IX.
Thus, thrice six golden summers o'er them fled,
And on their hearts their rip'ning influence shed;
Till one fair eve, when from the gorgeous west,
Cloud upon cloud in varied splendour pressed
Around the setting sun, which blinding shone
On the horizon like its Maker's throne,
Till veiled in glory, and its parting ray
Fell as a blessing on the closing day;
Or, like the living smile of Nature's God
Upon his creatures, shedding peace abroad.
The early lark had ceased its evening song,
And silence reigned amidst the feathered throng,
Save where the chaffinch, with unvarying strain,
Its short, sweet line of music trilled again;
Or where the stock-dove, from the neighbouring grove,
Welcomed the twilight with the voice of love:
Then Edmund wandered by the trysting-tree,
Where, at that hour, the maid was wont to be;
But now she came not. Deepening shade on shade,
The night crept round him; still he lonely strayed,
Gazed on the tree till grey its foliage grew,
And stars marked midnight, ere he slow withdrew.
Another evening came—a third passed on—
And wondering, fearing, still he stood alone,
Trembling and gazing on her father's hall,
Where lights were glittering as a festival;
And, as with cautious step he ventured near,
Sounds of glad music burst upon his ear,
And figures glided in the circling dance,
While wild his love and poverty at once
Flashed through his bursting heart, and smote him now
As if a thunderbolt had scorched his brow,
And scathed his very spirit; as he stood,
Mute as despair—the ghost of solitude!
X.
Strange guests were revelling at the princely hall—
Proud peers and ladies fair; but, chief of all,
A rich and haughty knight, from Beaumont side,
Who came to woo fair Helen as his bride;
Or rather from her father ask her hand,
And woo no more, but deem consent command.
He too was young, high-born, and bore a name
Sounding with honours bought, though not with fame;
And the consent he sought her father gave,
Nor feared the daughter of his love would brave
In aught his wishes, or oppose his will;
For she had ever sought it, as the rill
Seeketh the valley or the ocean's breast;
And ere his very wishes were expressed,
She strove to trace their meaning in his eyes,
Even as a seaman readeth on the skies
The coming breeze, the calm, or brooding gale,
Then spreads the canvas wide, or reefs the sail.
Nor did he doubt that still her heart was free
As the fleet mountain deer, which as a sea
The wilderness surrounds; for she had grown
Up as a desert flower, that he alone
Had watched and cherished; and the blinding pride
Of wealth and ancestry had served to hide
From him alone, what long within the vale
Had been the rustic gossip's evening tale.
That such presumptuous love could e'er employ
The secret fancies of the cottage boy,
He would have held impossible, or smiled
At the bold madness of a thought so wild—-
Reading his daughter's spirit by his own,
Which reared an ancient name as virtue's throne,
And only stooped to look on meaner things,
Whose honours echoed not the breath of kings.