Billeder på siden
PDF
ePub

Ranged on their lowly forms around,
With modest glance that seeks the ground,
The gentle nuns are seen;
And many a sparkling eye was there,
And many a cheek of beauty rare,

With soft and graceful mien:
Their robes and veils of spotless white
Descend in folds of waving light.
The welcome given, with gracious smile,
The Abbess craves a boon,-

"Would but their brave Allies beguile
The sultry hour of noon,
With tidings of the recent fight,

That quelled proud Gaul's detested might ?"--
Back she has thrown the shading veil,
While thus they tell the glorious tale.

CANTO III.

VICTORY OF THE DOURO. I.

RONALD.

"TEJO's emancipated stream
Beheld our burnished weapons gleam,
Nor yet their dazzling blades display
The sanguine dye of battle fray,
Though the succeeding leagues disclose
The path of our remorseless foes.
The ravaged field, the trampled vine,
The smoking hut, their step declare,
With many a dark and fearful sign

That murder's crimson hand was there. In horror, hunger, nakedness,

The remnant from their coverts crept,
And prayed the Lord our arms to bless,
While franticly they wept,
O'er the retrieveless scene of spoil,
The wreck of their industrious toil.

[merged small][merged small][ocr errors][merged small]

When in his conquest-boding tone He bade our ranks advance.

III.

"As bloodhounds who have tracked their prey
Through the wild wood's uncertain way,
When lo! before their glaring eyes,
Th'exhausted foe more faintly flies,—
Rises each bristling hair-they strain
Headlong across the open plain,
And deem their fangs already dyed
In the lost murderer's crimson tide:
So eager and so fierce we stand,
So dart we at the chief's command.
Routed at every point, they yield
Before our desperate way,
And masters of the chosen field,

We wait th' approaching day,
That promises a sterner fight,
Vengeance more full, and fame more bright.

IV.

"Reluctantly the morn arose,

To chase that glowing dream,
And show our dark and crafty foes
Beyond the Douro's stream.
The floating path from strand to strand
Their cautious care had riven,
And far from either hostile band

The broken fragments driven.
Abrupt and high the banks appear,
Within whose narrow space
Old Douro holds, in swift career,
His never-ceasing race.
Such mighty bonds on either side
As Nature's careful hand supplied
To curb the torrent's force,
Alone could chain the rapid tide,

And check its hurrying course.
A yellow tinge the waters wear,
As rushing on their way,
From the imprisoning banks they tear
The scanty soil and clay.
A weary task the boatman plies,
Against th' opposing stream,-
Or with the favouring current flies,
Swift as the passing dream;

But now each straggling boat they moor,
Securely to the farther shore:
No practicable ford extends

O'er the rude gulf between,
Save the wild rocks Avintas lends,
-Too distant from the scene!—
Less sullenly the tiger growls

O'er his contested food,

'Reft of her young, less fiercely scowls

The empress of the wood,
Than our indignant warriors eyed,

And cursed, the intercepting tide.

[merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][ocr errors][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small]

XI.

"draw

Unscathed by force, unharmed by wrong, Time gently shakes the mouldering pile, And tells how ages roll along

Unbroken, in that favoured Isle."

He ceased-and now the Abbess rose, To heaven her tearful look she throws, "My Daughters," she exclaims, nigh ;

Lo! in our favoured dwelling stand
Two heroes of that godlike band

Who brought us life and liberty!
Our shrines from sacrilegious gaze,
Our walls from desolation's blaze,
Our bosoms from the sword,
These have they saved,-
Hath risen to the Lord,

-our frequent praise

And here before the face of heaven,
Our grateful thanks to them be given."-
Then many a fair hand clasped on high
Implored a blessing from the sky;
So late by bashfulness subdued,
The eye now beamed with gratitude,
And shone with lustre, bright and chaste,
On each deliverer's form,
Like the returning moon-beam, cast
On barks that gallantly have passed
The perils of the storm.

XII.

-"O long may Heaven's approving smile Beam on the lovely sea-girt Isle !" (And Ronald's bounding heart has flown To greet that well-remembered tone) "Like her majestic oak she stands, And spreads her shade o'er other lands, While her protecting arms extend

A refuge for the poor,

And virtue, strength, and beauty blend,
Her empire to secure.

So said my martyred sire, who long
Strayed her enchanting scenes among."-

XIII.

-"Lady, the touch was warm and true That gave that picture to thy view:Deep in the trackless ocean wave,

Has nature placed Britannia's throne,
And led the circling tides to lave

Her fortress wall of pearly stone;
In isolated might she stands,
Girt by her guardian ocean bands.
Tremendous as her frowning rock,
Ruin and wreck assail her foes,
Her barriers brave the rudest shock,

Her woodlands smile in sweet repose: There herds, and flocks, and golden grain, Diversify the verdant plain;

There towers that monarch oak, and shades
With patriarchal arms the glades;
While many a peaceful cottage shines
Through wreaths of fragrant eglantines
The ivy-mantled wall displays

The majesty of other days,

XIV.

Bernardo! thou hast sought a boon,
And gained the fatal gift too soon
From that indulgent dame:
And daily at the convent grate
Those dangerous guests of thine may wait,
The social hour to claim.

Dost thou not mark the mantling blush,
That lightens o'er Maria's cheek,
Nor rapture's corresponding flush

On Ronald's kindling visage speak?
Where was thy ever watching heed?
Spell-bound thyself, thou didst not read,
What rapid clouds and sunbeams chase
Alternate o'er her varying face,
While in attention rapt, she hung
On every accent of his tongue.
Thou saw'st not that soul-speaking eye,
Heard'st not the palpitating breath,
That hailed in speechless ecstacy

Th' avengers of her father's death.
Could not thy long observant age,
Nor lore of thy loved classic page,
Tell thee that woe the bosom leaves

Too prone to soft affection's power,
Even as the dew-steeped grass receives
Th' impression of the falling flower?—
O! can those grated bars repel
Love's monarch from the holy cell?
His power is throned within the eye,
His chariot is the viewless sigh,
He sports with vows, disarms the brave,
And prizes most th' unwilling slave.
Alas! how impotent and frail
The barrier of the vestal's veil,
Against the tyrant's fraudful guile,
Who couched in friendship's artless smile,
Unmarked can pass the strong defence
Of piety and innocence,

Then fix the everlasting dart,
And lord it o'er the vanquished heart!
What boots it that yon warrior's mind
Is pure as brave, and true as kind?-
He cannot crush the potent spell,
Destined the firmest soul to quell,
Nor ardent and impetuous youth
'Gainst passion balance sober truth.
Beauteous and fair Love's roses grow,

And fragrant is the breath they breathe,-
Would but some gentle spirit show,
In pity of the latent woe,

The thorns that lurk beneath!

CANTO IV.

I.

O Sympathy! thy witching power,

From whence our dearest comforts flow, Can soothe misfortune's darkest hour,

Or brim the cup of human woe. What words shall tell his misery

To whom the fatal pang is known,
To read in the congenial eye

A heart that must not be his own!
Fancy awhile may seize the reign,
And bear him o'er her wide domain,
And plant his ardent eyes to bless,
The radiant bowers of happiness;
But to destroy the fairy scene,
Cold Duty lifts her wand between,
And bids an awful barrier swell,
Impervious, insurmountable;
While the stern monitor within
In thunder tells him it were sin
And frail mortality will strive
To keep deceitful hope alive,

Against the will of fate,
Till to one gloomy thought resigned,
The once well-regulated mind

Yields in the vain debate,
And lost in helpless, hopeless care,
Sinks a sad victim to despair.

II.

Tall was Maria's form, it rose
Majestic o'er the rest,-

A holy peace, a calm repose,

Her downcast eye expressed.

Through the long lash that fringed it round,
A frequent path the tear had found,
And her wan cheek in pensive grace
Too well pourtrayed its recent trace.
The ringlet that unconscious strayed
From her confining veil,
Contrasted with its deep dark shade

That cheek so fair and pale.
The arms that crossed her gentle breast
Hushed the rebellious sigh to rest,-
And when her meek and quiet eye
Was lifted to her native sky,
She seemed some gracious form divine,

Pourtrayed in chisselled stone,
If sculptor's hands could e'er combine
Patience and Faith in one.

III.

Reared in a Convent's peaceful cell,
She knew not the tempestuous swell
Of rapture, disappointment, strife,
That heaves the troubled waves of life:

Yet in her bosom dormant lie
The sparks that tender sympathy

May brighten to a flame,

Could she on one true heart but rest
The hopes and sorrows of her breast,

In holy friendship's name:

So thought she oft, but never yet
That kind congenial heart had met,
Though in the Convent's virgin train,
Were found the giddy, light, and vain,
The bigot harsh, the prude austere,
Mixed with the gentle and sincere,
The timid and the proud,-
Yet not one perfect sister-mind,
So pure, so steadfast, and refined,
She found among the crowd.
But since St. Clara's shrine had given
A refuge of repose,

Bernardo led her mind to heaven,

To consecrate her woes.

She loved her grateful voice to raise
Amid the choral notes of praise,
And loved to offer when alone
Her soul before her Maker's throne;
Dearly she prized the pensive hour,
Passed in the garden's silent bower,-
The breeze of heaven that loved to play
Upon the mourner's cheek,
Seemed as it dried the tear away,

Of hope and peace to speak:

It speaks of Him whose mercy dwells
On all his hands have made,

And bids the heart where sorrow swells
Repose on Him for aid.

To every race of mortal kind,

On angel wings his care is borne,

Who tempers ev'n the northern wind,
In pity to the lamb new shorn:

-O never yet the fleece was rent
From lamb more meek and innocent!-

IV.

And such to Ronald's pitying eye

The helpless maid appears,
He longed to soothe the rising sigh,
And with a brother's sympathy

To dry the falling tears.
He brooded o'er the tender theme,
Till it became his nightly dream,—
Unwelcome was the glance of day
That chased the visioned bliss away.
The veil-the awful vow-would rise
Abrupt to his averted eyes,

But he would chide the start that came,
And say 'twas friendship's holiest flame;
Then seek the stern repelling grate,
Maria's pensive step to wait,

And draw, with gentle art refined,
The pure thoughts from her spotless mind.

Her word, her look, her very tone
Seemed but the echo of his own,
For the same master spring controls
Each impulse of their kindred souls.
And when he hears the tolling hour,
That bids his lingering step depart,
He goes, in solitude to pour

The treacherous balsam on his heart, And shrinks from friendship's solace, given To woe-worn man by bounteous Heaven.

V.

Fitz-Arthur marked th' unwonted cloud,
That spoke an inward storm,
And wrapped in uncongenial shroud
That spirit once so warm:
He saw the mantling glow arise,
The sparkling rapture in his eyes,
When to the grated iron screen
The Nun's advancing step was seen.
He read his heart, and deeply grieved
To find that gallant heart deceived
By fancy's idle power;

And longed to see the spell unbound
By the inspiring bugle-sound,

In battle's rousing hour.

With distant hint, and cautious speech,
He strove the bosom's wound to reach;
But welcome cold could Ronald's mind
For truth's unflattering lesson find,
For conscience said, an earthly flame
Was masked by friendship's specious name.
He dreaded lest Fitz-Arthur's eye
The cherished phantom might espy,
And scare, with reason's deep-toned knell,
The forms of fancy's dreaming spell.
So inconsistent still is love!

He writhes beneath a piercing smart,
Yet shuns the hand that would remove
With pious care the rankling dart.

VI.

Unscathed by love's insidious power,
Fitz-Arthur passed the cheerful hour,
And in the sportive argument,
Would oft the heedless sally vent,
That won the ready smile,
Or the soft voice and plaintive lute,
Would vie with his harmonious flute,
The moments to beguile.

VII.

A noble maid from royal Spain,
Had lately graced St. Clara's fane,
And none the lofty note could swell,
Like the Castilian Isabel.

Her kinsmen's arms were famed afar
In the fierce desultory war,
That proved to the invaders' might
More wasting than the practised fight.

[merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][ocr errors][merged small][merged small]
« ForrigeFortsæt »