Oft to a creek, in Shakspeare's haunted stream, What time the noon invites of song to dream, Where stately oak with silver poplar weaves The hospitable shade of amorous leaves,
And, lightly swerved by winding shores askance, The limpid river wreathes its flying dance, Young Constance came;— a bank with wild flowers drest As for a fairy's sleep, her sylvan rest.
Behind, the woodlands, opening, left a glade, With swards all sunshine in the midst of shade; Save where pale lilacs droop'd against the ray Around the cot which meekly shunn'd the day:
But stern and high, above the deep repose Of vale and wave, the towers of Ruthven rose; Like souls unshelter'd because high they are, The nearer heaven the more from peace afar;
Built by the mighty Architect, to form Bulwarks for man, and battle with the storm; To soar and suffer with defying crest, And guard the humble, not partake their rest.
A lonely spot! at times a passing oar Dash'd the wave quicker to the gradual shore; But swift, as, when some footfall nears her lair, Starts the fond cushat from her tender care,
SILENCE came back, with wings that seem'd to brood In watch more loving over solitude. Thus Constance sate, by some sweet sorcerer's rhyme Charm'd into worlds beyond the marge of Time,
When a dim shadow o'er the herbage stole, And light boughs stirr'd above the violet knoll; In vain the shadow stole, the light bough stirr'd, Her sense yet spell-bound by the magic word;
Spell-bound no less, his steps the stranger stay'd — And gazed as Cymon on the sleeping Maid.— And, oh! that brow so angel-clear from guile, That childlike lip unconscious of its smile,
That virgin bloom where blushes went and came From deeps of feeling never stirr'd by shame, Seem'd like the Una of the Poet's page Charm'd into life by some bright Archimage.
Not till each gaudier Venus crowds adore, And desecrate adoring — dupes no more, Comes the true Goddess, by her blushes known — The dove her symbol, innocence her zone!
At the first glance her birth the Urania proves. Heaven smiles, and Nature blossoms where she moves. The virgin rose; the gazer quick withdrew; The favouring thicket closed her form from view.
Slow went she homeward up the sunlit ground; Unseen he followed, where the woodlands wound; The spell that first arrested now lured on, And in that spell a frown from earth seem'd gone.
As in the languid noon of summer day Birds fold the pinion and suspend the lay — So hopes lie silent in the human heart Till all at once the choirs to music start,
From the long hush rejoicing wings arise, Sport round the blooms, or glance into the skies. She gain'd the cot; irresolute he stood, Where the wall ceased amidst the circling wood,
When voices rude and sudden jarr'd his ear, And thro’ the din came woman's wail of fear; Then all grew silent as he gain'd the door Which gaped ajar;— he cross'd the threshold floor:
Now sounds more low;— he still pass'd on and saw, Track'd to its covert, Want at bay with Law.— The Daughter clinging to the Father's breast; The Father's struggle from the clasp that press'd;
The hard officials, with familiar leer And ribald comfort barb'd with cynic sneer; On these, the Lord of lavish thousands glanced, Law louted lowly as that Wealth advanced.
“And what this old Man's crime?” — “My orders say,” Quoth Law, and smiled — “a debt he cannot pay!” Then from his child the poor proud captive broke — Sign'd to the door — raised moistening eyes, and spoke —
“I thank thee, Heaven! that in my prosperous time I was not harsh to others — for this crime; Sirs, I am ready!” — Ere the word was o'er, The parchment fell in fragments on the floor.
“The crime is rased!” cried Wealth.— “My Lord,” said Law, “I humbly thank your Lordship, and withdraw.” Hat'st thou the world, O Misanthrope, austere? Do one kind act, and all the world grows dear!
Say'st thou — “Alas, kind acts requited ill, Made me loathe men!” — I answer, “Do them still.” On its own wings should Good itself upbuoy; Rejoicing heaven, because it feels but joy.—
Oft from that date did Ruthven gaily come, Where hope, revived, with Constance found a home; Well did he soothe the griefs his host had known, But well — too proud for pity — veil'd his own.
Silent, he watch'd the gentle daughter's soul, Scann'd every charm, and peerless found the whole, He spoke not love; and if his looks betray'd, The anxious Sire was wiser than the Maid.
Still, ever listening, on her lips he hung, Hush'd when she spoke — enraptured when she sung; And when the hues her favourite art bestow'd, Like a new hope from the fair fancy glow'd,
As the cold canvas with the image warms, As from the blank start forth the breathing forms, So would he look within him, and compare With those mute shapes the new-born phantoms there.
Upon the mind, as on the canvas rose, The young fresh world the Ideal only knows; The world of which both Art and Passion are Builders;— to this so near — from this so far.
What music charm'd the verse on which she gazed!— How doubly dear the poet that she praised! And when he spoke, and from the affluent mind That books had stored, and intercourse refined,
Pour'd forth the treasures,— still his choice addrest To her mild heart what seem'd to please it best; And yet the maiden dream'd not that he loved Who flatter'd never, and at times reproved —
Reproved — but, oh, so tenderly! and ne'er But for such faults as soils the purest bear; A trust too liberal in our common race, Dividing scarce the noble from the base,
A sight too dazzled by the outward hues — A sense though clear, too timid to refuse; Yielding the course that it would fain pursue, Still to each guide that proffer'd it the clue;
And that soft shrinking into self — allied, If half to Diffidence — yet half to Pride. He loved her, and she loved him not; revered His lofty nature, and in reverence fear'd.
The glorious gifts — the kingly mind she saw, Yet seeing felt not tenderness, but awe. And the dark beauty of his musing eye Chill'd back the heart, from which it woo'd reply:
Harcourt — the gay — the prodigal of youth, Still charm'd her fancy, while he chain'd her truth. Seaton, meanwhile, the heart of Ruthven read, With hopes which robb'd the future of its dread;
Could he but live to see his child the bride Of one so wise, so kind, lover at once and guide! Silent at first, at last the deeps o'er-flow' d. One eve they sate without their calm abode,
Father and Child, and mark'd the vermeil glow Of clouds that floated where the sun set slow; But on the opposing towers of Ruthven shone The last sweet splendour, and when gradual gone,
Left to the space above that grand decay The rosiest tints, and last to fade away. The Father mused; then with impulsive start Turn'd and drew Constance closer to his heart,
Murmuring — “Ah, there, let but thy lot be cast, And Fate withdraws all sadness from the past. Blest be the storm that wreck'd us, here to find One whom my soul had singled from mankind
If mine the palace still, and his the cot,— For that sweet prize which Fortune withers not.” Then, wrapt too fondly in his tender dream To note his listener, he pursues the theme.
Pale as the dead, she hears his gladness speak, Sees the rare smile illume the careworn cheek; Dear if the lover in her sunny day, More dear the Sire since sunshine pass'd away.
How dare to say,— “No, let thy smile depart, And take back sorrow from a daughter's heart?” And while they sate, along the sward below Came Ruthven's stately form, and footstep slow;
She saw — she fled — her chamber gain'd — and there Sobb'd out that grief which youth believes despair. Thenceforth her solitude was desolate; Forebodings chill'd her as a shade from Fate.
At Ruthven's step her colour changed — and dread Hush'd her low voice: such signs his hope misled. Hope, to its own vain dreams the idle seer, Whisper'd — “First love comes veil'd in virgin fear!”
And now, o'er Harcourt's image, as the rust O'er the steel mirror, crept at length distrust. The ordeal year already pass'd away, And still no voice came o'er the dreary sea;
No faithful joy to cry — “The ordeal's past, And loved as ever, thou art mine at last.” But Ruthven's absence now, if not to grief, At least to one vague terror, gave relief:
For days, for weeks, some cause, unknown to all, Had won the lonely Master from his hall.— Much Seaton marvell'd! half disposed to blame; } “Gone, and no word ev'n absence to proclaim!” }
When, sudden as he went, the truant came. } Franker his brow, and brighter was his look, And with a warmer clasp his host's wan hand he took: “Joy to thee, friend, thy race is not yet o'er,
Thy fortunes still thy genius shall restore: Thy house from ruin reascends, to stand Firm as of old, a column of the land.— Joy, Seaton, joy!” — “O mock me not — Explain!
The bark once sunk beneath the obdurate main, No tide throws up!” — “New galleons Fortune gives. Fortune ne'er dies for him whose honour lives.” — “Is fortune not the usurer?— Kind while yet
The hand that borrows may repay the debt; When all is lavish'd, she hath nought to lend!” “But can she give not? Hast thou call'd me Friend?” He paused, and glanced on Constance — while his breast
Heaved with the tumult which the lip represt. Till she, but looking on her father's face, In his joy joyous,— sprang from his embrace, Before the Benefactor paused, and bow'd;
Falter'd a blessing, knelt, and wept aloud: “Not there, not there, O Constance,” Ruthven cried, “Here be thy place — for ever side by side! Thanks — and to me!— Ah no! the boon be thine,
Thy heart the generous, and the grateful mine. Oh pardon — if my soul its suit delay'd Till the world's dross the worldly equal made; And left to thee to grant and me receive
Man's earliest treasures — Paradise and Eve! Beloved one, speak! Not mine the silver tongue, And toil leaves manhood nought that lures the young; But in these looks is truth — these accents, love:
And in thy faith all that survive above The graves of Time, as in Elysium meet!— Hope flies to thee as to its last retreat.” Speechless she heard — till, as he paused, the voice
Of the fond Sire usurp'd and doom'd the choice: “May she repay thee!” In his own he drew Her hand and Ruthven's, smiled and join'd the two — “Ah! could I make thee happy,” — thus she said
And ceased:— her sentence in his eyes she read — Eyes that the rashness of delight reveal: Love gave the kiss, and Fate received the seal.
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