Now, 'neath her feet, the floor less polished grew,
And fountains dashed from the unsculptured rock;
She saw half-finished grottoes, fewer lights,
And heard a discord in the melody
As if of hammers and the shouts of workmen;
Meanwhile her heart loudly began to beat.
"Bertho! I have come, Bertho!" she cried out,
As the next moment, 'mid a swarthy group
Of dusky laborers, a familiar form
Raised itself from a shaft of phorphyry,
And turned itself to hear that throbbing heart.
A light too glad for smiles came o'er the face,
The shadowy face, uplifted from its toil,
And, "Olive!" echoed back her eager cry.
The fairest sight that cavern ever saw
Was that young girl holding her glowing arms
To clasp her love; her sweet mouth all a-tremble,
Her dark eyes flashing joy and tender tears,
Her bosom fluttering in its snowy folds
With sudden pleasure;—but, what clasped she?
A shadow! Pale and silent she shrank back;
Her lover folded up his hopeless arms;
His face a melancholy so profound put on
That Olive to his side again drew near.
"Is this one mystery of this mystic world—
This world of phantoms?" sighed the stricken girl.
"Oh! why did hope keep life within my breast,
And passion thrill me with strange fortitude?
Why did I save the kisses of my lips
For him who nevermore can give them back?
Why did I smile to think my arms were soft
When thus this spirit fades within their clasp?
Bertho!—that scornful Queen did tell me this.
And yet I did not comprehend her words.
There is no warmth nor beauty in this land!
Its people have no hearts—know not of love—
Their thoughts are colder than their beds of snow.
Indeed, this is no world!—but some vain dream,
Troubling my sleep, and I cannot awake.
Love then, is a deceitful fantasy—
Bertho is dead—is dead—and yet not dead!
Life is not life"—
Her wild, distrustful words
Here ended, as she saw the bitterness
Which stormed across the spirit's anguished face:—
"Forbear, poor child! thy pitiful complaints!
When through these long years of distasteful toil
I thought of thee, unceasing, day and night,
Calling on heaven to bend thy steps towards me,
I thought not that this spirit, weary, worn,
And from the covering of its body torn,
Its feeling could retain and substance lose.
Fool that I was! to sigh for human love!
Why art thou here to madden me with looks,—
Those womanly, caressing looks which fill
My soul with wild desires! Back, to thy home,
In that gold-girdled circle of daylight,
That island of elysian loveliness,
Where thou and I did'st one time idly dream!
There breathe the passionate breath of orange-flowers—
Walk in the sunlight till thy brows are flushed
With its warm kisses—plunge thy snowy feet
In the embracing waves and silver sand—
Shake down magnolia-blossoms on thy hair—
Answer the nightingales' delicious song
With thy sweet cries—and, on bright eves, look up
And charm the moon upon her lingering way
With that soft fire of thine entrancing eyes!
Thou wilt not for regret or tears find time.
Some lover, clothed in human dignity
And tangible robes of life, will haunt thy steps,
Drawing up, with magnetic looks, the smiles
Which lie deep down in thy now tearful orbs;
And, wiling from their blissful hiding-place,
The bashful dimples to thy blushing cheeks,
And,—it may be—with human eloquence,
Beguile thy hand to rest within his own,
Sitting, as we have sat,—thy glossy hair
Rippling in golden waves across his breast."
"Can he be mad as well as dead?" the girl
Murmured aside! and then her sorrowing brow
She lifted proudly, while a sudden fire
Sprang to her lips and eyes—her trembling voice
Steadied itself on her unfaltering love.—
"Forgive me, Bertho, that my woman's heart,
Finding thee thus, should, for an instant, only,
Shrink back from thee in awe and deep regret.
My love, which has endured so much, grows strong
In its endurance; and it only asks
That I may never from thy side be driven.
Talk not of islands in a sunny sea,
Or fragrant blooms, or singing nightingales!
I love them not. My father's marble floors
Were colder than the icy plains I've passed,
When thy dear footsteps fled them. Be content.
Love like our own needs not the warmth of sighs
Or soft caresses to keep pure the fire
Upon the sacred shrine; 'twill burn as bright,
Though never by the breath of kisses fanned;
'Tis not a fading blossom—nor a bird
That only sings amid the orange-flowers.
What have I still?—thy spirit, which is Thou.
What have I lost?—thy body, which I loved
But as the garment which adorned thy soul.
Thou art my Bertho still! I, thy fond Olive,
Who comes to share thy banishment with thee.
Be of good cheer. Only one century
Can Oene thrall thee. In the meanwhile, I
Shall die, and be a spirit, as thou art.
Until that time I will abide with thee;
We will on one another patient wait,
Till, hand in hand we leave these dismal shores
And celebrate our marriage-day in heaven."
PART THIRD.
Tumultuous music filled the spacious cave.
Oene was coming with her virgin train,
Impatient to behold what further charms,
Her prisoned laborers at their tasks had wrought.
Blowing on quaintly curved and curious shells
Which made a sea-like music—mingled up
Of sweet, unsyllabled sounds, and long-drawn sighs,
Heavy with memories of coral reefs,
Murmuring shores, caverns, and surging deeps—
There flew, midway between the roof and floor,
A band of sprites which lived in air or sea;
With eyes like twinkling stars, and winged feet,
And sparkling fins down either shoulder-blade,
And cheeks puffed out and flushing with their toil.
Announced by these, the courtly train approached
The spot where Bertho and his Olive stood,
Close by an emrald rock, within whose breast
A living spring slept like a smiling child.
Around the brim Bertho had sculptured moss
And rare similitudes of southern flowers;
Shaped violets from sapphires, and from stalks,
Hung ruby roses, bright, but without soul,
As perfumeless as was that frigid land.
Oene, resplendent as a wintry moon,
Bent her proud eyes upon the waiting pair:—
"So! thou hast found thy lover, southern maid?
Are, then, these sunbeams which flow from thy head,
Pinions as well as tresses bearing thee
Across the perilous chasm which guards our cave?"