WHEN evening’s pale light had retired from the plain,
And night had the valley o’erspread;
When the dew was converted to big drops of rain,
And the Owls on their battlements hooting complain,
As the wind blew in gusts o’er their head.
A damsel all frantic with grief and despair,
Fled rapidly over the plain,
Her face, though the emblem of Sorrow , was fair;
Dishevell’d and torn were her ringlets of hair;
Her bosom was labouring with pain.
A shriek of distress was then borne on the wind,
More plaintive to hear, than the sound
Of a Ring-dove, describing the pangs of its mind,
When no longer its mate in the woods it can find,
Or, finding, perceives a death wound.
It reach’d to the cave where Alphonso retir’d,
To seclude both his sorrow and woes;
Where the lamp of affection had never expir’d,
Though Religion and Virtue together conspir’d,
The anguish of grief to compose.
Yet love was still potent, and under a vest,
Which duty oblig’d him to wear,
He conceal’d the dear tyrant, that sway’d o’er his breast,
That robb’d him alike both of joy and of rest,
And made him the victim of care.
Sebastian the tyrant, had chanc’d to behold
A maid, whom Alphonso long priz’d:
He sought her, he woo’d her–at length he was told,
Her heart could be never attracted by gold,
And his love would be ever despis’d.
Enrag’d at a rival, he quickly retires,
The tumult to hide in his breast;
For envy and malice together conspires,
To light up a flame, more terrific than fires
That burst from a volcanic nest.
Sebastian was lord of a boundless domain,
And part he resolv’d to bestow,
If the sire of Alphonso despotic would reign;
Compel him to wear both a Cross and a Chain ,
And take a Monastical Vow .
The bait was attractive–his heart was allur’d,
The peace of his son was forgot;
Of his zeal the proud tyrant was firmly assur’d:
Alphonso was destin’d of love to be cur’d,
Or sent to a far distant spot.
The sire, with a mandate most rigidly stern,
Said, “Alphonso, ’tis hence my decree,
That your bosom no longer with passion must burn,
But your love be for ever entomb’d in an urn,
And religion the object for thee.”
Amazement, at first, suspended his speech:
At length he exclaim’d–” Do I hear!
Resign, my Louisa!–turn Hermit! –and preach!
Relinquish a joy when its just in my reach?
Ah! rather I’ll stretch on a bier!”
“Decide,” said the father, “decide, nor delay,
Louisa’s existence depends,
For unless you declare that my will you obey,
And solemnly swear you agree to my way,
Her Love , and her Life , quickly ends.”
“Oh, spare her!” Alphonso in terror then cries,
“To what would you have me agree?”
Then clasping his hands, and imploring the skies,
“Louisa,” said he, “thou delight of my eyes!
And must I resign Love , and thee?”
The paleness of death o’er his features was spread,
Cold dew stood in drops on his cheeks;
The roses from thence entirely were fled,
His lips were no longer enamell’d with red,
And his frame became suddenly weak.
The moon had thrice circled around in her horn,
E’re Alphonso recover’d his sense,
E’re he knew that his comforts were totally shorn,
That his love from his arms been forcibly torn,
And many leagues distant from thence.
The wealth, which his sire had so vilely obtain’d,
Corroded, like care, in his breast;
Too late he lamented, Sebastian had gain’d
A purpose, by which his Alphonso was pain’d,
And totally robb’d of his rest.
“My son,” said the Tyrant,” alas! I relent,
And gladly dispense with thy vow;
But for fear that Sebastian should know I repent,
And recal in the wealth, which in part I have spent,
An appearance of sanctity show.
“Thy garments must henceforth religious appear,
Thy vestment some order disclose;
For if ever thy rival should happen to hear,
You still have a right to reclaim your lost dear,
He’d at once put an end to your woes.”
“Alas!” said Alphonso, “the cloaths that I wear,
Can only my person conceal;
But give me a veil to confine my despair,
To hide from myself , the corrodings of care,
And teach, me no longer to feel.
“Or find me some spot where my sorrows may hide,
Where my griefs may in private repose;
Where my tears may augment the slow course of some tide,
As it silently murmurs my cavern beside,
And seems to attend to my woes.”
The spot which Alphonso so stongly desir’d
At length was disclos’d to his view:
‘Twas a cave where a hermit had once liv’d retir’d,
Where his life and his virtues together expir’d,
And the moss round its arches thick grew.
To the inmost recess of this deep gloomy cave
A voice in distress did extend:
Alphonso it rous’d, and he rush’d forth to save
A damsel, who sought a defence from the brave,
And call’d upon Death as a friend.
But who can describe the emotions that rise,
As the lamp plac’d the fair-one in view?
When Louisa herself was disclos’d to his eyes!
Yet her spirit seem’d fled to its mansion, the skies,
And frantic with horror he grew.
“Louisa!” he cried, “thou delight of my heart,
Oh speak!–let me feel but thy breath!–
And have we then met to he destin’d to part?
Ah no!–for, I swear, no persuasion or art
Shall prevent me from sharing thy death.”
His voice soon recall’d the faint spirit that fled,
She open’d her languid blue eyes–
Beheld her Alphonso–reclin’d her weak head
In those arms which to press her were openly spread,
And shield her from grief and surprise.
The pow’r of expression to both was deny’d–
Their joy was too great to impart:
At length–” My Alphonso, I’m spotless!” she cry’d,
“I’ve escap’d all his arts–and I’ll now be the bride
Of him who has long had my heart!”
(Mary Hopkins Pilkington)
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