The sward I pressed; she leant on the rude seat
Over me, but I knew not from that hour,
Whether it was myself I gazed upon;
Or whether I beheld with intense love
And sympathy some higher beings, both
Worthy of each. And she began to sing;
A language which was song was hers,—she sang.
A fragile lute upon her knees she placed,
And balanced from her neck by a silken cord;
Her fingers gave it speech, yet touched it not,
But her hands hovered o'er it like two birds
With wings still fluttering to descend,—she played
Soft as the fine tints of a rainbow bound
About an evening shower: her music first
Came on my sense scarce audible, like rain;
Then, waxing louder, it ascended heaven
With all its colours brightening.
It stilled to sleep, as a sister stills a child
That murmurs not, but smiling upwards on
The watching eye, to rest unconsciously
Sinks pleased. But, changing suddenly, the notes
Began to whirl together as a flight
Of swallows, and then louder still became.
Happy beyond all words, fair spirits seemed.
Clamorous and clapping of their hands for joy!
Too happy beyond words, I would have wept
Had I been in the actual world, where tears
Are bred by intense sympathy, but here,
Where sympathy was life, I did not weep.
-Oh lady! thou art beautiful and now
The dark hair of thy song doth shade its eyes,
The eye-lid of thy music droops: it plains
Slowly and saturated with sweet pain,
Carries my soul into a sphered realm
Of everlasting melancholy. Maid!
Who mournest for thy lover, hear the lay
And be not comforted, but mourn no more
As you have mourned. Youth! whose thirsting love
Has conjured an ideal from the land
Of Vision, listen with a joyous hope,
And mourn not with the bitterness that thou
Hast mourned.
A louder chord is struck! let grief at once
Be wept out like a thunder-rain, and pride
Go up triumphant with a purple flush
And warn of trump-the golden crown doth press
The spirit's forehead who hath conquered all!
-Oh lady, thou art wondrous fair and good!
The earth is filled, oh! filled with gracious things!
Slowly again to life descends thy strain,
An odour as of rose-leaves seems to fall
Upon me, and a pearly light again
It scales the arc of higher heaven, alas!
Art thou not over me as is a God,
Oh lady with thy lute? and I will faint
Utterly into death: oh intermit
The binding of thy linked power, oh cease,
And let me drink a silence short and deep,
Then die into the Life that thou dost live.
"T WAS post meridian, half-past four,
By signal I from Nancy parted;
At six she linger'd on the shore,
With uplift hands and broken-hearted.
At seven, while taughtening the forestay,
I saw her faint, or else 't was fancy;
At eight we all got under weigh,
And bade a long adieu to Nancy!
Night came, and now eight bells had rung,
While careless sailors, ever cheery,
On the mid watch so jovial sung,
With tempers labour cannot weary.
I, little to their mirth inclined,
While tender thoughts rush'd on my fancy, And my warm sighs increased the wind, Look'd on the moon, and thought of Nancy!
And now arrived that jovial night
When every true-bred tar carouses ;
When o'er the grog, all hands delight
To toast their sweethearts and their spouses.
Round went the can, the jest, the glee,
While tender wishes fill'd each fancy;
And when, in turn, it came to me,
I heaved a sigh, and toasted Nancy!
Next morn a storm came on at four,
At six the elements in motion
Plunged me and three poor sailors more
Headlong within the foaming ocean.
Poor wretches! they soon found their graves; For me it may be only fancy,
But Love seem'd to forbid the waves
To snatch me from the arms of Nancy!
Scarce the foul hurricane was clear'd,
Scarce winds and waves had ceased to rattle, When a bold enemy appear'd,
And, dauntless, we prepared for battle.
And now, while some loved friend or wife
Like lightning rushed on every fancy,
To Providence I trusted life,
Put up a prayer, and thought of Nancy!
At last, 't was in the month of May,
The crew, it being lovely weather,
At three A. M. discover'd day,
And England's chalky cliffs together.
At seven up Channel how we bore,
While hopes and fears rush'd on my fancy;
At twelve I gaily jump'd ashore,
And to my throbbing heart press'd Nancy!
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