And the dark tree o'ershadowing me that hour,
Stood motionless, even as the grey church-tower
Whereon I gazed unconsciously:- there came
A low sound, like the tremour of a flame,
Or like the light quick shiver of a wing
Flitting through twilight woods, across the air;
And I look'd up!-Oh! for strong words to bring
Conviction o'er thy thought!-Before me there,
He, the Departed, stood!-Ay, face to face-
So near, and yet how far!-his form, his mien,
Gave to remembrance back each burning trace
Within:-Yet something awfully serene,
Pure, sculpture-like,-on the pale brow that wore
Of the once beating heart no token more;
And stillness on the lip-and o'er the hair
A gleam, that trembled through the breathless air;
And an unfathom'd calm, that seem'd to lie
In the grave sweetness of the illumined eye;
Told of the gulfs between our being set,
And, as that unsheathed spirit-glance I met,
Made my soul faint:- with fear?-Oh! not with
With the sick feeling that in his far sphere
My love could be as nothing!-But he spoke –
How shall I tell thee of the startling thrill
In that low voice, whose breezy tones could fill
My bosom's infinite?-O friend, I woke
Then first to heavenly life!-Soft, solemn, clear,
Breathed the mysterious accents on mine ear,
Yet strangely seem'd as if the while they rose
From depths of distance, o'er the wide repose
Of slumbering waters wafted, or the dells
Of mountains, hollow with sweet echo-cells;
But, as they murmur'd on, the mortal chill
Pass'd from me, like a mist before the morn,
And to that glorious intercourse upborne,
By slow degrees, a calm, divinely still,
Possess'd my frame:-I sought that lighted eye,-
From its intense and searching purity
I drank in soul!—I question'd of the dead—
Of the hush'd, starry shores their footsteps tread-
And I was answer'd :—if remembrance there,
With dreamy whispers fill the immortal air;
If Thought, here piled from many a jewel-heap,
Be treasure in that pensive land to keep;
If Love, o'ersweeping change, and blight, and blast,
Find there the music of his home at last;
I ask'd and I was answer'd;- Full and high
Was that communion with eternity,
Too rich for aught so fleeting!-Like a knell
Swept o'er my sense its closing words,-"Farewell,
On earth we meet no more!"—and all was gone—
The pale bright settled brow-the thrilling tone —
The still and shining eye!—and never more
May twilight gloom or midnight hush restore
That radiant guest !—One full-fraught hour of Heaven,
To earthly passion's wild implorings given,
Was made my own-the ethereal fire hath shiver'd
The fragile censer in whose mould it quiver'd,
Brightly, consumingly!-What now is left?-
A faded world, of glory's hues bereft,
A void, a chain!-I dwell 'midst throngs, apart,
In the cold silence of the stranger's heart;
A fix'd, immortal shadow stands between
My spirit and life's fast-receding scene;
A gift hath sever'd me from human ties,
A power is gone from all earth's melodies,
Which never may return:-their chords are broken-
The music of another land hath spoken,
No after-sound is sweet!—this weary thirst!
And I have heard celestial fountains burst!.
What here shall quench it?
Dost thou not rejoice, When the spring sends forth an awakening voice Through the young woods?-Thou dost! -And in
Of early leaves, and flowers, and songs of mirth, Thousands, like thee, find gladness! — Couldst thou
How every breeze then summons me to go!
How all the light of love and beauty shed
By those rich hours, but wooes me to the Dead!
The only beautiful that change no more,
The only loved!-the dwellers on the shore
Of spring fulfill'd! - The Dead!-whom call we so?
They that breathe purer air, that feel, that know
Things wrapt from us!-Away!—within me pent,
That which is barr'd from its own element
Still droops or struggles!-But the day will come—
Over the deep the free bird finds its home.
And the stream lingers 'midst the rocks, yet greets
The sea at last; and the wing'd flower-seed meets
A soil to rest in shall not I, too, be,
My spirit-love! upborne to dwell with thee?
Yes! by the power whose conquering anguish stirr'd
The tomb, whose cry beyond the stars was heard,
Whose agony of triumph won thee back
Through the dim pass no mortal step may track,
Yet shall we meet!that glimpse of joy divine,
Proved thee for ever and for ever mine!
Courage was cast about her like a dress
Of solemn comeliness,
A gather'd mind and an untroubled face
Did give her dangers grace.
THE war-note of the Saracen
Was on the winds of France;
It had still'd the harp of the Troubadour,
And the clash of the tourney's lance.
The sounds of the sea, and the sounds of the night,
And the hollow echoes of charge and flight,
Were around Clotilde, as she knelt to pray
In a chapel where the mighty lay,
On the old Provençal shore;
Many a Chatillon beneath,
Unstirr'd by the ringing trumpet's breath,
His shroud of armour wore.
1Founded on an incident in the early French history.
And the glimpses of moonlight that went and came
Through the clouds, like bursts of a dying flame,
Gave quivering life to the slumber pale
Of stern forms couch'd in their marble mail,
At rest on the tombs of the knightly race,
The silent throngs of that burial-place.
They were imaged there with helm and spear,
As leaders in many a bold career,
And haughty their stillness look'd and high,
Like a sleep whose dreams were of victory;
But meekly the voice of the lady rose
Through the trophies of their proud repose;
Meekly, yet fervently, calling down aid,
Under their banners of battle she pray'd;
With her pale fair brow, and her eyes of love,
Upraised to the Virgin's pourtray'd above,
And her hair flung back, till it swept the grave
Of a Chatillon with its gloomy wave.
And her fragile frame at every blast,
That full of the savage war-horn pass'd,
Trembling, as trembles a bird's quick heart,
When it vainly strives from its cage to part,-
So knelt she in her woe;
weeper alone with the tearless dead
Oh! they reck not of tears o'er their quiet shed, Or the dust had stirr'd below!
Hark! a swift step! she hath caught its tone, Through the dash of the sea, through the wild wind's
Is her lord return'd with his conquering bands?
No! a breathless vassal before her stands !
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