Lydia
O'er the high down the night-wind blew,
And as it chill and howling past,
The Juniper and scathed Yew
Shrunk from the bitter blast.
Yet on the sea-mark's chalky height,
The rude memorial of the Dane,
Thro' many a drear and stormy night
Had hapless Lydia lain.
When I a lonely wanderer too,
Who loved to climb and gaze around,
Even as the Autumnal Sun withdrew,
The poor forlorn one found.
“Ah! wherefore, maiden, sit you so,
The cold wind raving round your breast,
While in the villages below
All are retired to rest?
The fires are out, no lights appear
But the red flames of burning lime,
None but the Horseman's ghost is here
At this pale evening time.”
With wild yet vacant eye, the maid
Gazed on me, and a mournful smile
On her wan sunken features play'd
As thus she spoke the while:
“Yes, to their beds my friends are gone,
They have no grief; they slumber soon;
But 'tis for me to wait alone
To meet the midnight Moon.
The Moon will rise anon, and trace
Her silver pathway on the sea;
I saw it from this very place,
When Edward went from me.
Tho' like a mist the Horseman's ghost
From yon deep dell I often see,
Glide o'er the mountain to the coast,
It gives no fear to me.
I rather dread the clouds that rise
Like towers and turrets from afar,
And swelling high, obscure the skies,
And every shining star.
For then I can no longer trace
That long bright pathway in the sea,
Where Edward bade me mark the place
When last he went from me!
'Twas here, when loth to go, he gave
To his poor Girl his last adieu;
He mark'd the moonlight on the wave,
And bade me mark it too.
And, Lydia!—then he sighing cried,
When the tenth time that light so clear
Shine on the Sea—whate'er betide,
Thy Edward will be here.
Since then I watch with eager eyes,
(Nor feel I cold, or wind or rain,)
Till the tenth blessed moon arise,
And Edward comes again.”
“Ah, wretched Girl!” I would have cried,
But why awaken her to pain?
“Long since thy wandering Lover died,
The moon returns in vain!
Tho' with her wane, thy visions fade,
Yet hopest thou, till again she shine?”
—The hopes of half the World, poor Maid!
Are not more rational than thine!
And as it chill and howling past,
The Juniper and scathed Yew
Shrunk from the bitter blast.
Yet on the sea-mark's chalky height,
The rude memorial of the Dane,
Thro' many a drear and stormy night
Had hapless Lydia lain.
When I a lonely wanderer too,
Who loved to climb and gaze around,
Even as the Autumnal Sun withdrew,
The poor forlorn one found.
“Ah! wherefore, maiden, sit you so,
The cold wind raving round your breast,
While in the villages below
All are retired to rest?
The fires are out, no lights appear
But the red flames of burning lime,
None but the Horseman's ghost is here
At this pale evening time.”
With wild yet vacant eye, the maid
Gazed on me, and a mournful smile
On her wan sunken features play'd
As thus she spoke the while:
“Yes, to their beds my friends are gone,
They have no grief; they slumber soon;
But 'tis for me to wait alone
To meet the midnight Moon.
The Moon will rise anon, and trace
Her silver pathway on the sea;
I saw it from this very place,
When Edward went from me.
Tho' like a mist the Horseman's ghost
From yon deep dell I often see,
Glide o'er the mountain to the coast,
It gives no fear to me.
I rather dread the clouds that rise
Like towers and turrets from afar,
And swelling high, obscure the skies,
And every shining star.
For then I can no longer trace
That long bright pathway in the sea,
Where Edward bade me mark the place
When last he went from me!
'Twas here, when loth to go, he gave
To his poor Girl his last adieu;
He mark'd the moonlight on the wave,
And bade me mark it too.
And, Lydia!—then he sighing cried,
When the tenth time that light so clear
Shine on the Sea—whate'er betide,
Thy Edward will be here.
Since then I watch with eager eyes,
(Nor feel I cold, or wind or rain,)
Till the tenth blessed moon arise,
And Edward comes again.”
“Ah, wretched Girl!” I would have cried,
But why awaken her to pain?
“Long since thy wandering Lover died,
The moon returns in vain!
Tho' with her wane, thy visions fade,
Yet hopest thou, till again she shine?”
—The hopes of half the World, poor Maid!
Are not more rational than thine!
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