"O God, forgive me! (he exclaimed) I have torn out her heart." Then Ellen shrieked, and forthwith burst Into ungentle laughter; And Mary shivered, where she sat, And never she smiled after. Carmen reliquum in futurum tempus relegatum. To-morrow! and To morrow! and To-morrow 1 WELL! If the Bard was weather-wise, who made Than those which mould yon cloud in lazy flakes, For lo the New-moon winter-bright! The coming on of rain and squally blast. And oh that even now the gust were swelling, And the slant night-shower driving loud and fast! Those sounds which oft have raised me, whilst they awed, And sent my soul abroad, Might now, perhaps, their wonted impulse give, Might startle this dull pain, and make it move and live! II. A grief without a pang, void, dark, and drear, A stifled, drowsy, unimpassioned grief, Which finds no natural outlet, no relief, In word, or sigh, or tear O Lady in this wan and heartless mood, All this long eve, so balmy and serene, Have I been gazing on the western sky, And its peculiar tint of yellow green : And still I gaze-and with how blank an eye! In its own cloudless, starless lake of blue; I see, not feel how beautiful they are! canled shy painted My genial spirits fail; III. And what can these avail To lift the smothering weight from off my breast? It were a vain endeavor, Though I should gaze forever On that green light that lingers in the west: IV. O Lady! we receive but what we give, And from the soul itself must there be sent V. O pure of heart; thou need'st not ask of me This light, this glory, this fair luminous mist, Joy, virtuous Lady! Joy that ne'er was given, Life, and Life's effluence, cloud at once and shower Which wedding Nature to us gives in dower, Undreamt of by the sensual and the proud Joy is the sweet voice, Joy the luminous cloud- And thence flows all that charms or ear or sight, All colors a suffusion from that light. VI. There was a time when, though my path was rough, This joy within me dallied with distress, And all misfortunes were but as the stuff Whence Fancy made me dreams of happiness : For hope grew round me, like the twining vine, And fruits, and foliage, not my own, seemed mine. But now afflictions bow me down to earth: Nor care I that they rob me of my mirth, But oh each visitation Suspends what nature gave me at my birth, For not to think of what I needs must feel, From my own nature all the natural man- VII. Hence, viper thoughts, that coil around my mind, I turn from you, and listen to the wind, Which long has raved unnoticed. What a scream That lute sent forth! Thou Wind, that ravest without, Tis of the rushing of a host in rout, With groans of trampled men, with smarting wounds— At once they groan with pain, and shudder with the cold! But hush! there is a pause of deepest silence! And all that noise, as of a rushing crowd, With groans and tremulous shudderings-all is over- And tempered with delight, As Otway's self had framed the tender lay, 'Tis of a little child, Upon a lonesome wild, Not far from home, but she hath lost her way: And now moans low in bitter grief and fear, And now screams loud, and hopes to make her mother hear. * Tairn is a small lake, generally if not always applied to the lakes up in the mountains, and which are the feeders of those in the valleys. This address to the Storm-wind will not appear extravagant to those who have heard it at night, and in a mountainous country. |