SONG.
"'Betimes my heritage was sold
To buy this heart of solid gold.
Ye all, perchance, have jewels fine,
But what are such compar'd to mine?
O! they are formal, poor, and cold,
And out of fashion when they're old;—
But this is of unchanging ore,
And every day is valued more.
Not all the eye could e'er behold
Should purchase back this heart of gold.
"'How oft its temper has been tried!
Its noble nature purified!
And still it from the furnace came
Uninjur'd by the subtil flame.
Like truth itself, pale, simple, pure,
Yielding, yet fitted to endure,—
No rust, no tarnish can arise,
To hide its lustre from our eyes;
And this world's choicest gift I hold,
While I can keep my heart of gold.
"'Whatever treasure may be lost,
Whatever project may be crost,
Whatever other boon denied,
The amulet I long have tried
Has still a sweet, attractive power
To draw the confidential hour,—
That hour for weakness and for grief,
For true condolement, full belief!
O! I can never feel bereft,
While one possession shall be left;
That which I now in triumph hold,
This dear, this cherish'd heart of gold!
"'Come, all who wish to be enroll'd!
Our order is, the heart of gold.
The vain, the artful, and the nice,
Can never pay the weighty price;
For they must selfishness abjure,
Have tongue, and hand, and conscience pure;
Suffering for friendship, never grieve,
But, with a god-like strength, believe
In the oft absent power of truth,
As they have seen it in their youth.
Ye who have grown in such a mould
Are worthy of the heart of gold!'
"Ceasing, and in the act to rise,
A voice exclaim'd, 'Receive the prize!
Earl William, let me pardon crave,
Thus yielding what thy kindness gave!
But with such strange, intense delight,
This maiden fills my ear, my sight;
I long so ardently to twine
In her renown one gift of mine;
That having but a die to cast,
Lest our first meeting prove our last,
I would ensure myself the lot
Not to be utterly forgot!
And this, my offering, here consign,
Worthy, because it once was thine!
Then, maiden, from a warrior deign
To take this golden heart and chain!
Thy order's emblem! and afar
Its light shall lead me, like a star!
If thou, its mistress, didst requite
With guerdon meet each chosen knight;
If from that gifted hand there came
A badge of such excelling fame,
The broider'd scarf might wave in vain,
Unenvied might a rival gain,
Amid assembled peers, the crown
Of tournay triumph and renown;
For me its charm would all be gone,
E'en though a princess set it on!'
"I bow'd my thanks, and quick withdrew,
Glad to escape from public view;
Laden with presents, and with praise,
Beyond the meed of former days.
But that on which I gaz'd with pride,
Which I could scarcely lay aside,
Even to close my eyes for rest;
(I wear it now upon my breast,
And there till death it shall remain!)
Was this same golden heart and chain!
The peacock crown, with all its eyes,
Its emerald, jacinth, sapphire dyes,
When first, irradiate o'er my brow,
Wav'd its rich plumes in gleaming flow,
Did not so deep a thrill impart,
So soften, so dilate my heart!
No praise had touch'd me, as it fell,
Like his, because I saw full well,
Honour and sweetness orb'd did lie
Within the circlet of his eye!
Integrity which could not swerve,
A judgment of that purer nerve,
Fearing itself, and only bound
By truth and love to all around:
Which dared not feign, and scorn'd to vaunt,
Nor interest led, nor power could daunt;
Acting as if it mov'd alone
In sight of the Almighty's throne.
"His graceful form my Fancy caught,—
It was the same she always brought,
When legends mentioned knights of old,
The courteous, eloquent, and bold.
The same dark locks his forehead grac'd,
A crown by partial Nature plac'd,
With the large hollows, and the swells,
And short, close, tendril twine of shells.
Though grave in aspect, when he smil'd,
'Twas gay and artless as a child,
With him expression seem'd a law,—
You only Nature's dictates saw;
But they in full perfection wrought
Of generous feeling, varied thought,—
All that can elevate or move,
That we admire, esteem, and love!
"Thus, when it pleas'd the youthful king,
Who wish'd yet more to hear me sing,
That I should follow o'er the main,
In good Earl William's sober train,
As slow we linger'd on the seas,
I inly blest each wayward breeze;
For still the graceful knight was near,
Prompt to discourse, relate, and hear:
The spirit had that exercise,
The fine perceptions' play,
That perish with the worldly wise,
The torpid, and the gay.
"In the strings of their lyres as the poets of old
Fresh blossoms were used to entwine;
As the shrines of their gods were enamell'd with gold,
And sparkling with gems from the mine:
"So, grac'd with delights that arise in the mind,
As through flowers, the language should flow!
While the eye, where we fancy all soul is enshrin'd,
With divine emanations should glow!
"The voice, or the look, gifted thus, has a charm
Remembrance springs onward to greet;
And thought, like an angel, flies, living and warm,
When announcing the moment to meet!
"And it was thus when Eustace spoke,
Thus brightly his ideas glanc'd,
Met mine, and smil'd as they advanc'd,
For all his fervour I partook,—
Pour'd out my spirit in each theme,
And follow'd every waking dream!
Now in Fancy's airy play,
Near at hand, and far away,
All that was sportive, wild, and gay!
Now led by Pity to deplore
Hearts that can ache and bleed no more,
We roam'd long tales of sadness o'er!
Now, prompted by achievements higher,
We caught the hero's, martyr's fire!
Who, listening to an angel choir,
Rapt and devoted, following still
Where duty or religion led,
The mind prepar'd, subdued the will,
Bent their grand purpose to fulfil:
Conquer'd, endur'd, or meekly bled!
Nor wonder'd we, for we were given,
Like them, to zeal, to truth, and heaven.
"Receding silently from view,
Freedom, unthought of, then withdrew;
We neither mark'd her as she flew,
Nor ever had her absence known
From care or question of our own.
At court, emotion or surprize
Reveal'd the truth to other eyes.
The pride of England's nobles staid
Too often near the minstrel maid;
And many in derision smil'd,
To see him pay a peasant's child,
For such they deem'd me, deep respect,
While birth and grandeur met neglect.
Soon, sway'd by duty more than wealth,
He listen'd and he look'd by stealth;
And I grew careless in my lays;
Languish'd for that exclusive praise.
Yet, conscious of an equal claim,
Above each base or sordid aim,
From wounded feeling and from pride,
My pain I coldly strove to hide:
And when, encounter'd by surprize,
Rapture rose flashing in his eyes,
My formal speech and careless air
Would call a sudden anger there.
"Reserv'd and sullen we became,
Tenacious both, and both to blame.
Yet often an upbraiding look
Controul'd the sentence as I spoke;
Prompt and direct its flight arose,
But sunk or waver'd at the close.
Often, beneath his softening eye,
I felt my resolution die;
And, half-relentingly, forgot
His splendid and my humble lot.
"Sometimes a sudden fancy came,
That he who bore my father's name,
Broken in spirit and in health,
Was weary of ill-gotten wealth.
I to the cloister saw him led,
Saw the wide cowl upon his head;
Heard him, in his last dying hour,
Warn others from the thirst of power;
Adjure the orphan of his friend
Pardon and needful aid to lend,
If heaven vouchsaf'd her yet to live;
For, could she pity and forgive,
'Twould wing his penitential prayer
With better hope of mercy there!
Then did he rank and lands resign,
With all that was in justice mine;
And I, pretending to be vain,
Return'd the world its poor disdain,
But smil'd on Eustace once again!
"Thus vision after vision flew,
Leaving again before my view
That [Errata: The] hollow scene, the scornful crowd,
To which that heart had never bow'd,
Whose tenderness I hourly fed;
While thus I to its nursling said;—
"Be silent, Love! nor from my lip
In faint or hurried language speak!
Be motionless within my eye,
And never wander to my cheek!
Retir'd and passive thou must be,
Or truly I shall banish thee!
"Thou art a restless, wayward sprite,
So young, so tender, and so fair,
I dare not trust thee from my sight,
Nor let thee breathe the common air!
Home to my heart, then, quickly flee,
It is the only place for thee!
"And hush thee, sweet one! in that cell,
For I will whisper in thine ear
Those tales that Hope and Fancy tell,
Which it may please thee best to hear!
I will not, may not, set thee free—
I die if aught discover thee!"
Where are the plaudits, warm and long,
That erst have follow'd Marie's song?
The full assenting, sudden, loud,
The buz of pleasure in the crowd!
The harp was still, but silence reign'd,
Listening as if she still complain'd:
For Pity threw her gentle yoke
Across Impatience, ere he spoke;
And Thought, in pondering o'er her strains,
Had that cold state he oft maintains.
But soon the silence seem'd to say,
"Fair mourner, reassume thy lay!"
And in the chords her fingers stray'd;
For aching Memory found relief
In mounting to the source of grief;
A tender symphony she play'd,
Then bow'd, and thus, unask'd, obey'd.
The Lay of Marie
CANTO THIRD.
"Careless alike who went or came,
I seldom ask'd the stranger's name,
When such a being came in view
As eagerly the question drew.
'The Lady Osvalde,' some one cried,
'Sir Eustace' late appointed bride,
His richest ward the king's behest
Gives to the bravest and the best.'
"Enchantments, wrought by pride and fear,
Made me, though mute, unmov'd appear.
My eye was quiet, and the while
My lip maintain'd a steady smile.
It cost me much, alas! to feign;
But while I struggled with the pain,
With beauty stole upon my sight
An inward feeling of delight.
"Long did the silken lashes lie
Upon a dark and brilliant eye;
Bright the wild rose's finest hue
O'er a pure cheek of ivory flew.
Her smile, all plaintive and resign'd,
Bespake a gentle, suffering mind;
And e'en her voice, so clear and faint,
Had something in it of complaint.
Her delicate and slender form,
Like a vale-lily from the storm,
Seem'd pensively to shrink away,
More timid in a crowd so gay.
Large jewels glitter'd in her hair;
And, on her neck, as marble fair,
Lay precious pearls, in countless strings;
Her small, white hands, emboss'd with rings,
Announc'd high rank and amplest wealth,
But neither freedom, power, nor health.
"Near her Sir Eustace took his stand,
With manner sad, yet soft and bland;
Spoke oft, but her replies were tame;
And soon less frequent both became.
Their converse seem'd by labour wrought,
Without one sweet, free-springing thought;
Without those flashes of delight
Which make it tender, deep, or bright!
It was not thus upon the sea
He us'd to look and talk with me!
Not thus, when, lost to all around,
His haughty kinsmen saw and frown'd!
Then all unfelt the world's controul,—
Its rein lay lightly o'er his soul;
Far were its prides and cautions hurl'd,
And Thought's wide banner flew unfurl'd.
"Yet we should do fair Osvalde wrong
To class her with the circling throng:
Her mind was like a gentle sprite,
Whose wings, though aptly form'd for flight,
From cowardice are seldom spread;
Who folds the arms, and droops the head;
Stealing, in pilgrim guise along,
With needless staff, and vestment grey,
It scarcely trills a vesper song
Monotonous at close of day.
Cross but its path, demanding aught,
E'en what its pensive mistress sought,
Though forward welcoming she hied,
And its quick footstep glanc'd aside.
"Restraint, alarms, and solitude,
Her early courage had subdu'd;
Fetter'd her movements, looks, and tongue,
While on her heart more weighty hung
Each griev'd resentment, doubt, and pain,
Each dread of anger or disdain.
A deeper sorrow also lent
The sharpen'd pang of discontent;
For unconceal'd attachment prov'd
Destructive to the man she lov'd.
"Owning, like her, an orphan's doom,
He had not that prescriptive home
Which wealth and royal sanction buys;
No powerful friends, nor tender ties;—
No claims, save former promise given,
Whose only witness was in heaven;
And promise takes a slender hold,
Where all is selfish, dull, and cold.
"Slowly that bloomless favour grew,
Before his stern protectors knew
The secret which arous'd disdain.
Declaring that he did but feign,
They, in unpitying vengeance, hurl'd
A sister's offspring on the world.
Thus outrag'd, pride's corroding smart,
The fever of a throbbing heart,
Impell'd him first to wander round,
And soon to leap that barrier ground,
And seek the arch'd, embowering way,
In which her steps were wont to stray.
"No sleep his heavy eyes could close,
Nor restless memory find repose,
Nor hope a plan on which to rest,
In the wild tumult of a breast
With warring passions deeply fraught.
To see her was his only thought;
Feel once again the tones that sprung
So oft to that endearing tongue,
Flow on his heart; desponding, faint,
But too indignant for complaint;
Say how completely he resign'd
All former influence o'er her mind,
Where it was better to destroy
Each vestige of their days of joy.
To breathe her name he would not dare,
Except in solitude and prayer!
'Beyond belief I love, adore,
But never will behold thee more!'
Thus thinking o'er each purpose high,
Tears gather'd blinding in his eye;
And bitter, uncontroul'd regret
Exclaim'd, 'Why have we ever met?'
"These conflicts and these hopes were fled;
Alas! poor youth! his blood, was shed,
Before the feet of Osvalde trod
Again on the empurpled sod.
No voice had dar'd to tell the tale;
But she had many a boding thrill,
For dumb observance watch'd her still;
For laughter ceas'd whene'er she came,
And none pronounc'd her lover's name!
When wilfully she sought this spot,
Shudderings prophetic mark'd his lot;
She look'd! her maiden's cheek was pale!
And from the hour did ne'er depart
That deadly tremor from her heart.
Pleasure and blandishment were vain;
Deaf to persuasion's dulcet strain,
It never reach'd her mind again.
"Arise, lovely mourner! thy sorrows give o'er,
Nor droop so forlornly that beautiful head!
Thy sighs art unheard by the youth they deplore,
And those warm-flowing tears all unfelt by the dead.
"Then quit this despondence, sweet Osvalde! be gay!
See open before thee the gates of delight!
Where the Hours are now lingering on tiptoe, away!
They view thee with smiles, and are loth to take flight.
"See the damsels around thee, how joyous they are!
How their eyes sparkle pleasure whenever they meet!
What sweet flowers are entwin'd in their long, floating hair!
How airy their movements, how nimble their feet!
"O! bear her from hence! when she sees them rejoice,
Still keener the pain of her agony burns;
And when Joy carols by, with a rapturous voice,
To hopeless Remembrance more poignantly turns.
"Thus often has her bosom bled;
Thus have I seen her fainting led
From feasts intended to dispel
The woeful thoughts she nurs'd so well.
And must she, by the king's command,
To Eustace plight that fever'd hand?
Proud, loyal as he is, can he,
A victim to the same decree,
Receive it, while regretting me?
For that poor, withering heart, resign
The warm, devoted faith of mine!
"Have I, too, an allotted task?
What from the Minstrel do they ask?
A nimble finger o'er the chords,
A tongue replete with gracious words!
Alas! the tribute they require,
Truth, sudden impulse, should inspire;
And from the senseless, subject lyre,
Such fine and mellow music flow,
The skill that forms it should not know
Whence the delicious tones proceed;
But, lost in rapture's grateful glow,
Doubt its own power, and cry, 'Indeed,
Some passing angel sweeps the strings,
Wafting from his balsamic wings
The sweetest breath of Eden bowers,
Tones nurs'd and hovering there in flowers,
Have left their haunts to wander free,
Linger, alight, and dwell on thee!'
"In Osvalde's porch, where, full in bloom,
The jasmine spread its rich perfume;
And, in thick clustering masses, strove
To hide the arch of stone above;
While many a long and drooping spray
Wav'd up, and lash'd the air in play;
Was I ordain'd my harp to place,
The pair with bridal strains to grace.
"The royal will,—and what beside?
O! what I since have lost,—my pride,
Forbade the wonted song to fail:
I met him with a cheerful hail.
I taught my looks, my lips, to feign
I bade my hand its task sustain;
And when he came to seek the bride,
Her rival thus, unfaltering, cried:—
"'Approach! approach, thou gallant knight!
England's first champion in the fight,
Of grace and courtesy the flower,
Approach the high-born Osvalde's bower!
And forth let manly valour bring
Youth's timid meekness, beauty's spring!
"'Thou darling of a vassal host,
Thy parents' stay, thy kinsman's boast;
Thou favourite in a monarch's eyes,
Whose gracious hand awards the prize;
Thee does the brightest lot betide,
The best domain, the fairest bride!'
"Mine sunk beneath the mournful look
Which glanc'd disdainful as I spoke;
And, when his step past hurrying by,
And when I heard his struggling sigh,
A moment on my quailing tongue
The speech constrain'd of welcome hung;
But in the harp's continuous sound
My wandering thoughts I quickly found.
"'Haste on! and here thy duteous train
In rapt expectance shall remain;
Till, with thee, brilliant as a gem
Set in a kingdom's diadem,
Thy lovely mistress shall appear!
O! hasten! we await thee here!'
"Again did that upbraiding eye
Check my false strain in passing by;
And its concentred meaning fell
Into my soul:—It was not well
To triumph thus, though but in show;
To chant the lay that joyance spoke,
To wear the gay and careless look.—
The ardent and the tender know
What pain those self-reproaches brought,
When conscience took the reins of thought
Into her hand, avenging more
All that she seem'd to prompt before.
O tyrant! from whose stern command
No act of mine was ever free,
How oft wouldst thou a censor stand
For what I did to pleasure thee!
The well-propp'd courage of my look,
The sportive language, airy tone,
To wounded love and pride bespoke
A selfish hardness not my own!
And only lulling secret pain,
I seem'd to fling around disdain.
"To him, with warm affections crost,
Who, owning happiness was lost,
Had said, 'Dear maiden, were I free,
They would not let me think of thee;
The only one who on my sight
Breaks lovely as the morning light;
Whom my heart bounding springs to greet,
Seeks not, but always hopes to meet;
With eager joy unlocks its store,
Yet ever pines to tell thee more!'
To him, should feign'd indifference bring
A killing scorn, a taunting sting?
To Osvalde, drooping and forlorn,
A flower fast fading on the stem,
All exultation seem'd like scorn,
For what was hope and joy to them?
As with awakening judgment came
These feelings of remorse and shame,
With the throng'd crowd, the bustling scene,
Did deep abstractions intervene,
O'er yielding effort holding sway,
As, humbled, I pursued my way.
"The festive flowers, the incens'd air,
The altar taper's reddening glare;
The pausing, slow-advancing pair,
Her fainter, his most watchful air;
The vaulted pile, the solemn rite,
Impress'd, then languish'd on my sight;
And all my being was resign'd
To that strong ordeal, where the mind,
Summon'd before a heavenly throne,
Howe'er surrounded, feels alone.
When, bow'd in dust all earthly pride,
All earthly power and threats defied,
Mortal opinion stands as nought
In the clear'd atmosphere of thought;
And selfish care, and worldly thrall,
And mean repining, vanish all.
When prayers are pour'd to God above,
His eyes send forth their beams of love;
Darkness forsakes our mental sky,
And, demon-like, our passions fly.
The holy presence, by its stay
Drives failings, fears, and woes away;
Refines, exalts, our nature draws
To share its own eternal laws
Of pure benevolence and rest,
The future portion of the blest—
Their constant portion! Soon this flow
Of life I lost—recall'd below:
From prayers for them recall'd. Around,
A sudden rush, of fearful sound,
Smote on my ear; of voices crying,
'The bride, the Lady Osvalde dying!
Give place! make room!' the hurrying press
Eustace alarm'd; and, in distress,
Calling for air, and through the crowd
Which an impeded way allow'd,
Forcing slow progress; bearing on
Her pallid form; when, wholly gone
You might have deem'd her mortal breath,
Cold, languid, motionless as death,
I saw before my eyes advance,
And 'woke, astounded, from my trance.
"The air reviv'd her—but again
She left not, for the social train,
The stillness of her chamber;—ne'er
Its threshold pass'd, but on her bier:
Spoke but to one who seem'd to stand
Anear, and took his viewless hand,
To promise, let whate'er betide,
She would not be another's bride.
Then, pleading as for past offence,
Cried out aloud, 'They bore me hence!
My feet, my lips, refus'd to move,
To violate the vows of love!
My sense recoil'd, my vision flew,
Almost before I met thy view!
Almost before I heard thee cry
Perfidious Osvalde! look and die!
"'Oppose them? No! I did not dare!
I am not as a many are,
Ruling themselves: my spirits fly,
My force expires before reply.
Instinctively a coward, free
In speech, in act, I could not be
With any in my life, but thee!
Nor strength, nor power do I possess,
Except, indeed, to bear distress!
Except to pour the aching sigh,
Which only can my pain relieve;
Inhuman ye who ask me why,
And pause, to wonder that I grieve:
Mine are the wounds which never close,
Mine is a deep, untiring care;
A horror flying from repose,
A weight the sickening soul must bear.
The tears that from these eyelids flow,
The sad confusion of my brain,
All waking phantoms of its woe,
Your anger, and the world's disdain,—
Seek not to sooth me!—they are sent
This feeble frame and heart to try!
It is establish'd, be content!
They never leave me till I die!'
"So little here is understood,
So little known the great and good,
The deep regret that Eustace prov'd,
Brought home conviction that he lov'd
To many: others thought, her dower,
The loss of lordships, wealth, and power,
Full cause for sorrow; and the king
Hop'd he might consolation bring,
And bind a wavering servant o'er,
(Not found too loyal heretofore,)
By linking his sole daughter's fate
In wedlock with an English mate—
His favourite too! whose own domain
Spread over valley, hill, and plain;
Whose far-trac'd lineage did evince
A birth-right worthy of a prince;
Whose feats of arms, whose honour, worth,
Were even nobler than his birth;
Who, in his own bright self, did bring
A presence worthy of a king—
A form to catch and charm the eye,
Make proud men gracious, ladies sigh;
The boldest, wisest, and the best,
Greater than each presuming guest;—
I speak from judgment, not from love,—
In all endowments far above
Who tastes this day of festal cheer,
And whom his death assembles here!
"That he is known those look avow,
The mantling cheek, the knitting brow:
I could not hope it did he live,
But now, O! now, ye must forgive!
Most recreant they who dare offend
One who has lost her only friend!
De Stafford's widow here appears—
For him, my Eustace, flow these tears!
Ye may not blame me! ye have wives,
Who yet may sorrow for your lives!
Who, in the outset of their grief,
Upon a father's neck may spring;
Or find in innocence relief,
And to a cherish'd infant cling;
Or thus, like me, forlornly shed
Their lonely wailing o'er the dead!
"Can eyes that briny torrents steep,
Others in strong subjection keep?
Yes! here are some that mine obey,
And, self-indignant at the sway
I hold upon them, turn away!
Some, too, who have no cause for shame,
Whom even the injur'd cannot blame,
Now here, now there, above, below,
Their looks of wild avoidance throw!
Nay, gentle cousin, blush not so!
And do not, pray thee, rise to go!
I am bewilder'd with my woe;
But hear me fairly to the end,
I will not pain thee, nor offend.
O no! I would thy favour win;
For, when I die, as next of kin,
So 'reft am I of human ties,
It is thy place to close my eyes!
"With state and wealth to thee I part,
But could not with De Stafford's heart!
Nor could I mute and prudent be
When all at once I found 'twas thee,
Doom'd ever, in thy own despite,
To take my rank, usurp my right!
I told, alas! my father's name,
The noble stock from which I came:—
'Marie de Brehan, sounds as well,
Perhaps,' I cried, 'as Isabel!
And were the elder branch restor'd,
(My grandsire was the rightful lord,)
I, in my injur'd father's place,
Those large domains, that name would grace.'
"I never saw a joy so bright,
So full, so fledg'd with sparkling light,
As that which on the instant flew
To his quick eye, when Eustace knew
He had not yielded to a yoke
Which prudence blam'd, or reason broke.
'O! trebly blest this hour,' he cried;
'I take not now another bride!
I bow'd to duty and to pride;
But, here I pledge my solemn vow,
To wealth alone I will not bow!
The only offspring of a race
No misalliance did disgrace;
Nurtur'd, school'd, fashion'd by their laws,
Not wishing an exceptive clause,
Till thee, my only choice, I met;
And then, with useless, deep regret,
I found in birth, and that alone,
Thou wert unworthy of a throne!
My ancestors appear'd too nice;
Their grandeur bore too high a price,
If, with it, on the altar laid,
Freedom and happiness were paid!
Yet, could I give my father pain,
Or treat those lessons with disdain,
I heard a child upon his knee;
And, at the present, knew to be
Entwin'd with every vital part?
To scorn them were to break his heart!
My mother too, though meek and kind,
Possessing such a stately mind,
That once perceiving what was fit,
If 'twere to die, must still submit;
Knowing no question in the right,
Would not have borne me in her sight;
Though quick her sands of life would run,
Deserting, angry with her son!
Yet noble both, by honour bound,
To take no other vantage ground,
They will not use a meaner plea,
Nor sordid reasons urge to me!
Good and high-minded, they will yield:
I shall be victor in that field;
And for my sovereign, we shall find
Some inlet to his eager mind;
At once not rashly all disclose,
His plans or bidding to oppose,—
That his quick temper would not brook;
But I will watch a gracious look,
And foster an auspicious hour,
To try both love and reason's power.
Zealous I cannot fail to be,
Thou canst not guess to what degree,
Dear Marie, when I plead for thee!'
"That the result was plain, I knew,
For I had often heard him sue,
And never known a boon denied.
In secret I became his bride:
But heaven the union disapprov'd—
The father he so truly lov'd,
Before this first offence was told,
Though neither sick, infirm, or old,
Without a moment's warning, died!
"This seal'd his silence for awhile;
For, till he saw his mother smile,
Till time the cloud of woe should chace
From her pale, venerable face,
He felt the tale he dar'd not break,—
He could not on the subject speak!
And oh! the gentle mourn so long,
The faint lament outlasts the strong!
"Her waning health was fair pretence
To keep his voyage in suspence;
But still the king, averse or mute,
Heard coldly his dejected suit,
To give the lingering treaty o'er;
And once exclaim'd, 'Persuade no more!
This measure 'tis resolv'd to try!
We must that veering subject buy;
Else, let the enemy advance,
De Brehan surely sides with France!'"
The harp again was silent; still
No fiat of the general will
Bade her to cease or to proceed:
Oft an inquiring eye, indeed,
The strangers rais'd; but instant check'd,
Lest the new vassals should suspect
They thought the monarch's reasons just,
And faith so varying brought mistrust.
De Brehan, with a bitter smile,
Eyes closing, lips compress'd the while,
Although Remorse, with keenest dart,
And disappointment wrung his heart;
Although he long'd to thunder—"Cease!"
Restrain'd his fury, kept his peace.
The Lay of Marie.