The half it doth display-
The dawning radiance of the morn
Above the eastern hills revealing
The bright approach of day.
VI.
We were, by chance, alike in years,
And o'er our souls like hopes and fears
Shed softly-checkered light and shade;
And nature, in her charms arrayed,
Entranced our spirits with a spell,
Like that, which, eastern legends tell,
Enchanting power did often throw
Round mortal minds for weal or wo.
When frowning winter passed away,
And laughing spring came o'er the
mountains,
Then hand in hand we loved to stray
Wherever a flower its perfume breathed,
Wherever a vine its tendrils wreathed,
By woodland path or sunny fountains:
And then I would build her fancy bowers
And deck them with flowers-fair, young
flowers,
Gathered from hill and dell-
The fox-glove, nodding to the gale,
The purple violet, chaste and frail,
The blue-bell and the lily pale,
With many a stone and shell; Nor wearied-for her gentle smile Did all my willing toils beguile.
Years passed away; and with them fled
The power of softer things to charm;
But nature's wilder beauties shed
An influence of joy and dread-
A silent awe-a pleased alarm
Of deep and strange intensity,
Engrossing all the mind and eye.
We loved to gaze on the silent river,
Reflecting the skies from its bosom ever,
And far in the sunny world below
Behold the light clouds come and go:
Or through the deep, dark dell to tread,
Where, dashing down its rocky bed,
With giant, shadowy cliffs o'erhung,
Its vexed and foaming tide it flung
Into the whirling gulf beneath,
That seemed its doom of instant death!
We loved to see the hills afar
With their blue distance hoary,
And rolling down his burning car,
The bright sun set in glory.
To watch the clouds in stern array
With steed and chariot march along,
And, dark'ning all the light of day,
On to the battle throng;
While from their ranks the lightning
breaking
Shone on their banners high,
And thunder, the old mountains shaking,
Re-echoed through the sky-
Oh! this was joy, whose awing thrill
Made e'en our throbbing hearts grow
still!
And oft, when summer's robe of green
O'er all the world was thrown,
And through th' unbreathing air serene,
Deep silence reigned alone,
We sat by some soft murmuring stream,
And, wrapt in childhood's blissful dream,
Thought, gazing on the calm, pure sky,
In its unmeasured depths must lie
The mysteries of eternity!
Nor this alone our life; we held
Deep converse with the mighty dead;
The bards and holy seers of eld,
Whose voices live, though they are fled,
Until, in spirit, backward led,
We saw before our eyes displayed
The glories of the golden past,
And empires glide with silent haste
To cold oblivion's voiceless shade;
And gained unto our souls a power,
And wisdom from the days of old,
By marking how each changing hour
Did mortal's weakness and God's
strength unfold!
And often in the pensive light
Sweet Cynthia shed o'er earth and sky,
And the myriad burning stars on high,
That watch the sleeping world by night;
Or round the cheerful evening fire
As Inez' care-worn, gray-haired sire
Told us high tales of olden times-
Of love's fierce passion quick to crimes;
Of daring deeds of chivalry,
And woman's faith that ne'er could die;
The proud thoughts flashed from her
kindling eye,
Illuming all her radiant face,
And lightly and quickly went and came That burned in the veins of all her race; O'er cheek and bosom the flush of flame, And I thought her beauties lovelier far As from her heart to her pale, white brow, Than e'er shone brightly a guiding star— The tide of feeling would ebb and flow,To warrior in the ranks of war!
And thou wast lovely! Oh! no sultan, dreaming
Of the bright Houries of his promised heaven,
E'er saw one brighter to his vision seeming
Than thee, fair spirit, lent to earth, not given!
But to portray thy charms hath language power?
Can feeble words thy vanished form recall?
Nay, thy sweet image, oh! thou faded flower,
Can only dwell in memory's silent hall!
Yet memory is faithful, aye revealing
To my rapt gaze each grace's heavenly ray-
Thy airy step-thy white breast, scarce concealing
Its transient musings from the light of day—
Thy cheek and neck the rose and lily blending,
With dark and curling tresses overbung-
Thy gentle voice, soft tones of music sending,
Or laugh, like echo the green hills among-
Thy pale and chiseled brow above bright fountains,
Whence the soul's light resistless ever shone,
As 'neath the brow of morn, through opening mountains,
The sun lights up the world from his "deep throne"-
And, more than all, that sweet affection flowing
Uncalled, unconscious from thy pure heart,
And from thy face that mild effulgence glowing,
Which mingled thought and feeling did impart !
Oh! thou wast lovely, past all loveliness,
As none could gaze on thee and not confess!
Why fondly linger o'er each scene,
Feeding on pleasures that have been,
Have been, but now are past!
Elysian dreams my heart beguiling
With hopes, that once were fair and smil.
ing,
Too smiling e'er to last?
Yet not one kindly influence feel,
Through all my soul like music steal,
Kindling to strange, ecstatic fire
The chords of its responsive lyre,
Or stir with soft, seductive breath
Affection's deep and silent spring,
Which lies within each heart concealed,
Like living fount the snow beneath,
Th' enchantress long from life hath fled; An unknown or forgotten thing,
I cannot wake her from the dead!
On! then-let madness work its worst,
E'en though this swelling heart should
burst!
For then I'll slumber in the grave,
With her I loved, but could not save!
I loved her-for I was not made
To gaze on heavenly charms displayed,
All pure, but dark and cold and still,
Nor stirs to human good nor ill,
Unless sweet love, like south wind
blowing,
Dissolve the chill spell o'er it thrown,
And bid its gushing stream revealed
Well murmuring forth with gentle tone,
And round the heart melodious flowing,
Fling bright above it silver dew
On flower and fruit of fairest hue-
Shedding o'er all such living bloom
As glow'd in Eden's holy home!
-There are, 'tis said, who cannot feel,
As their cold breasts held hearts of steel,
One single ray from love's bright urn,
Nor yet one kindling ray return,
Reflecting such a chilling light
As from the sun the queen of night
Beams down from her cold throne above
On the pale flowers of her love!
Oh! how can they to heaven aspire,
That feel not love's celestial fire!
My love was passion; and my life
Was one wild dream of burning bliss;
None other passions woke to strife,
None seemed to live but this!
As in enchanter's magic glass,
The mourner looks with earnest gaze,
Unheeding all the things that pass,
Of aspect strange in wondrous maze,
Intent upon the form beloved,
Faint rising in the distance dim,
One hour reclaimed from envious time,
As slow the wizard wand is moved-
So, while love's magic influence
Charmed every thought and every sense,
And changed all things around me,
'Mid earth's strange scenes and busy stir
I saw I heard-but only her-
So strong a spell had bound me!
In all my sleeping dreams by night,
And waking dreams by day,
Her light form hovered in my sight,
And would not pass away;
But of the shapes that ever came
In all those dreams Elysian,
Of heavenly hue or mortal frame,
She was the brightest vision.
Her presence threw a fairer grace
Even o'er nature's fairest face.
Was the clear sky of deepest blue ?
With her it wore a deeper hue.
Were flowers lovely-waters bright?
How brighter-lovelier-in her light!
Her tones made all things else rejoice,
And all things had for her a voice!
The wild birds' magic melody
Seemed poured forth to her listening ear;
For her the murmuring fountains broke;
For her the whispering winds awoke,
And, as if she alone might hear,
The vestal stars gave minstrelsy!
Oh! loved she me? How could I doubt,
When we were all unto each other?
When we had dreamed our childhood
out-
A sister and a brother
In the same scenes and peaceful home;
Where she had loved with me to roam—
Had read with me great nature's page,
And, in our youthful pilgrimage,
With me had knelt at knowledge's shrine,
And old Castalia's fount divine-
How could I deem she loved me not?
It had been mockery-such a thought!
XIV.
There came unto our Eden home,
From other lands, a wanderer,
Wont the world's denizen to roam,
Where'er sweet pleasure called afar.
That soon might be forgot, when seen;
His was no common form or mien,
But he was molded with a grace,
And on his brow there dwelt a pride,
That spoke him of superior race;
That well his secret thoughts could hide,
While 'mid its high-wrought veins of blue,
The intellect shone struggling through;
And in his coldly careless eye,
Sat resolution stern and high,
That he, who met its haughty gaze,
Shrunk back from its too piercing rays;
And on his lip the wreath of scorn
Bade the poor wretch go weep forlorn;
And though his face did ne'er betray
Of inward thought one transient ray,
Strange shades would o'er it flit and break,
Like shadows on a sleeping lake!
The old man, with a friendly hand,
Welcomed him there, as from a land,
Where he had spent his early prime,
In ancient Castile's sunny clime;
And many a fond inquiry made
Of lands, where he himself had been,
And scenes, which he himself had seen,
Ere blooming youth began to fade.
And if, while many a tale he told,
Of wondrous scene and peril bold-
Of nature's glorious majesty,
Where mountains lift their heads on high,
Where rivers swell and ocean rolls,
Beating the ice-ribbed, sunless poles-
Of dangers dire and strange escapes,
Where death came near in fearful shapes
If, listing these, with earnest ears,
The maiden's eye would fill with tears,
Her pale cheek paler grow,
What could this be but transient feeling
Across her virgin bosom stealing,
As cloudlets come and go?
The stars are out on the silent sky,
Mute sentinels of eternity,
And they swear to each other a sacred love,
That danger and death shall never move. They rise from their trysting, hand in hand,
Look fondly out on the silvered scene; And he tells her of Castile's sunny land, The land, where her father in youth had been;
Of his own bright home 'mid the vineclad hills,
Where blossoms the orange, and murmur the rills,
Where lovely she'll bloom like the vernal flowers,
Unfolding their sweets to the laughing hours;
And gentle smiles on her fair cheeks
play,
As the moonbeams o'er the waters stray :
Then hastily breaking a golden token,
They vow that their love shall be un-
And soft, low winds are whispering round,
And sweetly the falling waters sound,
And boldly the mountains stretch away,
In light and shade, where the pale beams
play,
Of the mournful moon, now gazing down, Ay! never shall slightly change or falter,
As long she hath gazed from her white Till sealed by the oath at the holy altar!
Aye witnessing through silent years,
The ebb and flow of human power,
With the bright smiles and bitter tears,
Attendant on each changing hour:
In silvered slumber all nature lies,
From the virgin flowers to the vaulted
Why sits the maid in her lonely bower?
Is it because my hands have made
Its trellis rude and rural shade?
Why sits the maid in her lonely bower?
Is it because she loves the hour,
To steal from the merry hearth abroad,
And gaze on the glorious works of
God?
A sigh is heard and a rustling tread,
And the maid becomes as the voiceless
dead;
I heard-a pang shot through my heart,
As it had been a barbed dart,
And rushed the red founts to my brain,
Then ebbed like lava back again.
Hurled from my hopes by such a stroke,
From love's enchanted dream I woke,
And found the vision flown!
With maddened step I sprung away,
And wandered 'neath pale Luna's ray,
All the still night alone.
But when the morning's earliest beam,
Stole softly forth on leaf and stream-
When damp, chill dews had cooled the
fire,
Which through my veins ran wild and
high,
So that I could heaven's breath respire,
With something less of agony,
A nearer step and a whispered call,
And the stranger at her feet doth fall.
Young Inez clasps him with folding arm,
Their flushed cheeks meet, with their Then hasten far away to die!
heart's blood warm,
I drew unto the cottage near,
Once more that gentle voice to hear,
To gaze once more in that dark eye-
With tresses loose to the dewy air-
With snowy arms and bosom bare
To the morning's breezy call,
I found her the lovely flowers tending, Above them fondly and gracefully bending,
The loveliest flower of all!
She greeted me with that soft tone
How sweetly the accents fall!
That large, dark eye upon me shone-
Ob! who its power could tell!
But an anxious shade stole o'er her face,
As on my own she marked the trace
Of bitter grief, and tenderly sought
To know the ill such change had wrought.
I took her hand within my own-
The touch had thrilled a statue of stone!
And told her in simple words and few,
That I had loved her long and well,
But now must bid her a last adieu,
For ever and ever apart to dwell;
For that she loved another more,
As witnessed moonlight bower and
Vow,
For that she loved another more,
And could not love me now.
The maiden stood as a statue stands-
The flowers dropped from her faltering
bands;
And bright drops fell from her long, dark lashes,
As the first of a sunshine shower dashes. "Oh! say not so," at last she said,
Her folding arms around me flung, While like a dewy bud her head
Upon my bosom weeping hung:
"Oh! say not so-I cannot bear
The thought of life apart from thee,
With whom my lot has been to share
All things from early infancy.
And if I've vowed a maiden's love
Unsullied to another,
May I not still a sister prove,
And thou to me a brother?"
"A sister's love! Oh! earth and heaven!
My soul to rayless gloom is given:
The golden chain is broken in twain,
I ne'er may see thy face again!"
And wildly snatching last fond kisses
I flung aside her flowing tresses,
From her pale cheek, in still despair,
I left her a weeping monument there!
The world was all before me then,
As once before the sire of men,
When thrust from Eden's happy home,
Around its wilderness to roam.
But he had with him one fair spirit,
Who might with him its woes inherit.
While I had from my Eden gone,
The shadow deepened upon her brow,
And ceased in her veins the crimson To wander on the earth alone!
flow;
THE world has had its ages. Well is it if they be not but the steps to its grave! It has flourished in infancy. And how bright were its smiles! As yet, it dealt not with the past nor the future. It was the present-the long present, like the summer's day, when nature seems to rest-in which the child breathed. But nature rested not; for she twined garlands round its early cradle, and bid bud and blossom there the rose. The child sang to itself. It learned its melodies from the birds and the bee. Then too were the louder notes. These came because it listened to the winds and the waves. Such were the teachings of nature! As the child grew, curiosity was the spirit which breathed so much of life's life into it. Cheerily passed this bright morning.
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