ADOWN yon fair sequester’d vale
A silver stream meandering flows;
Thick on its banks the primrose pale,
And sweet the azure violet blows.
Around yon rock’s high pointed side
Its arms the fragrant woodbine twines;
The brier-rose in blushing pride
To paint the fairy scene combines.
Fierce Boreas’ rage was all unknown,
That blasts the hope of infant spring;
Far to less favour’d regions flown,
He spreads not here his dusky wing.
A simple, but a spacious dome
The traveller’s eye delighted view’d;
‘Twas oft the weary wanderer’s home,
Whom want and wretchedness pursu’d.
‘Twas guarded by an ancient wood,
That stately raised its reverend head;
The boast of ages long had stood,
And wide its friendly shelter spread.
An aged chieftain there abode,
Safe from the storms of public strife:
He long had left ambition’s road,
To taste the sweets of rural life.
His youth, for gallant feats renown’d,
Had earn’d sweet peace to gild his age;
And wove the victor’s wreath, that crown’d
The hoary temples of the sage.
As the young blossoms’ roseate hue
Adorns the apple’s wither’d arms,
Thus by his side a daughter shew,
Fair as the dawn, her opening charms,
Ah! wherefore was thy polish’d cheek
Ting’d with the rose’s softest die?
Why shone in beams so heavenly meek
The star of morning in thine eye?
Ill-fated maid! thy hapless charms
Shall every future bliss destroy;
Fill thy soft bosom with alarms,
Nor spare a father’s only joy.
‘Twas May, when zephyrs wake the morn,
And birds their warblings wild renew:
From the sweet bosom of the thorn
All lucid hung the pearly dew.
While from the east, serenely mild,
The sun an humid beam display’d;
Far round the growing splendours smil’d,
And glittering on the waters play’d.
By waking dreams of sleep bereft,
To taste the freshness of the dawn,
Her downy couch sweet EDITH left,
And lightly brush’d the dewy lawn,
And now she seeks the deepening shade,
Led by the hand of love unknown;
And fondly deems, mistaken maid!
She wanders thro’ the woods alone;
What form is this, that meets her eyes,
Beneath the aspen’s quivering shade?
Lock’d in the arms of sleep he lies;
His bow unstrung beside him laid.
The wanton zephyrs fan his hair,
And half his glowing cheek conceal;
Green is the vest he seems to wear:
She tries a nearer look to steal.
Say? dost thou in these forests dwell,
And chase thy sylvan prey, she cries?
No longer, envious sleep, conceal
The starry lustre of his eyes.
A sportive Sylph, that heard the pray’r,
Brush’d from his lids the slumberous dew:
He starts, he wakes; at once the fair
All radiant rushes on his view.
In wonder lost they silent stand;
Her head declin’d her blushes hide;
Unheeded, from her trembling hand,
The flowery half-form’d chaplet glides.
At length the rapturous youth began:
Hail, lovely queen of this fair shade!
Low at your feet behold a man,
Who here a hapless wanderer stray’d.
Oh! lead me to those favour’d seats,
That gladly own thy gentle sway;
And, while this faithful bosom beats,
With joy thy mandates I’ll obey.
For thee, in summer’s fervid heat,
I’ll glow beneath the burning sky;
And, when the storms of winter beat,
The raging heavens for thee defy.
Oh! stranger, cease, the virgin said;
Only a simple maid you see;
Who deem’d within this lonely shade
Her steps from mortal eyes were free.
But to my sire thy tale unfold;
No harsh denial need’st thou fear;
His breast to pity ne’er was cold;
The child of sorrow claims his tear.
The stranger’s cause when EDITH pleads,
The indulgent sire will sure comply;
The bosom, form’d for generous deeds,
Such fond requests can ill deny.
Long time beneath Sir OSMOND’S roof
The youth a favour’d guest remain’d;
And, tho’ his tongue conceal’d the truth,
His eyes his secret soul explain’d.
A thousand nameless deeds of love,
By lovers’ eyes alone descried,
Too well for EDITH’S quiet prove
The tender truth his fears would hide.
For her he sought the earliest flower,
That joys the vernal sun to meet:
He twin’d for her the shadowy bower,
From sultry skies a shelter sweet.
If, like the virgin-goddess drest,
She midst the hunter-train was found,
Anxious he show’d what path was best,
Or taught her dart to give the wound.
It chanc’d, as on a summer-day
The burning sun was mounted high;
Direct he shot his fervid ray;
All cloudless shone the azure sky.
Sooth’d by the coolness of the stream,
Beneath an alder’s verdant shade
She lay, and mark’d the dancing beam,
That on its dimpl’d bosom play’d.
Led by the sympathetic power,
Which lovers’ souls doth sweetly bind,
Young EDWIN wander’d near the bower,
Nor knew his love within reclin’d.
At once, to shun the sultry heat,
He sunk beneath the cooling grove;
The birds their warbled lays repeat;
And thus he join’d the song of love:
O nymph, possess’d of every charm,
The coldest breast with love to warm,
Say, must I ever know
The day bereft of all delight;
The sleepless, slow-consuming night;
And waste in hopeless woe?
What canst thou hope, thou wretch forlorn,
From all the ties of kindred torn,
Who parent never knew?
The savage hand, that gave thee birth,
Doom’d thee a vagabond on earth,
And cast thee from her view.
And will Sir OSMOND’S only child,
On whose high birth fair fortune smil’d,
To thee direct her eye?
Yet still some secret whisper tells,
The tide within these veins that swells,
Perhaps may flow as high.
Let then my deeds my birth proclaim:
The brave can win themselves a name,
That with renown shall live:
The victor’s wreath my shame shall hide,
And force the scornful tongue of pride
Unwilling praise to give.
Inspir’d by EDITH’S beauteous eyes,
Ah! might I hope her love the prize,
What dangers were too great?
But let me uncomplaining prove
What valour can, inspir’d by love;
And leave the rest to fate.
The whispering gale, that round them play’d,
To wondering EDITH’S listening ear
The sadly-pleasing strain convey’d:
She dreaded, yet she wish’d, to hear.
For sure, she thought, a soul so brave,
A form endu’d with so much grace,
No mean original could have:
He must be sprung of noble race.
Ah! saw my father with my eyes;
(But so, alas! few fathers see)
The pride of titles he’d despise,
And own superior worth in thee
‘Twas thus, tho’ loving and belov’d,
The pair with hopeless passion pin’d:
Ah! blind to fate! which cruel prov’d,
Beyond what ruthless love divin’d.
(Elizabeth Scot)
More Poetry from Elizabeth Scot:
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Based on Topics: Love Poems, Man Poems, Life Poems, Night Poems, Mind Poems, Sadness Poems, Soul Poems, Joy & Excitement Poems, Youth Poems, Fairness Poems, Name PoemsBased on Keywords: mandates, warblings, declin, requests, uncomplaining, edwin, divin, summer-day, sylph, endu, half-form