Page images
PDF
EPUB

IV.

The sky is blue, without a cloud,
Save where, in the glowing west,
A cloudlet skirts the azure main,
Like a traveller o'er a distant plain,
To the city of the blest!

V.

And the sea is calm-the ship seems fix'd

Upon its waters blue;

With gleaming sails and body dark,

As if it were a painted bark,

Without a living crew!

VI.

Deep down, in the silent under-world
The plants are fair to see;
In many a group together grown,—
Or spreading their stately leaves alone,
In the heart of the heaving sea.

VII.

And deep in the shadow of the rock,
Where the silver fringed flowers
Hang down their delicate drapery,
The finny tribe, with merry glee,

Drive on the sportive hours.

VIII.

A thousand little creatures wheel,

In many a winding way;
Now mingled in a joyous reel,
Now mimic warriors in their steel,
Drawn up in bright array!

IX.

How beautiful those creatures are!
How sportive, fresh, and free!
Can they too deem of crime and care,
Or lead, within those forms so fair,
A life of misery?

X.

Ah! surely sorrow never dwells
Amid that glancing throng,
Unfearing Death, unknown to strife,

They sport away their little life,

The sunny waves among.

XI.

In the pearly bark of the Nautilus

The Ocean Fairy glides;

Amid the cluster'd coral groves,

That spread in the fathomless haunts she loves, Beneath the flowing tides.

XII.

With brighter gems than Earth e'er saw They deck their braided hair:

Upon their necks and bosoms bright,

Half hid, half stealing into sight,

A sea green robe they wear.

XIII.

Oh! who may tell the loveliness
Of this bright company!

Or the music that fills each Ocean hall,
When the Fairies hold their festival

In the depths of the Summer sea!

XIV.

The fairest bird that sees the sky

Floats on the Ocean waves;
And lovelier forms and fairer flowers
Than ever dwelt in earthly bowers,

Are in her sounding caves!

XV.

O blue and bright and beautiful,

And ever shouting Sea!

I would that I could leave the land,

And, lightly leaping from the strand,
Become a child of thee!

THE TRYSTING STONE.

4440

Beside the ruin'd chapel, in the dell,

There stands an aged hawthorn, spreading wide
His moss-grown branches: in the summer time
He sheds a shower of white and withered blossoms
On a stone seat beneath-THE TRYSTING STONE.
There in the olden time the holy men

Who dwelt within yon gray and mouldering walls
Would oft retire in the cool evening hour,
By sweet and pensive contemplation led.

But they are gone: their temples are cast down,
Their altars desecrated, and their faith

Become the scorn and by-word of the world.
Alas! that men should for Religion's sake
Nourish and vent upon their fellow men
The savage passions which she bids them quell!
Amid the wreck of the old chapel's splendour
This little seat remains: there many a scrawl,
Cut in the stone, of lover's names entwin'd,
Trac'd by the trembling hand of passionate love,
Is fading fast away. Three centuries
Have pass'd since first the Trysting Stone became
The haunt of youthful lovers :-ah! since then
What a sad wreck of all the loves it witness'd!

Death hath slain Love in many a burning bosom ;
And Time has conquered many ;-some have felt
The fearful pangs of Jealousy succeed

To the fierce passion of their headlong youth;

Most have sunk down into the apathy

Which waits all early joys;—some have been faithless: I've a brief tale of such an one to tell.

"

Beneath yon little plot of darkest green
Near the old carved gateway of the chapel,
There is a lonely grave:—a rich laburnum
Flings down its showers of gold upon the turf—
So fall the purity and joys of youth!

'Tis Ellen Beaumont's grave: she fixed her love.
Beneath her own degree: gentle he seem'd,
And he was fair and tall, and in his speech
Youthful enthusiasm seem'd to breathe

Its truthful music;-ah! well might she deem-
So well he play'd his part-that he was true.
But Henry Sitwell had a sordid soul,

So wed to base ambition-avarice

And lust of power, that he did hold affection

But as a minister to these desires.

And so it was, that rising in the world

(The busy world—whose cares like thorns do spring To choke the sweet and dewy flower of Love!)

He did forget his plighted vows to Ellen.
She saw his growing coldness, and she felt
Its gradual distinctness grasp her heart,
Crushing its hopes and impulses to dust!
Yet scorned she to complain;-for well she knew
That Henry never could have been to her

« PreviousContinue »