Like eyes suffused with rapture. Life was in us : A living soul-I vow'd to die for her: With the faint voice of one who, having spoken, That solemn vow, a whisper scarcely heard, 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, Earl HENRY. Ah! was that bliss Fear'd 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. Oh! what if all betray me? what if thou? I swore, and with an inward thought that seem'd The purpose and the substance of my being, I swore to her, that were she red with guilt, I would exchange my unblench'd state with hers.- Go, Sandoval! I am prepar'd to meet her- Nay, leave me, friend! I cannot bear the torment [Earl HENRY retires into the wood. SANDOVAL (alone.) O Henry! always striv'st thou to be great The whirl-blast comes, the desert-sands rise up And shape themselves: from Earth to Heaven they stand, As tho' they were the pillars of a temple, Built by Omnipotence in its own honor! 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, When the Partridge o'er the sheaf Sad I saw thee, heedless leaf! Love the dalliance of the gale. Lightly didst thou, foolish thing! While the flatterer, on his wing, Wooed and whisper'd thee to rise. Gaily from thy mother-stalk Wert thou danced and wafted high Soon on this unshelter'd walk Flung to fade, to rot and die. TO AN UNFORTUNATE WOMAN At the Theatre. MAIDEN, that with sullen brow Him who lured thee and forsook, Fearful saw his pleading look, Soft the glances of the youth, Soft his speech, and soft his sigh; But no sound like simple truth, But no true love in his eye. Loathing thy polluted lot, Hie thee, Maiden, hie thee hence ! Seek thy weeping Mother's cot, With a wiser innocence. Thou hast known deceit and folly, With a musing melancholy Inly arm'd, go, Maiden! go. Mother sage of Self-dominion, Firm thy steps, O Melancholy !, The strongest plume in wisdom's pinion Is the memory of past folly.. Mute the sky-lark and forlorn, While she moults the firstling plumes, That had skimm'd the tender corn, Or the bean-field's odorous blooms. Soon with renovated wing Shall she dare a loftier flight, Upward to the day-star spring And embathe in heavenly light. |