Wilsons Tales of the Borders and of Scotland | Page 4

hide From him alone, what long within the

vale Had been the rustic gossip's evening tale. That such presumptuous
love could e'er employ The secret fancies of the cottage boy, He would
have held impossible, or smiled At the bold madness of a thought so
wild--- Reading his daughter's spirit by his own, Which reared an
ancient name as virtue's throne, And only stooped to look on meaner
things, Whose honours echoed not the breath of kings.
XI.
Wild were the passions, fierce the anguish now, Which tore the very
soul, and clothed the brow Of the Enthusiast; while gaunt despair Its
heavy, cold, and iron hand laid bare, And in its grasp of torture
clenched his heart, Till, one by one, the life-drops seemed to start In
agony unspeakable: within His breast its freezing shadow--dark as sin,
Gloomy as death, and desolate as hell-- Like starless midnight on his
spirit fell, Burying his soul in darkness; while his love, Fierce as a
whirlwind, in its madness strove With stern despair, as on the field of
wrath The wounded war-horse, panting, strives with death. Then as the
conflict weakened, hope would dash Across his bosom, like the
death-winged flash That flees before the thunder; yet its light Lived but
a moment, leaving deeper night Around the strife of passions; and
again The struggle maddened, and the hope was vain.
XII.
He heard the maidens of the valley say, How they upon their lady's
wedding-day Would strew her path with flowers, and o'er the lawn Join
in the dance, to eve from early dawn; While, with a smile and half
deriding glance, Some sought him as their partner in the dance: And
peasant railers, as he passed them by, Laughed, whispered, laughed
again, and mocked a sigh. But he disdained them; and his heaving
breast Had no room left to feel their vulgar jest, For it ran o'er with
agony and scorn, As water dropping on a rock was borne.
XIII.
Twas a fair summer night, and the broad moon Sailed in calm glory
through the skies of June, Pouring on earth its pale and silv'ry light, Till

roughest forms were softened to the sight; And on the western hills its
faintest ray Kissed the yet ruddy streaks of parted day. The stars were
few, and, twinkling, dimly shone, For the bright moon in beauty
reigned alone. One cloud lay sleeping 'neath the breathless sky, Bathed
in the limpid light; while, as the sigh Of secret love, silent as shadows
glide, The soft wind played among the leafy pride Of the green trees,
and scarce the aspen shook; A babbling voice was heard from every
brook, And down the vale, in murmurs low and long, Tweed poured its
ancient and unwearied song. Before, behind, around, afar, and near,
The wakeful landrail's watchword met the ear. Then Edmund leaned
against the hallowed tree, Whose shade had been their temple, and
where he Had carved their names in childhood, and they yet Upon the
rind were visible. They met Beneath its branches, spreading as a bower,
For months--for years; and the impassioned hour Of silent, deep
deliciousness and bliss, Pure as an angel's, fervid as the kiss Of a young
mother on her first-born's brow, Fled in their depth of joy they knew
not how; Even as the Boreal meteor mocks the eye, Living a moment
on the gilded sky, And dying in the same, ere we can trace Its golden
hues, its form, or hiding-place. But now to him each moment dragged a
chain, And time itself seemed weary. The fair plain, Where the broad
river in its pride was seen, With stately woods and fields of loveliest
green, To him was now a wilderness; and even Upon the everlasting
face of heaven A change had passed--its very light was changed, And
shed forth sickness; for he stood estranged From all that he had loved,
and every scene Spoke of despair where love and joy had been. Thus
desolate he stood, when, lo! a sound Of voices and gay laughter echoed
round. Then straight a party issued from the wood, And ere he marked
them all before him stood. He gazed, he startled, shook, exclaimed
aloud, "Helen!" then burst away, and as a shroud The sombre trees
concealed him; but a cry Of sudden anguish echoed a reply To his wild
word of misery, though he Heard not its tone of heart-pierced agony.
She, whom his fond soul worshipped as its bride, He saw before him by
her wooer's side, 'Midst other proud ones. 'Twas a sight like death--
Death on his very heart. The balmy breath Of the calm night struck on
his brow with fire; For each fierce passion, burning in its ire, Raged in
his bosom as a with'ring flame, And