And not ungentle e'en to me! My heart, Why beats it thus? Through yonder coppice-wood Needs must the pathway turn, that leads straight-
On to her father's house. She is alone!
The night draws on-such ways are hard to hit- And fit it is I should restore this sketch, Dropt unawares no doubt. Why should I To keep the relique? 'twill but idly feed The passion that consumes me. Let me haste ! The picture in my hand which she has left; She cannot blame me that I followed her: And I may be her guide the long wood through.
Sandoval. Did you not say you wooed her?
Not loving Oropeza. True, I wooed her, Hoping to heal a deeper wound; but she
Met my advances with impassioned pride,
That kindled love with love.
Who in his dream of hope already grasped
The golden circlet in his hand, rejected My suit with insult, and in memory
Of ancient feuds poured curses on my head, Her blessings overtook and baffled them!
But thou art stern, and with unkindly countenance Art inly reasoning whilst thou listenest to me. Sandoval. Anxiously, Henry! reasoning anx- iously.
Earl Henry. Blessings gather round her! Within this wood there winds a secret passage, Beneath the walls, which opens out at length Into the gloomiest covert of the garden.The night ere my departure to the army, She, nothing trembling, led me through that gloom, And to that covert by a silent stream, Which, with one star reflected near its marge, Was the sole object visible around me. No leaflet stirred; the air was almost sultry; So deep, so dark, so close, the umbrage o'er us! No leaflet stirred ;-yet pleasure hung upon The gloom and stillness of the balmy night-air. A little further on an arbour stood, Fragrant with flowering trees-I well remember What an uncertain glimmer in the darkness Their snow-white blossoms made-thither she led
To that sweet bower! Then Oropeza trembled— I heard her heart beat-if 'twere not my own. Sandoval. A rude and scaring note, my friend. Earl Henry. Oh! no!
I have small memory of aught but pleasure. The inquietudes of fear, like lesser streams Still flowing, still were lost in those of love: So love grew mightier from the fear, and Nature, Fleeing from pain, sheltered herself in joy. The stars above our heads were dim and steady, Like eyes suffused with rapture.-Life was in us : We were all life, each atom of our frames A living soul-I vowed to die for her:
With the faint voice of one who, having spoken, Relapses into blessedness, I vowed it: That solemn vow, a whisper scarcely heard, A murmur breathed against a lady's ear. Oh! there is joy above the name of pleasure, Deep self-possession, an intense repose. Sandoval [with a sarcastic smile]. No other than as eastern sages paint,
The God, who floats upon a lotos leaf, Dreams for a thousand ages; then awaking, Creates a world, and smiling at the bubble, Relapses into bliss.
Feared as an alien, and too vast for man? For suddenly, impatient of its silence, Did Oropeza, starting, grasp my forehead. I caught her arms; the veins were swelling on them.
Through the dark bower she sent a hollow voice ;- "Oh! what if all betray me? what if thou?" I swore, and with an inward thought that seemed The purpose and the substance of my being,
I swore to her, that were she red with guilt, I would exchange my unblenched state with hers.- Friend! by that winding passage, to that bower I now will go-all objects there will teach me Unwavering love, and singleness of heart. Go, Sandoval! I am prepared to meet her— Say nothing of me-I myself will seek her- Nay, leave me, friend! I cannot bear the torment And keen inquiry of that scanning eye.―
[Earl Henry retires into the wood.] Sandoval [alone]. O Henry! always striv'st thou to be great
By thine own act—yet art thou never great But by the inspiration of great passion.
The whirl-blast comes, the desert-sands rise up And shape themselves from earth to heaven
As though they were the pillars of a temple, Built by Omnipotence in its own honour ! But the blast pauses, and their shaping spirit Is fled the mighty columns were but sand, And lazy snakes trail o'er the level ruins!
TO AN UNFORTUNATE WOMAN,
WHOM THE AUTHOR HAD KNOWN IN THE DAYS OF HER INNOCENCE.
MYRTLE-LEAF that, ill besped,
Pinest in the gladsome ray, Soiled beneath the common tread, Far from thy protecting spray!
When the partridge o'er the sheaf Whirred along the yellow vale, Sad I saw thee, heedless leaf! Love the dalliance of the gale.
Lightly didst thou, foolish thing! Heave and flutter to his sighs, While the flatterer, on his wing, Wooed and whispered thee to rise
Gaily from thy mother-stalk
Wert thou danced and wafted high—
Soon on this unsheltered walk
Flung to fade, to rot and die
« ZurückWeiter » |