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When waters were its grave, and man in death
Had lost his rich inheritance of joy?
0, did they weep when clouds of sin were round it,
And as a wandering planet it rolled on;
Unheard the music of the verging spheres,
Though not unseen the beauty of their brightness ?
Or purified from tears, did they behold,
With pitying eyes, our frailty and transgression ?-
But man may task his wisdom all in vain,
To light the clouded mystery of what
The free imagination may aspire to!
And reason's pinion stoops to earth again,
Tho' visionary fancy journeys on!
Now as the morning blushes o'er the hills,
And brighter glows, I'll turn my feet along
The path that winds beside the river's margin. Goes oul.)
Gertrude and a Peasant Girl, enter on the opposite sidex
This way he passed but deadly pale he was,
And his wild eye was gazing on the sky
As he would read his fate amongst the stars!
I pray thee not to follow--he might hurt thee!
GÆR. Hurt me, child !--never !- we have grown*
Together from our childhood, and since then
Never has been my name on Seymour's lips,
Except in kindness; and the early bud,
That friendship plac'd between us is full-blown
Into the flow'r of love. And think'st thou now
That he would hurt me?
Ah! I could not tell,
But then he look'd so wildly, and his cheek
Was pale as death, and then was flush'd again,
And chang'd as did my brother's ere he died !
His step was hurried too, and now and then
He stop'd and spoke, but it was to himself, -
None else was near.
Hush! child, you frighten me!
And yet say on! what heard or saw you more!
P. G. I know no more: for he had pass'd me then,
As I was standing on the trembling plank,
That bridges yonder brook. Now let us go!
Gun, Ah no!--not yet!--say, which way did he go?
P. G. He took the left hand path that leads this way,
And farı her onward to the waterfall.
O Seymour, this is then the fruit
Of thy long studies in the hours of sleep!
Thy midnight cares have blasted thee, and wither'd
The zeal and beauty of thy youth away,
And the rich pride of dawning manhood, which
An early piety kept holy, and
Free from pollution, pure, and passionless,
Unless the gush of wild and youthful feeling,
And brighter love, that knew no shade nor change,
Were deem'd thy. passions. But the glow of health
Has faded like the rainbow's tints away,
And the deep hectic flush is on his cheek,
That, like the sere red leaf in Autumn, speaks
Decay and dissolution! He is here !
SEYMOON AND GERTRUDE.
Sey. Ab Gertude! I had wish'd to meet you here,
For I have had forebodings sad and fearful,
Of coming ill; and I have risen up
To feel the morning breezes fresh and free,
Breathing along the woodland, and to hear
The cheerful song of lighter hearts than mine.
I had a dream last night, and it has left
Dark traces on my mind, who am not wont
To take much thought of dreams. But this has spoken
Of the mysterious future, with a voice
That will be heard and listen'd to, though fearful.
I thought the freshness of the morning air
Might cheer my spirit, but I strive in vain
To chase away those shadow'd images,
That becon dimly to my waking thoughts,
And bid them follow on, as in my dreams.
Nor is my heart less troubled; for which way
I turn, faintly before my eyes they move.
This was my dream. I thought I stood at night
In a sick chainber by the couch of pain,
When life and death were struggling for the mast'ry.
Waving and dim a lamp stood by the couch,
And soon was wasted and went out! And then
Deep was the struggle of mortality ;-
The flame of being quiver'd and was quench'd.
The moon shone dimly down! Gertrude 'twas thee!
I touch'd thy brow, 'twas cold and pale.—I spake
But silence seal'd thy lips; and I awoke.
Trembling and faint 1 rose, but still that dream
Floats faint and fearfully before my eyes!
Gen. And dwell thy thoughts so long on such a dream?
A buoyant spirit as thine used to be,
And a mind strong by nature, would not deem
That such as these were proper themes for thought.
But love shall bring forgetfulness of this !
And by the friendship of our earlier years,
The plighted vows of our affection, and
Our thoughts and hopes of better days to come,
I do beseech thee to forget such dreams!
Str. That love must have an end full soon, unless
It can survive the ruin of the grave !
And all the tenderness of former years,
Present affection, and our future hopes,
Be wither'd with me or bloom o'er the tomb!
Ger. O do not look so wildly on me, Seymour,
Nor let thy thoughts be of the grave. Long years
And happier shall yet be ours, and love
Shall smile, whose smile survives the grave.
SET. Listen, dear Gertrude, for these words may be
The last my lips shall utter on this theme !
When the long sleep of death shall come upon me,
Let that affection which though sorrow glows,
That love which warmed our hearts in earlier years,
Linger around the grave that keeps my dust,
And consecrate the melancholy place,
And let it fade,-if it should ever fade,-
As does the echo of the mellow flute,
Breathed o'er the sweet and silver-chorded lyre!
That love impressed so deeply on thy heart,
Should be the record of departed life,
Nor perish sooner than the marble stone,
That chronicles the name of bim beneath!
The Waterfall, and the grave of Seymour-Summer, Sunset.
And art thou here no longer? Has the voice
Of fearful destiny called unto thee,
And has his hand seal'd thy affectionate lips,
Forever and forever? I hare watch'd
Until the going down of the bright sun,
And his last beam is sleeping on thy grave!
Thine is a dreamless sleep, that knows no waking,
But he shall shine upon the earth again!
The groves are green around me, yet full soon
Nature shall tune her harp of Autumn tide,
Winds wake upon the mountain, and a sound
Be in the valley of fast falling leaves,
Scatter'd and sere, and rustling : so must fade
The pride, and bloom, and beauty of the Summer,
And solemn Autumn in the garb of age,
And nature worn and weary soon decay.
But unto nature shall be youth again !
She shall give birth to Spring, and Spring to flowers,
Summer and Autumn shall again go by
And frozen Winter,-circling round the earth.
But thou art in the grave,—that has no portal,
The grave, where youth can never dawn again,
Where love is not, nor heard the voice of mirth,
Where is no fear, nor hope, nor tears, nor sadness,
Nor chance, nor change, like what are on the earth.
O mournful, mournful is the dashing wave,
Where bright and broken o'er the steep it rolls,
And gushes wild among its moss-grown rocks;
This was his frequent and his favourite haunt,
At morning and at evening, and these groves
Have known his wanderings, and have heard the sighs
Of his so young, but worn and wasted spirit.-
And it is meet, that he should sleep at last,
In this wild spot, with which he was familiar,
That the same winds, that caught his sighs before,
Might breathe them o'er his low and lonely grave,
And the same boughs, whese shade he lov'd in life,
Should wave, mournfully wave above his slumber!
Why am I here? The past with all its joys
And sorrows, and its smiles and tears, is gone!
The lamp of Hope, that beam'd in other days
A light of beauty on my happier years,
Is washed, dim’d, and gone! Why linger 1 ?
I hear a mournful voice none else may hear!
I see a spectred form, that becons me!
It points me to the grave !-Seymour, I come.-
First P. This is a lonely spot, yet beautiful,
That he has chosen for his silent rest
From this world's troubles,- for his last cold couch,
And his last slumber, long, but still not wakeless.
And yet if spirits from their graves come forth
To walk the earth at night fall, and the spots,
That were the habitations of the dust
They tenanted, his spirit too shall haunt
These shadowing groves he loved so well in life,
And on the night-breeze melancholy speak.
SECOND P. They say, that troubled spirits always walk,
While dust is mingling with its dust again,
And it would seem, that his, so sad in life,
Would not sleep quiet in its lonely grave,
Where is no silent fellowship in death,
And no communion with those gone before,
But would come back to visit us again.
FIRST. P. Poor Gertrude, she will die of grief! For he
Was all her hope, and he is wither'd now!
SECOND P. He died in peace: and yet 'tis said sad sounds
Were heard at night, and he had seen sad dreams,
Ere yet his mournful spirit was set free.
Still it would seem that death was sweet to him,
If it were not that Gestrude would be left
Lonely and comfortless in this wide world