Изображения страниц

And bid us listen ! and I deem it wise
To make him Nature's playmate. He knows well
The evening star: and once when he awoke
In most distressful mood (some inward pain
Had made up that strange thing, an infants dream)
I hurried with him to our orchard plot,
And he beholds the moon, and hushed at once
Suspends his sobs, and laughs most silently,
While his fair eyes that swam with undropt tears
Did glitter in the yellow moon-beam! Well-
It is a father's tale. But if that Heaven
Should give me life, his childhood shall grow up
Familiar with these songs, that with the night
He may associate joy! Once more farewell,
Sweet Nightingale ! once more, my friends ! farewell.



All thoughts, all passions, all delights,
Whatever stirs this mortal frame,
All are but ministers of Love,

And feed his sacred flame.

Oft in my waking dreams do I
Live o'er again that happy hour,
When midway on the mount I lay

Beside the ruined tower.

The moonshine stealing o'er the scene
Had blended with the lights of eve;
And she was there, my hope, my joy,

My own dear Genevieve!
She lean'd against the armed man,
The statue of the armed knight:


[ocr errors]

That sometimes from the savage den,
And sometimes from the darksome shade,
And sometimes starting up at once,

In green and sunny glade,
There came, and looked him in the face,
An angel beautiful and bright;
And that he knew, it was a fiend,

This miserable Knight!

And how, unknowing what he did,
He leap'd amid a murd'rous band,
And saved from outrage worse than death

The Lady of the Land;

And how she wept and clasped his knees,
And how she tended him in vain-
And ever strvoe to expiate

The scorn, that crazed his brain :

And that she nursed him in a cave;
And how his madness went away
When on the yellow forest leaves

A dying man he lay ;
His dying words—But when I reached
That tenderest strain of all the ditty,
My falt'ring voice and pausing harp

Disturbed her soul with pity!

All impulses of soul and sense
Had thrilled my guileless Genevieve,
The music, and the doleful tale,

The rich and balmy eve;

And hopes, and fears that kindle hope
An undistinguishable throng!

« ПредыдущаяПродолжить »