Or that his bliss, indeed, is bliss,
When bending o'er the death-like cheek
Of one who scarcely seems alive,
At every cold but breathing kiss,
He hears a saving angel speak-
"Thy Love will yet revive!"
Eager to speak-but in terror mute,
With chained breath and snow-soft foot,
The gentle maid whom that lady loves,
Like a gleam of light through the darkness moves,
And leaning o'er her rosy breath,
Listens in tears for sleep-or death!
Then touches with a kiss her breast,
"O, Lady, this is ghastly rest!
Awake! awake, for Jesus' sake!"
Far in her soul a thousand sighs
Are madly struggling to get free;
But that soul is like a frozen sea
That silent lies in ice and snow,
Though the deep waters boom below!
And yet a clear and silvery well,
By moonlight glimmering in its cell;
A river that doth gently sing
Around the cygnet's folded wing;
A billow on the summer deep
That flows, yet scarcely seems to flow,
Not calmer than that lady's sleep,
One blessed hour ago!
So, gently as a shepherd lifts
From a wreath of drifted snow,
A lamb that vainly on a rock
Up among the mountain clefts,
Bleats unto the heedless flock
Sunwards feeding far below.-
Even so gently Edith takes
The sighing dreamer to her breast,
Loving kisses soft and meek
Breathing o'er bosom, brow, and cheek,
For their own fair, delightful sakes,
And lays her lovely limbs at rest;
When, stirring like the wondrous flower
That blossoms at the midnight hour,
And only then-the Lady wakes!
From the heavy load set free,
Of that fearful phantasy,
Edderline lifts up her head,
And, in the fitful lustre lent
By the lone lamp, gazing round,
As listening for some far-off sound,
Leans it on her lily hand,
In beautiful bewilderment!
"Am I in some foreign land?
And who art thou that takest thy stand
Like a minister of grace
By the prisoner's haunted bed?
Walking mute thy nightly round!
Oh! speak-thy voice was like a sound Elsewhere beloved! That pitying face Reminds me of the dead!"
Again she hears her Edith speak—
Doubt, fear, and trouble leave her cheek, And suddenly returning
Remembrances all bright and fair,
Above the darkness of despair,
Like morning lights are burning;
Even as a gloomy mountain lake
From its dark sleep at once doth break,
And while afar the mists are driven,
In new-born beauty laughs to heaven!
So rising slowly from her couch,
Like a nun in humblest guise,
With one light and careless touch,
O'er the snow above her eyes
Her long dishevelled hair she tricks,
And with low sobs of gratitude
To Him who chased her dreams away,
Down kneels she in the solitude,
And with raised hands and eyes doth
Before the holy crucifix!
"My soul hath been disquieted,
And weltered with the weltering dead!
Floating all night with a corse
Over high blood-crested waves,
Or driven by a fiendish force
Down into unfathomed caves:
Blessed be God who rescued me
From that wild world of misery!
Oh! it is heaven to wake again,
To know that I have wept in vain!
That life yet warms that noble breast
Which I in mortal pangs carest,
Hurried along the foaming path,
In face of horror, fear, and wrath!
Whether his ship in roaring motion
Roll tempest-driven o'er the ocean,
Or rocking lie in pleasant sleep,
Anchored beneath the palmy steep,
Temper, O God! the sun and air
To him, my home-bound Mariner ;
And gently breathe the midnight dew
O'er him and all his gallant crew!"
The lamp is dead, but the morning peep
Faintly dawning far away,
Slowly, slowly wins its way
Through the window buried deep
In its gloomy glen of stone
A little point that shines afar,
Like a dim discovered star,
When other lights in heaven are none.
To that little cheerful shine
Turn the eyes of Edderline;
And as a cloud that long hath lain
Black amid the sullen sky,
Suddenly dissolves in rain,
And stricken by the sunlight, shines
With a thousand gorgeous lines,
Blended and braided gloriously—
So fair, so pure, so bright appears
That kneeling Lady's face of tears,
For the rain is fallen, the gloom is gone,
And her soul hath risen with the sun.
Hark! the martlet twittering by
The crevice, where her twittering brood
Beneath some shadowy wall-flower lie,
In the high air of solitude!
She alone, sky-loving bird,
In that lofty clime is heard;
But loftier far from cliff remote,
Up springs the eagle, like a thought,
And poised in heaven's resplendent zone,
Gazes a thousand fathom down,
While his wild and fitful cry
Blends together sea and sky.
And a thousand songs, I trow,
From the wakened world below,
Are ringing through the morning glow.
Music is there on the shore,
Softening sweet the billowy roar;
For bold and fair in every weather,
The seamews shrill now flock together,
Or wheeling off in lonely play,
Carry their pastimes far away,
To little isles and rocks of rest,
Scattered o'er the ocean's breast,
Where these glad creatures build their nest.
Now hymns are heard at every fountain
Where the land birds trim their wings,
And boldly booming up the mountain,
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