Classic Poem

But ere he thence departed,
She rais'd her head, and started
His stricken form to see,
Stiff in its agony.
How like a pallid monument,
The work of skill omnipotent,
With cheeks of rock, and tresses rent,
And forest-brows, o'er paleness bent,
He stood, in silence pale!
Or redden'd, like the crimson glow
Of stormy morn o'er Stumperlow;
Or Kinder, when, far seen, he stands,
With lightnings flashing from his hands,
Unheard, through rain and hail!
And pity wrote, in sorrow's book,
The story of his parting look.
Silent, he sought his restless boat,
And vanish'd, like a dreadful thought:
Oh, hope destroy'd is man's undoing!
Heav'n, save his mind from total ruin!
Flinging from rapid oars the light,
He tilted through the glooming night,
And reach'd the cave (his living grave,
And homeless home,) which ne'er again
Shall know a joy unmix'd with pain,
Though still around its door uncouth,
The woodbine of the sunny south,
Brought by the sires of Etheline
From regions of the cluster'd vine,
Shall hang its fragrant-finger'd flowers,
To lure the bee from forest-bowers;
And, rock-thron'd near, one vastest elm
(Knot-wristed monarch of a realm
All forest, cloud, and wave,)
Spread o'er its lawn his sky of shade,
Where ship-brought foeman never stray'd.
Unseen, lord Konig, hidden nigh,
Beheld him pass. " Wolves have their caves, "
The chieftain said, " and there are graves
For men whose kindred thrive;
But here's a cave that is a grave,
Where lives the dead alive. "
With restless foot, and seeking eye,
Impatiently, impatiently,
He waited near the shore
For one whom he
Again shall see,
But to his heart clasp never more.
" The clouds, " he said, " are gone to bed;
How their dark chamber overhead.
Rocks! Will she come to-night?
The wakeful hare hath rous'd the bear;
The wild pig grunts, the pack'd wolf hunts;
She will not come to-night. "