VI.
On Time's swift wing the years have passed:
The morn has come, the hour is now,
When she would feast her heart at last
By looking on that sacred brow!
She took the picture from the nail,
She held it in her trembling hands,
She lifted up the envious veil,—
And there confessed the mother stands.
The charm is wrought! that painted gleam
Brought up the lines impressed of yore,
As flash of the bright morning beam
On twilight things seen long before.
Her mother seemed from death returned;
She kissed the lips, the cheeks, the chin;
She sobbed, she sighed, she laughed—she mourned
To think it was a painted sign;
And then at last she turned it round,
As if she feared her sire's decree,
And there, in written words, she found
The dreaded curse of Dowielee:
THE CURSE.
"Than Olive who more beautiful
In all that nature could bestow?
Than Olive who more dutiful
When first she pledged that holy vow?
What is she now, by sin entoiled?
Dark spirits of yon woods declare,
Where I in anguish wander wild,
The victim of a dark despair.
"Thank Heaven, I leave no son my heir,
Who might another Olive see,
And think her as his mother fair—
Fair, but yet a mystery—
With heart so like some alcove deep,
Where nightingales may sing their song,
And roses blow, and—serpents creep,
To sting him as I have been stung.
"The secrets of the living rock,
Deep hid from man's divining rod,
A spark may open, and the shock
Bring forth an ingot or a toad:
The secret that is kept for years,
One stroke of fate yields to the sight;
And if the toad a jewel wears,
That jewel may have lost its light.
"Begone ye hopes of tender ties,
Of smiling home with wife and child,
Of all love's tender sympathies,
That once a rugged soul beguiled!
In vain may Beauty deck her crown,
And winning Goodness try her plan,
I trust no more—the guile of ONE
Hath changed me to a savage man.
"If in this world I smile again,
Twill be to see the charming eye
Like hers—the smile—each effort plain,
And think I can them all defy.
You tell me these are Nature's ways,
But Nature tells me to beware;
And while each angler smiling plays,
So shall I play to shun the snare.
"Mocked by the glamour of the eye,
I dread all things surpassing fair;
The sweetest flower but makes me sigh
To think there may be poison there.
Were I inclined to change my part,
And seek again domestic peace,
I'd seek for beauties in the heart,
Though seen through a revolting face.
"By the heart-pulses of my love,
By all the things once dear to me,
By every tree within the grove,
By every bird upon the tree,
By every tint upon its wing,
By every note of melodie
That close by HER I've heard it sing,
Cursed be the dame of Dowielee."