Fain would I linger 'mong those fairy bowers,
Aloof from manhood's feverish hopes and fears,
Where Innocence among the vernal flowers
Leads young Delight, aye laughing through his tears;
But lo! the cruel spectre Time appears,
Half hid amidst the foliage bright with bloom,
Weaving his ceaseless web of hours and years,
Still onward dyed with deeper hues of gloom—
And Death behind stands darkly-pointing to the
tomb!
Ay! Time's harsh hand for youth nor age will stay
And I must hasten with my lagging strain.
Years steal on years: the locks are wearing grey
On either parent's brow: the youthful train
Have long outgrown their childish pastimes vain :
On Arthur's manly features we may trace
High thought and feeling, checked by anxious pain;
And, in each timid maiden's milder face,
Some shade of pensive care with woman's opening
So young
- so innocent—can grief's dark cloud
Thus early o'er their hearts its shadow fling?
Affliction's angel, though he crush the proud,
Might pass the humble with relenting wing!
Yet death has not been here; nor hath the sting
Of baleful passion touched one gentle breast:
Whence then can venomed care and sorrow spring,
In this calm seat of love and pious rest?
And the dear parent twain-why look they so distressed?
Ah! evil days have fallen upon the land :
A storm that brooded long has burst at last;
And friends, like forest trees that closely stand
With roots and branches interwoven fast,
May aid awhile each other in the blast;
But as when giant pines at length give way
The groves below must share the ruin vast,
So men who seemed aloof from Fortune's sway
Fall crushed beneath the shock of loftier than they.
Even so it fared. And dark round Lynden grew
Misfortune's troubles; and foreboding fears,
That rose like distant shadows, nearer drew,
O'ercasting the calm evening of his years:
Yet still amidst the gloom fair hope appears,
A rainbow in the cloud. And, for a space,
Till the horizon closes round, or clears,
Returns our tale the enchanted paths to trace
Where youth's fond visions rise with fair but
fleeting grace.
Far up the dale, where Lynden's ruined towers
O'erlooked the valley from the old oak wood,
A lake, blue-gleaming from deep forest bowers,
Spread its fair mirror to the landscape rude:
Oft by the margin of that quiet flood,
And through the groves and hoary ruins round,
Young Arthur loved to roam in lonely mood;
Or, here, amid tradition's haunted ground,
Long silent hours to lie in mystic musings drowned.
Bold feats of war, fierce feuds of elder times,
And wilder Elfin legends,-half forgot,
And half preserved in uncouth ballad rhymes,—
Had peopled with romantic tales the spot :
And, here, save bleat of sheep, or simple note
Of shepherd's pipe far on the upland lone,
Or linnet in the bush and lark afloat
Blithe carolling, or stockdove's plaintive moan, No sound of living thing through the long day was known.
No sound-save, aye, one small brook's tinkling dash
Down the grey mossy cliffs; and, midst the lake,
The quick trout springing oft with gamesome plash;
And wild ducks rustling in the sedgy brake;
And sighing winds that scarce the willows shake;
And hum of bees among the blossomed thyme;
And pittering song of grasshoppers that make
Throughout the glowing meads their mirthful chime:
All rich and soothing sounds of summer's fragrant
prime.
Here Arthur loved to roam-a dreaming boy—
Erewhile romantic reveries to frame,
Or read adventurous tales with thrilling joy,
Till his young breast throbbed high with thirst of fame:
But with fair manhood's dawn a softer flame
'Gan mingle with his martial musings high ;
And trembling wishes,-which he feared to name,
Yet oft betrayed in many a half-drawn sigh,—
Told that the hidden shaft deep in his heart did lie.
And there were eyes that from long silken lashes
With stolen glance could spy his secret pain,——
Sweet hazel eyes, whose dewy light out-flashes
Like joyous day-spring after summer rain :
And she, the enchantress, loved the youth again
With maiden's first affection, fond and true.
-Ah! youthful love is like the tranquil main
Heaving 'neath smiling skies its bosom blue-
Beautiful as a spirit—calm but fearful too!
And forth they wander, that fair girl and boy,
To roam in gladness through the summer bowers;
Of love they talk not, but love's tender joy
Breathes from their hearts like fragrance from the flowers:
Elysium opens round them; and the hours
Glide on unheeded, till grey Twilight's shade
Wraps in its wizard shroud the ivyed towers,
And fills with mystic shapes the forest glade—
And wakes "thick-coming fancies" in strange guise
arrayed.
And oft they linger those lone haunts among,
Though darker fall the shadows of the wood,
And the witch-owl invokes with fitful song
The phantom train of Superstition's brood.
A gentle Star lights up their solitude,
And lends fair hues to all created things;
And dreams alone of beings pure and good
Hover around their hearts with angel wings -
Hearts, like sweet fountains sealed, where silent
rapture springs.
I may not here their growing passion paint,
Or their day-dreams of cloudless bliss disclose :
I may not tell how hope deferred grew faint,
When griefs and troubles in far vista rose :
As the woods tremble ere the tempest blows,
How quaked their hearts (misled by treacherous fears)
When that fell nightmare of the soul's repose,
Green Jealousy his snaky crest uprears,
Whose breath of mildew blights the cherished faith of years.
'Tis Autumn's pensive noon: no zephyr's breath
The withered foliage in the woods is shaking;
Their feeble song the mournful birds bequeath
To the sere coverts they are fast forsaking:
And now their last farewell that pair are taking;
For Arthur, bound to Indian climes, must leave
These early haunts. Each silent heart is breaking--
Yet both attempt to hide how much they grieve—
And each, deceived in turn, the other doth deceive.
How can they part?—The lake, the woods, the hills,
Speak to their pensive hearts of early days;
Remembrance woos them from the haunted rills,
And hallows every spot their eye surveys;
Some sweet memorial of their infant plays,
Some tender token of their bashful loves,
Each rock, and tree, and sheltered nook displays :
How can they part?-Nature the crime reproves,
And their commingling souls to milder purpose
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