"'Haste on! and here thy duteous train
In rapt expectance shall remain;
Till, with thee, brilliant as a gem
Set in a kingdom's diadem,
Thy lovely mistress shall appear!
O! hasten! we await thee here!'
"Again did that upbraiding eye
Check my false strain in passing by;
And its concentred meaning fell
Into my soul:--It was not well
To triumph thus, though but in show;
To chant the lay that joyance spoke,
To wear the gay and careless look.--
The ardent and the tender know
What pain those self-reproaches brought,
When conscience took the reins of thought
Into her hand, avenging more
All that she seem'd to prompt before.
O tyrant! from whose stern command
No act of mine was ever free,
How oft wouldst thou a censor stand
For what I did to pleasure thee!
The well-propp'd courage of my look,
The sportive language, airy tone,
To wounded love and pride bespoke
A selfish hardness not my own!
And only lulling secret pain,
I seem'd to fling around disdain.
"To him, with warm affections crost,
Who, owning happiness was lost,
Had said, 'Dear maiden, were I free,
They would not let me think of thee;
The only one who on my sight
Breaks lovely as the morning light;
Whom my heart bounding springs to greet,
Seeks not, but always hopes to meet;
With eager joy unlocks its store,
Yet ever pines to tell thee more!'
To him, should feign'd indifference bring
A killing scorn, a taunting sting?
To Osvalde, drooping and forlorn,
A flower fast fading on the stem,
All exultation seem'd like scorn,
For what was hope and joy to them?
As with awakening judgment came
These feelings of remorse and shame,
With the throng'd crowd, the bustling scene,
Did deep abstractions intervene,
O'er yielding effort holding sway,
As, humbled, I pursued my way.
"The festive flowers, the incens'd air,
The altar taper's reddening glare;
The pausing, slow-advancing pair,
Her fainter, his most watchful air;
The vaulted pile, the solemn rite,
Impress'd, then languish'd on my sight;
And all my being was resign'd
To that strong ordeal, where the mind,
Summon'd before a heavenly throne,
Howe'er surrounded, feels alone.
When, bow'd in dust all earthly pride,
All earthly power and threats defied,
Mortal opinion stands as nought
In the clear'd atmosphere of thought;
And selfish care, and worldly thrall,
And mean repining, vanish all.
When prayers are pour'd to God above,
His eyes send forth their beams of love;
Darkness forsakes our mental sky,
And, demon-like, our passions fly.
The holy presence, by its stay
Drives failings, fears, and woes away;
Refines, exalts, our nature draws
To share its own eternal laws
Of pure benevolence and rest,
The future portion of the blest--
Their constant portion! Soon this flow
Of life I lost--recall'd below:
From prayers for them recall'd. Around,
A sudden rush, of fearful sound,
Smote on my ear; of voices crying,
'The bride, the Lady Osvalde dying!
Give place! make room!' the hurrying press
Eustace alarm'd; and, in distress,
Calling for air, and through the crowd
Which an impeded way allow'd,
Forcing slow progress; bearing on
Her pallid form; when, wholly gone
You might have deem'd her mortal breath,
Cold, languid, motionless as death,
I saw before my eyes advance,
And 'woke, astounded, from my trance.
"The air reviv'd her--but again
She left not, for the social train,
The stillness of her chamber;--ne'er
Its threshold pass'd, but on her bier:
Spoke but to one who seem'd to stand
Anear, and took his viewless hand,
To promise, let whate'er betide,
She would not be another's bride.
Then, pleading as for past offence,
Cried out aloud, 'They bore me hence!
My feet, my lips, refus'd to move,
To violate the vows of love!
My sense recoil'd, my vision flew,
Almost before I met thy view!
Almost before I heard thee cry
Perfidious Osvalde! look and die!
"'Oppose them? No! I did not dare!
I am not as a many are,
Ruling themselves: my spirits fly,
My force expires before reply.
Instinctively a coward, free
In speech, in act, I could not be
With any in my life, but thee!
Nor strength, nor power do I possess,
Except, indeed, to bear distress!
Except to pour the aching sigh,
Which only can my pain relieve;
Inhuman ye who ask me why,
And pause, to wonder that I grieve:
Mine are the wounds which never close,
Mine is a deep, untiring care;
A horror flying from repose,
A weight the sickening soul must bear.
The tears that from these eyelids flow,
The sad confusion of my brain,
All waking phantoms of its woe,
Your anger, and the world's disdain,--
Seek not to sooth me!--they are sent
This feeble frame and heart to try!
It is establish'd, be content!
They never leave me till I die!'
"So little here is understood,
So little known the great and good,
The deep regret that Eustace prov'd,
Brought home conviction that he lov'd
To many: others thought, her dower,
The loss of lordships, wealth, and power,
Full cause for sorrow; and the king
Hop'd he might consolation bring,
And bind a wavering servant o'er,
(Not found too loyal heretofore,)
By linking his sole daughter's fate
In wedlock with an English mate--
His favourite too! whose own domain
Spread over valley, hill, and plain;
Whose far-trac'd lineage did evince
A birth-right worthy of a prince;
Whose feats of arms, whose honour, worth,
Were even nobler than his birth;
Who, in his own bright self, did bring
A presence worthy of a king--
A form to catch and charm the eye,
Make proud men gracious, ladies sigh;
The boldest, wisest, and the best,
Greater than each presuming guest;--
I speak from judgment, not from love,--
In all endowments far above
Who tastes this day of festal cheer,
And whom his death assembles here!
"That he is known those look avow,
The mantling cheek, the knitting brow:
I could not hope it did he live,
But now, O! now, ye must forgive!
Most recreant they who dare offend
One who has lost her only friend!
De Stafford's widow here appears--
For him, my Eustace, flow these tears!
Ye may not blame me! ye have wives,
Who yet may sorrow for your lives!
Who, in the outset of their grief,
Upon a father's neck may spring;
Or find in innocence relief,
And to a cherish'd infant cling;
Or thus, like me, forlornly shed
Their lonely wailing o'er the dead!
"Can eyes that briny torrents steep,
Others in strong subjection keep?
Yes! here are some that mine obey,
And, self-indignant at the sway
I hold upon them, turn away!
Some, too, who have no cause for shame,
Whom even the injur'd cannot blame,
Now here, now there, above, below,
Their looks of wild avoidance throw!
Nay, gentle cousin, blush not so!
And do not, pray thee, rise to go!
I am bewilder'd with my woe;
But hear me fairly to the end,
I will not pain thee, nor offend.
O no! I would thy favour win;
For, when I die, as next of kin,
So 'reft am I of human ties,
It is thy place to close my eyes!
"With state and wealth to thee I part,
But could not with De Stafford's heart!
Nor could I mute and prudent be
When all at once I found 'twas thee,
Doom'd ever, in thy own despite,
To take my rank, usurp my right!
I told, alas! my father's name,
The noble stock from which I came:--
'Marie de Brehan, sounds as well,
Perhaps,' I cried, 'as Isabel!
And were the elder branch restor'd,
(My grandsire was the rightful lord,)
I, in my injur'd father's place,
Those large domains, that name would grace.'
"I never saw a joy so bright,
So full, so fledg'd with sparkling light,
As that which on the instant flew
To his quick eye, when Eustace knew
He had not yielded to a yoke
Which prudence blam'd, or reason broke.
'O! trebly blest this hour,' he cried;
'I take not now another bride!
I bow'd to duty and to pride;
But, here I pledge my solemn vow,
To wealth alone I will not bow!
The only offspring of a race
No misalliance did disgrace;
Nurtur'd, school'd, fashion'd by their laws,
Not wishing an exceptive clause,
Till thee, my only choice, I met;
And then, with useless, deep regret,
I found in birth, and that alone,
Thou wert unworthy of a throne!
My ancestors appear'd too nice;
Their grandeur bore too high a price,
If, with it, on the altar laid,
Freedom and happiness were paid!
Yet, could I give my father pain,
Or treat those lessons with disdain,
I heard a child upon his knee;
And, at the present, knew to be
Entwin'd with every vital part?
To scorn them were to break his heart!
My mother too, though meek and kind,
Possessing such a stately mind,
That once perceiving what was fit,
If 'twere to die, must still submit;
Knowing no question in the right,
Would not have borne me in her sight;
Though quick her sands of life would run,
Deserting, angry with her son!
Yet noble both, by honour bound,
To take no other vantage ground,
They will not use a meaner plea,
Nor sordid reasons urge to me!
Good and high-minded, they will yield:
I shall be victor in that field;
And for my sovereign, we shall find
Some inlet to his eager mind;
At once not rashly all disclose,
His plans or bidding to oppose,--
That his quick temper would not brook;
But I will watch a gracious look,
And foster an auspicious hour,
To try both love and reason's power.
Zealous I cannot fail to be,
Thou canst not guess to what degree,
Dear Marie, when I plead for thee!'
"That the result was plain, I knew,
For I had often heard him sue,
And never known a boon denied.
In secret I became his bride:
But heaven the union disapprov'd--
The father he so truly lov'd,
Before this first offence was told,
Though neither sick, infirm, or old,
Without a moment's warning, died!
"This seal'd his silence for awhile;
For, till he saw his mother smile,
Till time the cloud of woe should chace
From her pale, venerable face,
He felt the tale he dar'd not break,--
He could not on the subject speak!
And oh! the gentle mourn so long,
The faint lament outlasts the strong!
"Her waning health was fair pretence
To keep his voyage in suspence;
But still the king, averse or mute,
Heard coldly his dejected suit,
To give the lingering treaty o'er;
And once exclaim'd, 'Persuade no more!
This measure 'tis resolv'd to try!
We must that veering subject buy;
Else, let the enemy advance,
De Brehan surely sides with France!'"
The harp again was silent; still
No fiat of the general will
Bade her to cease or to proceed:
Oft an inquiring eye, indeed,
The strangers rais'd; but instant check'd,
Lest the new vassals should suspect
They thought the monarch's reasons just,
And faith so varying brought mistrust.
De Brehan, with a bitter smile,
Eyes closing, lips compress'd the while,
Although Remorse, with keenest dart,
And disappointment wrung his heart;
Although he long'd to thunder--"Cease!"
Restrain'd his fury, kept his peace.
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