RICHARD H. DANA. MURDER OF A SPANISH LADY BY A PIRATE. A sound is in the Pyrenees! Whirling and dark, comes roaring down On field and vineyard thick and red it stood. And wrath and terror shake the land; Awake ye, Merlin! Hear the shout from Spain! Too late for thee, thou young, fair bride e; [sound Whom thou didst lull with fondly murmur'd His couch is cold and lonely in the ground. He fell for Spain-her Spain no more; And wait amid her sorrows till the day His voice of love should call her thence away. Lee feign'd him grieved, and bow'd him low. He meekly, smoothly said. With wealth and servants she is soon aboard, The sun goes down upon the sea; The shadows gather round her home. "How like a pall are ye to me! My home, how like a tomb! Oh! blow, ye flowers of Spain, above his head : And now the stars are burning bright; "I ne'er shall see thee more! Ye're many, waves, yet lonely seems your flow, Sleep, sleep, thou sad one, on the sea! Thy hand upon his brow. He is not near, to hush thee or to save. The moon comes up, the night goes on. Stands that dark, thoughtful man alone? Bethink thee of her youth and sorrows, Lee: When told the hardships thou hadst borne, He looks out on the sea that sleeps in light, He sleeps ; but dreams of massy gold, And heaps of pearl. He stretch'd his hands. He hears a voice : "Ill man, withhold." A pale one near him stands : Her breath comes deathly cold upon his cheek; Her touch is cold. He wakes with piercing shriek. He wakes; but no relentings wake "What, shall a dream Matt's purpose shake? The gold will make all whole. Thy merchant trade had nigh unmann'd thee, lad! His speech is short; he wears a surly brow. There's none will hear her shriek. What fear ye now? 66 The workings of the soul ye fear; From out the silent void there comes a cry: Vengeance is mine! Lost man, thy doom is nigh!" Nor dread of ever-during wo, Nor the sea's awful solitude, Can make thee, wretch, thy crime forego. Then, bloody hand-to blood! The scud is driving wildly over head; The stars burn dim; the ocean moans its dead. Moan for the living-moan our sins- The crew glide down like shadows. Eye and hand They're gone. The helmsman stands alone, Hush, hark! as from the centre of the deep, Shrieks! fiendish yells! They stab them in their sleep. The scream of rage, the groan, the strife, [glare, The murderer's curse, the dead man's fix'd, still And Fear's, and Death's cold sweat-they all are there! On pale, dead men, on burning cheek, On quick, fierce eyes, brows hot and damp, Lee look'd. "They sleep so sound," he laughing said, "They'll scarcely wake for mistress or for maid." A crash! They've forced the door; and then One long, long, shrill, and piercing scream Comes thrilling through the growl of men. 'Tis hers! Oh God, redeem [child! From worse than death thy suffering, helpless That dreadful cry again-sharp, sharp, and wild! It ceased. With speed o' th' lightning's flash, The waves have swept away the bubbling tide. She's sleeping in her silent cave, Thou soon hast reach'd! Fair, unpolluted thing, Oh, no! To live when joy was dead; To thee was solitude Oh, this was bitterness! Death came and press'd Thy wearied lids, and brought thy sick heart rest. THE HUSBAND'S AND WIFE'S GRAVE. HUSBAND and wife! No converse now ye hold, As once ye did in your young days of love, On its alarms, its anxious hours, delays, Its silent meditations, its glad hopes, Its fears, impatience, quiet sympathies; Nor do ye speak of joy assured, and bliss Full, certain, and possess'd. Domestic cares Call you not now together. Earnest talk On what your children may be, moves you not. Ye lie in silence, and an awful silence; 'Tis not like that in which ye rested once Most happy-silence eloquent, when heart With heart held speech, and your mysterious frames, Harmonious, sensitive, at every beat Touch'd the soft notes of love. Stillness profound, Insensible, unheeding, folds you round; |