Fair, faultless forms, glide there with wing-like
Bright as young Peris rising from the ocean!
Eve darkened down-and yet they were not gone;
The sky had changed,—the sudden storm came on!
ONE waved on high a ruby sparkling bowl-
(Youth, passion, wine, ran riot in his soul)—
"Fill to the brim," he cried, "let others peer
Their doubtful path to heaven ;-my heaven is here!
This hour is mine, and who can dash its bliss?
Fate dare not darken such an hour as this!"
Then stooped to quaff;-but (as a charm were thrown)
His hand, his lips, grew motionless as stone;
His drunkenness of heart no more deceives--
The thunder growls, the surge-smote vessel heaves;
And while aghast he stared, a hurrying squall
Rent the wide awning, and discovered all!
Across their eyes the hissing lightning blazed—
The black wave burst beside them as they gazed;
And dizzily the thick surf scattered o'er them;
And dim and distant loomed the land before them;
No longer firm-the eternal hills did leave
Their solid rest, and heaved, or seemed to heave.
O, 'twas an awful moment !-for the crew
Had rashly, deeply drank, while yet they knew
No ruling eye was on them-and became
Wild as the tempest! Peril could not tame--
Nay, stirred their brutal hearts to more excess ;
Round the deserted banquet-board they press,
Like men transformed to fiends, with oath and yell !
And many deemed the sea less terrible
Than maniacs fiercely ripe for all, or aught,
That ever flashed upon a desperate thought!
Strange laughter mingled with the shriek and groan-
Nor woman shrank, nor woman wept alone.
Some, as a bolt had smote them, fell;-and some
Stared haggard wild :-dismay had struck them dumb.
There were of firmer nerve, or fiercer cast,
Who scowled defiance back upon the blast-
Half scorning in their haughty souls to be
Thus pent and buffeted. And tenderly,
Even then, to manly hearts fair forms were drawn,
Whose virgin eyes had never shed their dawn
Before-soft, beautifully shy-to flush
A lover's hope; but as the dove will rush
Into the school-boy's bosom to elude
The swooping goshawk-woman, thus subdued,
Will cling to those she shunned in lighter mood-
The soul confess emotions but concealed-
Pure, glowing, deep, though lingeringly revealed ;
That true chamelion which imbibes the tone
Of every passion hue she pauses on!
O, 'tis the cheek that's false-so subtly taught
It takes not of its colour from the thought;
But like volcanic mountains veiled in snow,
Hides the heart's lava, while it works below!
And there were two who loved, but never told
Their love to one another: years had rolled
Since Passion touched them with his purple wing,
Though still their youth was in its blossoming.
Lofty of soul, as riches were denied,
He deemed it mean to woo a wealthy bride;
And (for her tears were secret) coldly she
Wreathed her pale brow in maiden dignity;
Yet each had caught the other's eye reposing,
And, far as looks disclose, the truth disclosing;
But when they met, pride checked the soul's warm
sigh,
And froze the melting spirit of the eye :-
A pride in vulgar hearts that never shone.
And thus they loved, and silently loved on;
But this was not a moment when the head
Could trifle with the heart! The cloud that spread
Its chilling veil between them, now had past-
Too long awaking-but they woke at last!
He rushed where clung the fainting fair one-
To soothe with hopes he felt not, cherished not;
And while in passionate support he pressed,
She raised her eyes-then swiftly on his breast
Hid her blanched cheek-as if resigned to share
The worst with him ;-nay, die contented there!
That silent act was fondly eloquent ;
And to the youth's deep soul, like lightning, sent
A gleam of rapture-exquisite, yet brief,
As his (poor wretch) that in the grave of grief
Feels Fortune's sun burst on him, and looks up
With hope to heaven-forgetful of the cup,
The deadly cup his shivering hand yet strained-
A hot heart-pang reminds him--it is drained!
Away with words! for when had true love ever
A happy star to bless it ?-Never, never!
And oh, the brightest after-smile of Fate
Is but a sad reprieve, which comes--too late!
The riot shout pealed on ;-but deep distress
Had sunk all else in utter hopelessness!
One marked the strife of frenzy and despair-
The most concerned, and yet the calmest there;
In bitterness of soul beheld his crew-
He should have known them, and he thought he knew;
The blood-hound on the leash may fawn, obey-
He'll tear thee, shouldst thou cross him at his prey!
One only trust survives, a doubtful one-
But O, how cherished, every other gone!
"While hold our cables, fear not."--As he spoke
A sea burst o'er them, and their cables broke!
Then, like a lion bounding from the toil,
The ship shot through the billow's black recoil;
Urged by the howling blast-all guidance gone-
They shuddering felt her reeling, rushing on-
Nor dared to question where; nor dared to cast
One asking look-for that might be their last!
What frowns so steep in front-a cliff? a rock?
The groaning vessel staggers in the shock!
The last shriek rings.
Hark! whence that voice they hear
Loud o'er the rushing waters-loud and near?
Alas! they dream!-'tis but the ocean roar !—
Oh no! it echoes from the swarming shore!
Kind Heaven, thy hand was there. With swelling bound
The vast waves heaved the giant hull aground;
And, ebbing with the turning tide, became,
Like dying monsters, impotent and tame ;
Wedged in the sand their chafing can no more
Than lave her sides, and deaden with their roar
The clamorous burst of joy. But some there were
Whose joy was voiceless as their late despair-
Whose heavenward eyes, clasped hands, and stream-
ing cheeks,
Did speak a language which the lip ne'er speaks!
O, he were heartless, in that passionate hour,
Who could not feel that weakness hath its power,
When gentle woman, sobbing and subdued,
Breathed forth her vow of holy gratitude,
Warm as the contrite Mary's, when-forgiven-
An angel smiled, recording it in heaven!
WRITTEN IN THE CHURCHYARD OF RICHMOND, YORKSHIRE.
It is good for us to be here: if thou wilt, let us make here three Tabernacles, one for thee, one for Moses, and one for Elias.
METHINKS it is good to be here,
If thou wilt, let us build-but for whom?
Nor Elias nor Moses appear;
But the shadows of eve that encompass with gloom
The abode of the dead and the place of the tomb.
Shall we build to Ambition? Ah no!
Affrighted, he shrinketh away,—
For see, they would pin him below
In a dark narrow cave, and, begirt with cold clay,
To the meanest of reptiles a peer and a prey.
To Beauty? Ah no! she forgets
The charms which she wielded before;
Nor knows the foul worm that he frets
The skin that but yesterday fools could adore,
For the smoothness it held, or the tint which it wore.
Shall we build to the purple of Pride,
The trappings which dizen the proud?
Alas! they are all laid aside,
And here's neither dress nor adornment allowed
Save the long winding-sheet and the fringe of the Shroud.
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