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THE GUERILLA LEADER'S vow.
I breathed it not o'er kingly tombs,
But where my children lay,
Soar'd from their precious clay.
I kiss'd their lips — I pour'd,
My spirit on my sword.
The roof-tree fall'n, the smouldering floor,
bright hair torn, and soild with blood,
Bore witness that wild night; Before them rose th' avenger's soul,
In crush'd affection's might.
The stars, the searching stars of heaven,
With keen looks would upbraid, If from my heart the fiery vow,
Sear'd on it then, could fade.
That by my paths have swept,
How hath my faith been kept?
And other eyes are on my soul,
That never, never close,
They leave me no repose.
Haunting my night-watch 'midst the rocks,
And by the torrent's foam,
Full, full of love and home!
Alas! the mountain eagle's heart,
When wrong'd, may yet find rest;
He seeks another nest.
That wins no quenching rain ;
To the stormy fight again!
“Hast thou come with the heart of thy childhood
back ? The free, the pure, the kind ?" -So murmur'd the trees in my homeward track,
As they play'd to the mountain-wind. “Hath thy soul been true to its early love ?”
Whisper'd my native streams; “Hath the spirit nursed amidst hill and grove,
Still revered its first high dreams ?" “ Hast thou borne in thy bosom the holy prayer
Of the child in his parent-halls ?” - Thus breathed a voice on the thrilling air,
From the old ancestral walls.
“ Hast thou kept thy faith with the faithful dead,
Whose place of rest is nigh?
With the mother's trusting eye ?"
- Then my tears gush'd forth in sudden rain,
As I answer'd—“0, ye shades !
To the freedom of your glades.
“ I have turned from my first pure love aside,
O bright and happy streams !
The day-spring's glorious dreams.
“And the holy prayer from my thoughts hath pass’d—
The prayer at my mother's knee; Darken’d and troubled I come at last,
Home of my boyish glee!
“ But I bear from my childhood a gift of tears,
To soften and atone;
THEKLA AT HER LOVER'S GRAVE.
Thither where he lies buried !
The voice was in my soul! it callid me on:
O my lost friend! thy voice was in my soul : From the cold, faded world, whence thou art gone, To hear no more life's troubled billows roll,
I come, I come!
Now speak to me again! we loved so well
We loved ! oh! still, I know that still we love! I have left all things with thy dust to dwell, Through these dim aisles in dreams of thee to rove;
This is my home! Speak to me in the thrilling minster's gloom !
Speak! thou hast died, and sent me no farewell! I will not shrink ;-oh! mighty is the tomb, But one thing mightier, which it cannot quell,
This woman's heart!
This lone, full, fragile heart!- the strong alone
In love and grief --of both the burning shrine! Thou, my soul's friend! with grief hast surely done, But with the love which made thy spirit mine,
Say, couldst thou part?
"See Wallenstein, Act 6.
THEKLA AT HER LOVER'S GRAVE.
I hear the rustling banners; and I hear
The winds low singing through the fretted stone? I hear not thee ; and yet I feel thee near What is this bound that keeps thee from thine own?
Breathe it away!
I wait thee-I adjure thee! hast thou known
How I have loved thee? couldst thou dream it all ? Am I not here with night and death alone, And fearing not ? and hath my spirit's call
O'er thine no sway?
Thou canst not come! or thus I should not weep!
Thy love is deathless -- but no longer free! Soon would its wing triumphantly o'ersweep The viewless barrier, if such power might be,
Soon, soon, and fast!
But I shall come to thee! our souls' deep dreams,
Our young affections, have not gush'd in vain; Soon in one tide shall blend the sever'd streams, The worn heart break its bonds—and death and pain
Be with the past !