Wilsons Tales of the Borders and of Scotland | Page 2

Serene in summer loveliness, and fair As if no
passion e'er was dweller there Save innocence and love; for they alone
Within the smiling vale of peace were known. But fairer and more
lovely far than all, Like Spring's first flowers, was Helen of the Hall--

The blue-eyed daughter of the mansion's lord, And living image of a
wife adored, But now no more; for, ere a lustrum shed Its smiles and
sunshine o'er the infant's head, Death, like a passing spirit, touched the
brow Of the young mother; and the father now Lived as a dreamer on
his daughter's face, That seemed a mirror wherein he could trace The
long lost past--the eyes of love and light, Which his fond soul had
worshipped, ere the night Of death and sorrow sealed those eyes in
gloom-- Darkened his joys, and whelmed them in the tomb.
IV.
Young Edmund and fair Helen, from the years Of childhood's golden
joys and passing tears, Were friends and playmates; and together they
Across the lawn, or through the woods, would stray. While he was
wont to pull the lilies fair, And weave them, with the primrose, round
her hair;-- Plait toys of rushes, or bedeck the thorn With daisies
sparkling with the dews of morn; While she, these simple gifts would
grateful take--- Love for their own and for the giver's sake. Or, they
would chase the butterfly and bee From flower to flower, shouting in
childish glee; Or hunt the cuckoo's echo through the glade, Chasing the
wandering sound from shade to shade. Or, if she conned the daily task
in vain, A word from Edmund made the lesson plain.
V.
Thus years rolled by in innocence and truth, And playful childhood
melted into youth, As dies the dawn in rainbows, ray by ray In blushing
beauty stealing into day. And thus too passed, unnoticed and unknown,
The sports of childhood, fleeting one by one. Like broken dreams, of
which we neither know From whence they come, nor mark we when
they go. Yet would they stray where Tweed's fair waters glide, As we
have wandered--fondly side by side; And when dun gloaming's
shadows o'er it stole As silence visible--until the soul Grew tranquil as
the scene--then would they trace The deep'ning shadows on the river's
face-- A voiceless world, where glimmered, downward far, Inverted
mountain, tree, and cloud, and star. 'Twas Edmund's choicest scene,
and he would dwell On it, till he grew eloquent, and tell Its beauties
o'er and o'er, until the maid Knew every gorgeous tint and mellowed

shade Which evening from departed sunbeams threw, And as a painter
on the waters drew.
VI.
Or, when brown Autumn touched the leaves with age, The heavens
became the young Enthusiast's page Wherein his fancy read; and they
would then, Hand locked in hand, forsake the haunts of men;
Communing with the silver queen of night, Which, as a spirit, shone
upon their sight, Full orbed in maiden glory; and her beams Fell on
their hearts, like distant shadowed gleams Of future joy and undefinèd
bliss-- Half of another world and half of this. Then, rapt in dreams, oft
would he gazing stand, Grasping in his her fair and trembling hand,
And thus exclaim, "Helen, when I am gone, When that bright moon
shall shine on you alone, And but one shadow on the river fall-- Say,
wilt thou then these heavenly hours recall? Or read, upon the fair
moon's smiling brow The words we've uttered--those we utter now? Or
think, though seas divide us, I may be Gazing upon that glorious orb
with thee At the same moment--hearing, in its rays, The hallowed
whisperings of early days! For, oh, there is a language in its calm And
holy light, that hath a power to balm The troubled spirit, and like
memory's glass, Make bygone happiness before us pass."
VII.
Or, they would gaze upon the evening star, Blazing in beauteous glory
from afar, Dazzling its kindred spheres, and bright o'er all, Like LOVE
on the Eternal's coronal; Until their eyes its rays reflected, threw In
glances eloquent--though words were few; For well I ween, it is enough
to feel The power of such an hour upon us steal, As if a holy spirit
filled the air, And nought but love and silence might be there-- Or
whispers, which, like Philomel's soft strains, Are only heard to tell that
silence reigns. Yet, he at times would break the hallowed spell, And
thus in eager rhapsodies would dwell Upon the scene: "O'er us rolls
world on world, Like the Almighty's regal robes unfurled;--
O'erwhelming, dread, unbounded, and sublime-- Eternity's huge arms
that girdle time And roll around it, marking out the years Of this dark
spot of sin amidst the spheres! For, oh, while gazing