Part II.
The tale continued in the Convent grounds; the same group of Nuns listening.
How softly have my limbs reposed! Nor stormy sea, nor haunted land, Nor sorcerer’s unhallowed wand, Disturbed the opiate shades that closed The sleepy avenues of sense; And therefore I, without pretence Of weariness or dream-wrought gloom, My tale of yester-eve resume.
Together o’er the mystic Isle We wandered many a sinuous mile. ’Twas midway in the month of June, And rivulets with lisping rune, And bowering trees of tender green, And flowering shrubs their trunks between Enticed our steps till gloaming gray Upon the pathless forest lay. Think not I journeyed void of fear; Sir Roberval’s hot malediction Like hurtling thunder sounded near; Our steps the envious demons haunted, And peeped, or seemed to peep and leer, From rocky clefts and caverns drear. But still defiantly, undaunted, Eugene averred it had been held By wise philosophers of eld That all such sights and sounds are mere Fantastic tricks of eye and ear, And only meet for tales of fiction. “Heed not,” he said, “the vicious threat, ’Twas but a ruffian’s empty talk, The which I pray thou may’st forget And half his evil purpose baulk.” A silent doubt and grateful kiss Was all I could oppose to this. But firmer grew my steps. The air Was laden with delicious balm; Rich exhalations everywhere, From pine and spruce and cedar grove, And over all a dreamy calm, An affluence of brooding love, A palpable, beneficent Sufficiency of blest content.
Amid the hours, in restful pause We loitered on the moss-clad rocks, And listened to the sober caws Of lonely rooks, and watched thick flocks Of pigeons passing overhead; Or where the scarlet grosbeak sped, A wingéd fire, through clumps of pine Sent chasing looks of joy and wonder. Blue violets and celandine, And modest ferns that glanced from under Gray-hooded boulders, seemed to say— “O, tarry, gentle folk; O, stay, For we are lonely in this wood, And sigh for human sympathy To cheer our days of solitude.” Meek forest flowers, how dear to me! I loved them, kissed them on the stem, And felt that I must ever be Secluded from the world like them.
The long-drawn shadows, eastward cast, Admonished us that day was fast Dissolving, and would soon be past; And we must needs regain the spot Where waited good Nanette our coming. The chattering squirrel we heeded not, Nor paused to list the partridge drumming. The wedded bird was in her nest, And knew from the suspended song (A tribute to her listening ear) That from the green boughs rustling near Had trilled and warbled all day long, A brief space only must she wait The fondling of her chirping mate. With some wise meaning, wise and deep That from her eyes was fain to peep, And wealth of words and lifted hands Our thoughtful servitor, Nanette, Gave kindly greeting ere we met. “Come, children, follow me,” she said, And silently the way she led An arpent from the ocean sands, Directly to a piny grove, Where she with wondrous skill had wove A double bower of evergreen, Meet for a fairy king and queen.— “There, tell your rosaries and take A sabbath slumber; till you wake, Nanette, hard by, will watchful stand, With loaded arquebuse in hand, Your trusty sentinel, for here Some prowling beast may chance appear On no good neighbour’s lawful quest; To-morrow I can doze and rest.”— Thus, voluble, my faithful Nurse. Amazed, I stood and could not speak, But kissed her on the brow and cheek, And wept to think my Uncle’s curse Should fall on her, so worn and bent, So moved with every good intent.
A flushing joy it was to see That double-chambered arbour fair, Re-calling to my memory The storied lore of things that were My childhood’s moonlit witchery. Next morn we sought the circling strand And question made of wind and sea If such a thing might ever be, That, soon or late, from any land Some friendly sail would come that way And waft us thence: in vain, in vain! The hollow wind had nought to say, But, like a troubled ghost, passed by;— The waste illimitable main And awful silence of the sky Vouchsafed no sign, made no reply.— Oft times upon some lifted rock That overhung the waves, we sate And listened to the undershock Whose sad persistency, like fate, Made land and sea more desolate.
Again in lighter mood we trod The yellow sands and pale-green sod Strewn with innumerable shells, In whose pink whorls and breathing cells Beauty and wonder slept enshrined, Like holy thoughts in a dreamer’s mind. Of these sea-waifs an ample store We gathered, and at twilight bore The treasure to our sylvan home.
Once more the star encumbered dome Of heaven its thrilling story told, And Dian, lovely as of old, Poured lavishly her pallid sheen Upon that tranquil world of green; Whose cool and dewy depths, now rife With luminous and noiseless life, Responded wide; the fire-fly race In myriads lit their tiny lamps; As an army’s countless camps The warder in some woody place At nightfall on his watch may trace; So gleamed and flashed those mimic lamps.
The third day came. From shore to shore, Adventurous ever more and more, Our penal Isle we wandered o’er.— Which way our roving fancy led, A wilding beauty largely spread Rewarded our ambitious feet, And made our banishment too sweet For further censure or repining. Now culling flowers of dainty dyes, Now chasing gaudy butterflies, And now on herbaged slopes reclining, Where purple blooms of lilac trees, And sultry hum of hermit bees Disarmed the hours of weariness.— Nor can you fail, dear friends, to guess That time for dalliance we found,— And if we loved to an excess In many a long involved caress, O think how we were cribbed and bound.— Lush nature and necessity, As witnessed by the Saints above, In one delicious circle wove The pulsings of our destiny.