THE FOUNTAIN OF OBLIVION.

[From a Philadelphia Journal.]
A PRIZE POEM—BY A VIRGINIAN.

'Twas no longer day
In an isle that lay
Distant o'er ocean—far
Beyond the western star,
Under a sky unknown,
All beautiful and lone.
It was a fairy isle,
Where summer's golden smile
Shines on forever unchangingly,
O'er its glittering vine-clad hills,
Green valleys and cold limpid rills,
And the encircling emerald sea.
Oh! there are spirits that dwell
In every wizard dell—
Sweet forms that haunt each grottoed fount,
Each fragrant vale and sunlit mount,
And voices that whisper at even-tide,
On the silver sands by the lone sea side.
There came a youth to the shore alone,
His step was light—his air was free,
And his glittering eye flashed joyously—
He knelt him down on the printless sand,
And in the hollow of his hand,
Dipped the clear waves, and o'er a stone,
A curious greyish stone, that stood
Just on the margin of the flood,
He sprinkled the drops, and half-sung, half-spoke,
In a low faint tone, that scarcely broke
The hush that hung round that wild shore,
The waters were silently creeping o'er—
"Stars are weeping
O'er the waves,
Winds are sleeping
In their caves—
'Tis the hour,
Then come to me,
By love's power
I conjure thee—
Quickly come
Unto me,
From thy coral home
Under the sea."
"Beautiful spirit,
Hear my call—
Ocean! bear it
To her hall
Where she twines
Her yellow hair
By light that shines
From diamonds there!
Bid her come
Unto me,
From her coral home
Under the sea."
* * * * *
"Does she wait to deck
With gems her hair?
Tell her I nothing reck
Of jewels rare,
Other than those eyes
So wildly bright—
They dim the starred skies
With their purer light.
Ocean Spirit come—
Oh! come to me,
From thy coral home
Beneath the sea."
He paused, and silent stood
In listening attitude—
His head bent forward, and his eye
Gazing with fixed intensity;
A low sad tone
Came o'er the wave
Like the wind's faint moan
In a hollow cave,
Throughout the echoing archways sighing,
Then in mysterious whispers dying—
And all was calm and still again,
So still—the place might seem to be
The grave of sound.—Oh! mournfully
From the noiseless sands the youth turned then,
And slowly upward from the shore
His step retraced, with a heavy heart,
And dimming eye, as those who part
With something much loved and cherished of yore.
Now at the foot of a mountain
In the silence and shadow he stood,
By the brink of the charmed fountain
Whose dark and sullen flood
Doth bring forgetfulness to those
Who drink its wave, of all their woes.
For thence he took
The magic flower,
And three times shook
Its leaves of power,
And muttered the word
Which in our clime
Hath not been heard
Since the birth of Time—
This done, 'tis said,
If the youth or the maid
Of thy heart be untrue,
The leaves will fade
And fall where they grew;
Alas! he knew
By this same never-erring token,
That the faith of his ocean-love was broken.
In mute surprise and grief the youth remained,
Gazing upon the stalk unleaved and bare,
Which still his hand unconsciously retained,
Then proudly tossed it on the green sward there—
"Thus," said he, "from my heart, false one, I cast
The memory of thee and of the past."
Now o'er the fountain's brim he stooped to lave
His eager lip in the oblivious wave;
But ere he had approached so near, his breath
Might break the mirror sleeping calm beneath,
Her image, in the beauty of a dream,
Between him and the waters seemed to swim,
And memories which his heart unconsciously
Had garnered up, came o'er him hurriedly,
In sweet succession, 'till his soul of feeling
Thrilled like harp-strings o'er which the winds are stealing.
He drew back, undecided—in dismay,
And as, whene'er he strove, the vision smiled,
So was he ever baffled and beguiled,
Until at last he rose and went his way—
Unhappy howsoe'er, he fancied yet
Nought could so joyless be as to forget.
MORAL
There must be something beautiful in wo
That springs from love, else what is it that makes
The heart, cling to its veriest sorrows so,
And will not part with them until it breaks?
Indeed love's pleasure with its pain so blends
Like the warm sunset glow, and 'mid heaven's blue,
We cannot tell where one begins or ends,
Tho' each so totally unlike in hue.