He watch'd and watch'd in vain; at length his hope
Grew desperate, and he pray'd his Isabelle
Might have forgotten him :-but midnight came,
And with it came the convent's heavy bell,
Tolling for a departed soul; and then

He knew that Isabelle was dead! Next day
They laid her in her grave;—and the moon rose
Upon a mourner weeping there :-that tomb
Was Roland's death-bed!

From A Legend of the Rhine.

A SUMMER DAY.

Sweet valley, whose streams flow as sparkling and bright
As the stars that descend in the depths of the night;
Whose violets fling their rich breath on the air,
Sweet spendthrifts of treasure the Spring has flung there.

My lot is not with thee, 'tis far from thine own;
Nor thus, amid Summer and solitude thrown:
But still it is something to gaze upon thee,

And bless earth that such peace on her bosom can be.

My heart and my steps both grow light as I bound O'er the green grass that covers thy beautiful ground; And joy o'er my thoughts, like the sun o'er the leaves, A blessing in giving and taking receives.

I have heap'd up thy flowers, the wild and the sweet,
As if fresh from the touch of the night-elfin's feet;
A bough from thy oak, and a sprig from thy broom,—
I take them as keepsakes to tell of thy bloom.

Their green leaves may droop, and their colours may flee,
As if dying with sorrow at parting from thee;
And my memory fade with them, till thou wilt but seem
Like the flitting shape morning recalls of a dream.

Let them fade from their freshness, so leave they behind
One trace, like faint music, impress'd on the mind;
One leaf or one flower to memory will bring
The light of thy beauty, the hope of thy spring.

From The Venetian Bracelet.

HERO AND LEANDER.

'Twas so at length her thought found utterance,
Light, feeling, flash'd from her awaken'd glance ;-
She paused-then gazed on one pale star above,
Pour'd to her lute the burning words of love!
LEANDER heard his name! How more than sweet
That moment, as he knelt at HERO's feet,
Breathing his passion in each thrilling word
Only by lovers said, by lovers heard.

That night they parted-but they met again-
The blue sea roll'd between them-but in vain!
Leander had no fear-he cleft the wave.-
What is the peril fond hearts will not brave!
Delicious were their moonlight wanderings,
Delicious were the kind, the gentle things
Each to the other breathed; a starry sky,
Music and flowers,-this is love's luxury:
The measure of its happiness is full,
When all around like it is beautiful.

There were sweet birds to count the hours: and roses,
Like those which on a blushing cheek reposes;

Violets as fresh as violets could be;

And day,

Stars over head, with each a history
Of love told by its light; and waving trees,
And perfumed breathings upon every breeze:
These were around them when they met.
Though each was from the other far away,
Had still its pleasant memories; they might
Think what they had forgotten the last night,
And make the tender thing they had to say
More warm and welcome from its short delay.
And then their love was secret!-Oh, it is
Most exquisite to have a fount of bliss
Sacred to us alone, no other eye
Conscious of our enchanted mystery,
Ourselves the sole possessors of a spell
Giving us happiness unutterable!

I would compare this secresy and shade
To that fair island, whither Love convey'd

His Psyche, where she lived remote from all:

Life one long, lone, and lovely festival;

But when the charm, concealment's charm, was known,

Oh then farewell to Love, for Love was flown!

Love's wings are all too delicate to bear

The open gaze, the common sun and air.

*

There have been roses round my lute; but now
I must forsake them for the cypress bough:
Now is my tale of tears.-One night, the sky,
As if with passion, darken'd angrily,

And gusts of wind swept o'er the troubled main
Like hasty threats, and then were calm again;
That night, young Hero by her beacon kept
Her silent watch, and blamed the night, and wept,
And scarcely dared to look upon the sky:
Yet lulling still her fond anxiety-

With "Surely in such a storm he cannot brave,
If but for my sake only, wind and wave."

At length Aurora led young Day and blush'd;
In her sweet presence sea and sky were hush'd.
What is there beauty cannot charm? Her power
Is felt alike, in storm and sunshine hour;

And light and soft the breeze which waved the veil
Of Hero, as she wander'd, lone and pale,
Her heart sick with its terror, and her eye
Roving in tearful dim uncertainty.

Not long uncertain,-she mark'd something glide,
Shadowy and indistinct, upon the tide-
On rush'd she in that desperate energy,
Which only has to know, and, knowing, die-
It was LEANDER!

THE PROUD LADYE.

Oh, what could the ladye's beauty match,
An it were not the ladye's pride?
An hundred knights from far and near
Woo'd at that ladye's side.

The rose of the summer slept on her cheek,

Its lily upon her breast,

And her eye shone forth like the glorious star
That rises the first in the west.

There were some that woo'd for her land and gold, And some for her noble name,

And more that woo'd for her loveliness;

But her answer was still the same.

"There is a steep and lofty wall,

Where my warders trembling stand,

He who at speed shall ride round its height,
For him shall be my hand."

Many turn'd away from the deed,

The hope of their wooing o'er ;

But many a young knight mounted the steed
He never mounted more.

At last there came a youthful knight
From a strange and far countrie,

The steed that he rode was white as the foam
Upon a stormy sea.

And she who had scorn'd the name of love
Now bow'd before its might,

And the ladye grew meek as if disdain

Were not made for that stranger knight.

She sought at first to steal his soul
By dance, song, and festival;
At length on bended knee she pray'd
He would not ride the wall.

But gaily the young knight laugh'd at her fears And flung him on his steed,

There was not a saint in the calendar

That she pray'd not to in her need.

She dared not raise her eyes to see

If Heaven had granted her prayer,
Till she heard a light step bound to her side,
The gallant knight stood there!

And took the ladye Adeline

From her hair a jewell'd band,
But the knight repell'd the offer'd gift,
And turn'd from the offer'd hand.

And deemest thou that I dared this deed,
Ladye, for love of thee?

The honour that guides the soldier's lance
Is mistress enough for me.

Enough for me to ride the ring,
The victor's crown to wear;
But not in honour of the eyes
Of any ladye there.

I had a brother whom I lost
Through thy proud crueltie,
And far more was to me his love,
Than woman's love can be.

I came to triumph o'er the pride

Through which that brother fell; I laugh to scorn thy love and thee, And now, proud dame, farewell!

And from that hour the ladye pined,
For love was in her heart,

And on her slumber there came dreams
She could not bid depart.

Her eye lost all its starry light,
Her cheek grew wan and pale,
Till she hid her faded loveliness
Beneath the sacred veil.

And she cut off her long dark hair,
And bade the world farewell,

And she now dwells a veiled nun

In Saint Marie's cell.

From The Troubadour