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 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 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 scarce he knew he madly breathed her name; But, as a bark before the tempest tost, Rushed from the scene, exclaiming wildly, "Lost!"