Wilsons Tales of the Borders and of Scotland | Page 2

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 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