,?By Fancy only taught to feel,?My raptur'd spirit soar'd on high,?With momentary power to fly;?Or sang its deep, indignant moan,?With swells of anguish, when alone.
"Yet lovely dreams could I evoke?Of future happiness and fame--?I did not bow to kiss the yoke,?But welcom'd every joy that came.
"Often would self-complacence spread?Harmonious halos round my head;?And all my being own'd awhile?The warm diffusion of her smile.
"One morn they call'd me forth to sing?Fore our then liege, the English king.?Thy guest, my Lord de Semonville,?His gracious presence was the seal?Of favour to a servant true,?To boasted faith and fealty due!
"It never suits a royal ear?Prowess of foreign lands to hear;?And, leaving tales of Charlemagne?For British Arthur's earlier reign,?I, preluding with praise, began?The feats of that diviner man;?Let loose my soul in fairy land,?Gave wilder licence to my hand;?And, learn'd in chivalrous renown,?By song and story handed down,?Painted my knights from those around,?But placed them on poetic ground.?The ample brow, too smooth for guile;?The careless, fearless, open smile;?The shaded and yet arching eye,?At once reflective, kind, and shy;?The undesigning, dauntless look,--?Became to me a living book.?I read the character conceal'd,?Flash'd on by chance, or never known?Even to bosoms like its own;?Shrinking before a step intrude;?Touch, look, and whisper, all too rude;?Unsunn'd and fairest when reveal'd!?The first in every noble deed,?Most prompt to venture and to bleed!?Such hearts, so veil'd with angel wings,?Such cherish'd, tender, sacred things,?I since discover'd many a time,?O Britain! in thy temper'd clime;?In dew, in shade, in silence nurs'd,?For truth and sentiment athirst.
"As seas, with rough, surrounding wave,?Islands of verdant freshness save?From rash intruder's waste and spoil;--?As mountains rear their heads on high,?Present snow summits to the sky,?And weary patient feet with toil,?To screen some sweet, secluded vale,?And warm the air its flowers inhale;--?Reserve warns off approaching eyes?From where her choicer Eden lies.
"Such are the English knights, I cried,?Who all their better feelings hide;?Who muffle up their hearts with care,?To hide the virtues nestling there,?Who neither praise nor blame can bear.
"My hearers, though completely steel'd?For all the terrors of the field;?Mail'd for the arrow and the lance,?Bore not unharm'd my smiling glance;?At other times collected, brave,?Recoiled when I that picture gave;?As if their inmost heart, laid bare,?Shrank from the bleak, ungenial air.
"Proud of such prescience, on I went;--?The youthful monarch was content.?'Edgar de Langton, take this ring--?No! hither the young Minstrel bring:?Ourself can better still dispense?The honour and the recompence.'?I came, and, trembling, bent my knee.?He wonder'd that my looks were meek,?That blushes burnt upon my cheek!?'We would our little songstress see!?Remove those tresses! raise thy