And now the priest has join'd their hands, Within the bed fair Isabel In blushing sweetness lay, Like flowers, half-open'd by the dawn, And Rupert, by her lovely side, In youthful beauty glows, Like Phoebus, when he bends to cast His beams upon a rose. And here my song would leave them both, If 'twere not for the horrid tale Soon Rupert, 'twixt his bride and him, He started up, and then return'd, But found the phantom still; In vain he slarunk, it clipp'd him round, With damp and deadly chill! And when he bent, the earthy lips 'Twas like the smell from charnel vaults, Or from the mould'ring grave! Ill-fated Rupert!—wild and loud But Isabel had nothing seen, She look'd around in vain; And much she mourn'd the mad conceit That rack'd her Rupert's brain. At length from this invisible These words to Rupert came: (Oh God! while he did hear the words What terror shook his frame!) "Husband, husband, I've the ring "Thou gav'st to-day to me; "And thou'rt to me forever wed, "As I am wed to thee!" And all the night the demon lay And strain'd him with such deadly grasp, But when the dawn of day was near, And left th' affrighted youth to weep And all that day a gloomy cloud Was seen on Rupert's brows; Fair Isabel was likewise sad, But strove to cheer her spouse. And, as the day advanced, he thought The bed that should be dear! At length the second night arrived, But oh! when midnight came, again "Husband, husband, I've the ring, "The ring thou gav'st to me; "And thou'rt to me forever wed, "As I am wed to thee!" In agony of wild despair, He started from the bed; And thus to his bewilder'd wife The trembling Rupert said: "Oh Isabel! dost thou not see "A shape of horrors here, "That strains me to its deadly kiss, "And keeps me from my dear?" "No, no, my love! my Rupert, I "No shape of horrors see; "And much I mourn the phantasy "That keeps my dear from me." TO OF SEEING HER WITH A WHITE VEIL AND A RICH GIRDLE. Μαργαριται δηλούσι δακρύων ῥσον. Ap. NICEPHOR. in Oneirocrition Pur off the vestal veil, nor, oh! Put off the fatal zone you wear; The shining pearls around it Are tears, that fell from Virtue there, The hour when Love unbound it. WRITTEN IN THE BLANK LEAF OF A LADY'S COMMONPLACE BOOK. HERE is one leaf reserved for me, From all thy sweet memorials free; And here my simple song might tell The feelings thou must guess so well. But could I thus, within thy mind, One little vacant corner find, Where no impression yet is seen, Where no memorial yet hath been, Oh! it should be my sweetest care To write my name forever there! ΤΟ MRS. BL WRITTEN IN HER ALBUM. THEY say that Love had once a book (The urchin likes to copy you,) Where, all who came, the pencil took, And wrote, like us, a line or two. Twas Innocence, the maid divine, Who kept this volume bright and fair, And saw that no unhallow'd line Or thought profane should enter there; And daily did the pages fill With fond device and loving lore, And every leaf she turn'd was still More bright than that she turn'd before. Beneath the touch of Hope, how soft, And trembling close what Hope began. A tear or two had dropp'd from Grief, And Pleasure was this spirit's name, With earth's sweet nectar sparkling bright; And much she fear'd lest, mantling o'er, Some drops should on the pages light. And so it chanced, one luckless night, And sullied lines and marge and all! In vain now, touch'd with shame, he tried The leaves grew darker every day. And Fancy's sketches lost their hue, And Hope's sweet lines were all effaced, And Love himself now scarcely knew What Love himself so lately traced. At length the urchin Pleasure fled, (For how, alas! could Pleasure stay?) And Love, while many a tear he shed, Reluctant flung the book away. The index now alone remains, Of all the pages spoil'd by Pleasure, And though it bears some earthy stains, Yet Memory counts the leaf a treasure. And oft, they say, she scans it o'er, And oft, by this memorial aided, Brings back the pages now no more, And thinks of lines that long have faded I know not if this tale be true, But thus the simple facts are stated; And I refer their truth to you, Since Love and you are near related. TO CARA, AFTER AN INTERVAL OF ABSENCE. CONCEAL'D within the shady wood A mother left her sleeping child, And flew, to cull her rustic food, The fruitage of the forest wild. But storms upon her pathway rise, The mother roams, astray and weeping; Far from the weak appealing cries Of him she left so sweetly sleeping. She hopes, she fears; a light is seen, And gentler blows the night wind's breath; Yet no 'tis gone-the storms are keen, The infant may be chill'd to death! Perhaps, ev'n now, in darkness shrouded, His little eyes lie cold and still ;And yet, perhaps, they are not clouded, Life and love may light them still. Thus, Cara, at our last farewell, If parting pain'd thee half so much : I thought,—and, oh; forgive the thought, For none was e'er by love inspired Whom fancy had not also taught To hope the bliss his soul desired. Yes, I did think, in Cara's mind, Though yet to that sweet mind unknown, I left one infant wish behind, One feeling which I call'd my own. Oh blest! though out in fancy blest, And, many an hour, beguiled by pleasure, I ne'er forgot the new-born treasure, Perhaps, indifference has not chill'd it, Haply, it yet a throb may giveYet, no-perhaps, a doubt has kill'd it; Say, dearest-does the feeling live? ΤΟ CARA, ON THE DAWNING OF A NEW YEAR'S DA WHEN midnight came to close the year, We sigh'd to think it thus should take The hours it gave us-hours as dear As sympathy and love could make Their blessed moments,-every sun Saw us, my love, more closely one. But, Cara, when the dawn was nigh Which came a new year's light to she That smile we caught from eye to eye Told us, those moments were not fled Oh, no,-we felt, some future sun Should see us still more closely one. Thus may we ever, side by side, That Hope shall shed on scenes befor то 1801 To be the theme of every hour All that may yet win smiles from thee Can give thee one faint gleam of joy, |