But high in amphitheatre above,
His arms the everlasting aloes threw: Breathed but an air of heaven, and all the grove As if with instinct living spirit grew, Rolling its verdant gulfs of every hue; And now suspended was the pleasing din, Now from a murmur faint it swelled anew, Like the first note of organ heard within Cathedral aisles,-ere yet its symphony begin.
It was in this lone valley she would charm The ling'ring noon, where flow'rs a couch had strown; Her cheek reclining, and her snowy arm On hillock by the palm-tree half o'ergrown; And aye that volume on her lap is thrown, Which every heart of human mould endears;
With Shakspeare's self she speaks and smiles alone, And no intruding visitation fears,
[tears. To shame th' unconscious laugh, or stop her sweetest
And nought within the grove was heard or seen But stockdoves plaining through its gloom profound, Or winglet of the fairy humming bird,
Like atoms of the rainbow fluttering round; When lo! there entered to its inmost ground A youth, the stranger of a distant land; He was, to weet, for eastern mountains bound; But late th' equator suns his cheek had tanned, And California's gales his roving bosom fanned.
A steed, whose rein hung loosely o'er his arm, He led dismounted; ere his leisure pace,
Amid the brown leaves, could her ear alarm, Close he had come, and worshipped for a space Those downcast features :--she her lovely face Uplift on one whose lineaments and frame Were youth and manhood's intermingled grace: Iberian seemed his boot-his robe the same, And well the Spanish plume his lofty looks became. XIV.
For Albert's home he sought-her finger fair Has pointed where the father's mansion stood. Returning from the copse he soon was there ; And soon has Gertrude hied from dark green wood; Nor joyless, by the converse understood, Between the man of age and pilgrim young,
That gay congeniality of mood,
And early liking from acquaintance sprung:
Full fluently conversed their guest in England's tongue.
And well could he his pilgrimage of taste
Unfold, and much they loved his fervid strain, While he each fair variety retrac'd
Of climes, and manners, o'er the eastern main: Now happy Switzer's hills,-romantic Spain,- Gay lilied fields of France, or, more refined, The soft Ausonia's monumental reign;
Nor less each rural image he designed,
Than all the city's pomp and home of human kind.
Anon some wilder portraiture he draws;
Of Nature's savage glories he would speak,- The loneliness of earth that overawes,- Where, resting by some tomb of old cacique,
The lama driver on Peruvia's peak,
Nor living voice nor motion marks around; F
But storks that to the boundless forest shriek,
Or wild-cane arch high flung o'er gulf profound,* That fluctuates when the storms of El Dorado sound.
Pleased with his guest, the good man still would ply Each earnest question, and his converse court; But Gertrude, as she eyed him, knew not why A strange and troubling wonder stopt her short. In England thou hast been,—and, by report,
An orphan's name (quoth Albert) may'st have known: Sad tale!-when latest fell our frontier fort,-
One innocent-one soldier's child-alone
Was spared, and brought to me, who loved him as my
Young Henry Waldegrave! three delightful years These very walls his infant sports did see; But most I loved him when his parting tears Alternately bedewed my child and me: His sorest parting, Gertrude, was from thee; Nor half its grief his little heart could hold: By kindred he was sent for o'er the sea,
They tore him from us when but twelve years old, And scarcely for his loss have I been yet consoled."
His face the wand'rer hid,—but could not hide A tear, a smile, upon his cheek that dwell;— "And speak, mysterious stranger!" (Gertrude cried) "It is !-it is!-I knew-I knew him well!
"Tis Waldegrave's self of Waldegrave come to tell!
*The bridges over narrow streams in many parts of Spanish America are said to be built of cane, which however strong to support the passengers, are yet waved in the agitation of the storm, and frequently add to the effect of a mountainous and picturesque scenery.
A burst of joy the father's lips declare; But Gertrude speechless on his bosom fell: At once his open arms embraced the pair, Was never group more blest, in this wide world of care.
"And will ye pardon then (replied the youth) Your Waldegrave's feigned name, and false attire ? I durst not in the neighbourhood, in truth, The very fortunes of your house inquire; Lest one that knew me might some tidings dire Impart, and I my weakness all betray; For had I lost my Gertrude, and my sire,
I meant but o'er your tombs to weep a day, Unknown I meant to weep, unknown to pass away.
"But here ye live,-ye bloom,-in each dear face The changing hand of time I may not blame; For there, it hath but shed more reverend And here, of beauty perfected the frame; And well I know your hearts are still the same, They could not change-ye look the very way, As when an orphan first to you I came. And have ye heard of my poor guide, I pray? Nay, wherefore weep we, friends, on such a joyous day?"
"And art thou here? or is it but a dream?
And wilt thou, Waldegrave, wilt thou leave us more ?”– “No, never! thou that yet dost lovelier seem Than aught on earth-than ev'n thyself of yore- I will not part thee from thy father's shore; But we shall cherish him with mutual arms, And hand in hand again the path explore,
Which every ray of young remembrance warms,
While thou shalt be my own with all thy truth and
At morn, as if beneath a galaxy
Of over-arching graves in blossoms white, Where all was od'rous scent and harmony, And gladness to the heart, nerve, ear, and sight: There if, oh gentle love! I read aright, The utterance that sealed thy sacred bond, "Twas list'ning to these accents of delight, She hid upon his breast those eyes, beyond Expression's power to paint, all languishingly fond.
"Flower of my life, so lovely, and so lone! Whom I would rather in this desert meet, Scorning, and scorned by fortune's power, than own Her pomp and splendours lavished at my feet! Turn not from me thy breath, more exquisite
Than odours cast on heaven's own shrine-to please- Give me thy love, than luxury more sweet, And more than all the wealth that loads the breeze, When Coromandel's ships return from Indian seas.'
Then would that home admit them-happier far Than grandeur's most magnificent saloon, While here and there, a solitary star
Flushed in the dark'ning firmament of June; And silence brought the soul-felt hour, full soon, Ineffable, which I may not portray;
For never did the Hymenean moon
A paradise of hearts more sacred sway,
In all that slept beneath her soft voluptuous ray.
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