Wilsons Tales of the Borders and of Scotland | Page 3

upon worlds so

fair, 'Tis hard to think that sin has entered there; That those bright orbs
which now in glory swim, Should e'er for man's ingratitude be dim!
Bewildered, lost, I cast mine eyes abroad, And read on every star the
name of GOD! The thought o'erwhelms me!--Yet, while gazing on Yon
star of love, I cannot feel alone; For wheresoe'er my after lot may be,
That evening star shall speak of home and thee. Fancy will view it o'er
yon mountain's brow That sleeps in solitude before us now; While
memory's lamp shall kindle at its rays, And light the happy scenes of
other days-- Such scenes as this; and then the very breeze That with it
bears the odour of the trees, And gathers up the meadow's sweet
perfume, From off my clouded brow, shall chase the gloom Of
sick'ning absence; for the scented air To me wafts back remembrance,
as the prayer Of lisping childhood is remembered yet, Like living
words, which we can ne'er forget."
VIII.
Till now, their life had been one thought of joy, A vision time was
destined to destroy-- As dies the dewy network on the thorn, Before the
sunbeams, with the mists of morn. Thus far their lives in one smooth
current ran-- They loved, yet knew not when that love began, And
hardly knew they loved; though it had grown A portion of their being,
and had thrown Its spirit o'er them; for its shoots had sprung Up in their
hearts, while yet their hearts were young; Even like the bright leaves of
some wandering seed, Which Autumn's breezes bear across the mead,
O'er naked wild and mountain, till the wind, Dropping its gift, a
stranger flower we find. And with their years the kindling feeling grew,
But grew unnoticed, and no change they knew; For it had grown, even
as a bud displays Its opening beauties--one on which we gaze, Yet note
no seeming change from hour to hour, But find, at length, the bud a
lovely flower.
IX.
Thus, thrice six golden summers o'er them fled, And on their hearts
their rip'ning influence shed; Till one fair eve, when from the gorgeous
west, Cloud upon cloud in varied splendour pressed Around the setting
sun, which blinding shone On the horizon like its Maker's throne, Till

veiled in glory, and its parting ray Fell as a blessing on the closing day;
Or, like the living smile of Nature's God Upon his creatures, shedding
peace abroad. The early lark had ceased its evening song, And silence
reigned amidst the feathered throng, Save where the chaffinch, with
unvarying strain, Its short, sweet line of music trilled again; Or where
the stock-dove, from the neighbouring grove, Welcomed the twilight
with the voice of love: Then Edmund wandered by the trysting-tree,
Where, at that hour, the maid was wont to be; But now she came not.
Deepening shade on shade, The night crept round him; still he lonely
strayed, Gazed on the tree till grey its foliage grew, And stars marked
midnight, ere he slow withdrew. Another evening came--a third passed
on-- And wondering, fearing, still he stood alone, Trembling and
gazing on her father's hall, Where lights were glittering as a festival;
And, as with cautious step he ventured near, Sounds of glad music
burst upon his ear, And figures glided in the circling dance, While wild
his love and poverty at once Flashed through his bursting heart, and
smote him now As if a thunderbolt had scorched his brow, And scathed
his very spirit; as he stood, Mute as despair--the ghost of solitude!
X.
Strange guests were revelling at the princely hall-- Proud peers and
ladies fair; but, chief of all, A rich and haughty knight, from Beaumont
side, Who came to woo fair Helen as his bride; Or rather from her
father ask her hand, And woo no more, but deem consent command. He
too was young, high-born, and bore a name Sounding with honours
bought, though not with fame; And the consent he sought her father
gave, Nor feared the daughter of his love would brave In aught his
wishes, or oppose his will; For she had ever sought it, as the rill
Seeketh the valley or the ocean's breast; And ere his very wishes were
expressed, She strove to trace their meaning in his eyes, Even as a
seaman readeth on the skies The coming breeze, the calm, or brooding
gale, Then spreads the canvas wide, or reefs the sail. Nor did he doubt
that still her heart was free As the fleet mountain deer, which as a sea
The wilderness surrounds; for she had grown Up as a desert flower, that
he alone Had watched and cherished; and the blinding pride Of wealth
and ancestry had served to