She wound her way within a heavy shade Of arching boughs, in broad-spread leaves arrayed;Which, clustering close and thick, shut out the light, And tinged with black the shadowy robe of night;Save here and there a melancholy spark Of flickering moonshine glimmered through the dark, Cheerless and dim, as when upon a pall, Through suffering tears, the looks of sorrow fall;But opening farther on, on either side A wider space the severing trees divide;And longer gleams upon the pathway meet, And the soft grass is wet beneath her feet.
And now emerging from the darksome shade, She pressed the silken carpet of the glade.
Beyond the green, within its western close, A little vine-hung, leafy arbor rose, Where the pale lustre of the moony flood Dimm'd the vermillion'd woodbine's scarlet bud;And glancing through the foliage fluttering round, In tiny circles gemm'd the freckled ground.
Beside the porch, beneath the friendly screen Of two tall trees, a mossy bank was seen;And all around, amid the silvery dew, The wild-wood pansy rear'd her petals blue;And gold cups and the meadow cowslip red, Upon the evening air their odours shed.
Unheeded all the grove's deep gloom had been, Unseen the moonlight brightness of the green;In vain the stream's blue burnish met her eye, Lovely its wave, but pass'd unnoticed by:
The airs of heaven had breath'd around her brow Their cooling sighs - she felt them not - but now That lonely bower appeared, and with a start Convulsive shudders thrill'd her throbbing heart.
For there, in days, alas! for ever gone, When love's young torch with beams of rapture shone, When she had felt her heart's impassioned swell, And almost deem'd her Leon loved as well;There had she sat, beneath the evening skies, Felt his warm kiss and heard his murmur'd sighs;Hung on his breast, caressing and carest, Her husband smiled, and Ellinor was blest.
And when his injured country's rights to shield, Blazed his red banner on the battle field, There had she lingered in the shadows dim, And sat till morning watch and thought of him;And wept to think that she might not be there, His toils, his dangers, and his wounds to share.
And when the foe had bowed beneath his brand, And to his home he led his conquering band, There she first caught his long-expected face, And sprung to smile and weep in his embrace.
These scenes of bliss across her memory fled, Like lights that haunt the chambers of the dead, She saw the bower, and read the image there Of joys that had been, and of woes that were;She clench'd her hand in agony, and cast A glance of tears upon it as she past, A look of weeping sorrow - 'twas the last!
She check'd the gush of feeling, turned her face, And faster sped along her hurried pace.
No longer now from Leon's lips were heard The sigh of bliss - the rapture breathing word;No longer now upon his features dwelt The glance that sweetly thrills - the looks that melt;No speaking gaze of fond attachment told, But all was dull and gloomy, sad and cold.
Yet he was kind, or laboured to be kind, And strove to hide the workings of his mind;And cloak'd his heart, to soothe his wife's distress, Under a mask of tender gentleness.
It was in vain - for ah! how light and frail To love's keen eye is falsehood's gilded veil.
Sweet winning words may for a time beguile, Professions lull, and oaths deceive a while;But soon the heart, in vague suspicion tost, Must feel a void unfilled, a something lost;Something scarce heeded, and unprized till gone, Felt while unseen, and, tho' unnoticed, known:
A hidden witchery, a nameless charm, Too fine for actions and for words too warm;That passing all the worthless forms of art, Eludes the sense, and only woos the heart:
A hallowed spell, by fond affection wove, The mute, but matchless eloquence of love!
* * * *
Oh! there were times, when to my heart there came All that the soul can feel, or fancy frame;The summer party in the open air, When sunny eyes and cordial hearts were there;Where light came sparkling thro' the greenwood eaves, Like mirthful eyes that laugh upon the leaves;Where every bush and tree in all the scene, In wind-kiss'd wavings shake their wings of green, And all the objects round about dispense Reviving freshness to the awakened sense;The golden corslet of the humble bee, The antic kid that frolics round the lea;Or purple lance-flies circling round the place, On their light shards of green, an airy race;Or squirrel glancing from the nut-wood shade An arch black eye, half pleas'd and half afraid;Or bird quick darting through the foliage dim, Or perched and twittering on the tendril slim;Or poised in ether sailing slowly on, With plumes that change and glisten in the sun, Like rainbows fading into mist - and then, On the bright cloud renewed and changed again;Or soaring upward, while his full sweet throat Pours clear and strong a pleasure-speaking note;And sings in nature's language wild and free, His song of praise for light and liberty.
And when within, with poetry and song, Music and books led the glad hours along;Worlds of the visioned minstrel, fancy-wove, Tales of old time, of chivalry and love;Or converse calm, or wit-shafts sprinkled round, Like beams from gems, too light and fine to wound;With spirits sparkling as the morning's sun, Light as the dancing wave he smiles upon, Like his own course - alas! too soon to know Bright suns may set in storms, and gay hearts sink in wo.
