CANTO II .
O COULD I snatch from the chill blight of time
One little flower that in thy path might bloom,
Alas! the fairest wreaths that mortals twine
Bear the sad impress of an early tomb.
Oh! how we love, in solitude unbroken,
To linger on some well remembered voice,
That to the heart one soothing word hath spoken,
When grief oppressing, robbed it of its joys.
Can I forget how close thine anxious ear
Hath bent to catch the sufferer's faintest sigh?
Can I forget how oft the gathering tear
Hath trembled in thy mild expressive eye?
This harp perchance may lose its charms for thee,
Its strings may broken and neglected be,
Yet till the torch of feeling cease to burn
Thy name shall live in memory's sacred urn.
Farewell! yet stay, there is a simple flower,
That I have gathered from earth's greenest spot;
It long hath blossomed in affection's bower,
Then take it — 'tis the sweet Forget-me-not.
O N the green margin of a rill,
Whose crystal waters calm and still,
Meandering through a valley fair,
Were lost in quiet murmurs there,
A cottage stood, half hid from view
By the tall trees that 'round it grew.
In years gone by beneath their shade
A brother and a sister played —
Their widowed mother's only joy.
She looked upon her darling boy,
Then closer to her bosom pressed
Her precious charge, and wept, and blessed,
And prayed that heaven would deign to spare
The objects of her tender care; —
That their young hearts might never know
The sorrow she had known — the woe.
Oh! if our sun shone ever bright —
We knew not of affliction's night —
If cankering thorns were never strown,
But blossoms decked our path alone;
If hearts were ever fond and true,
And friendship's smiles no changes knew;
Too much our thoughts were centred here,
'Mid scenes so lovely and so dear.
'Twas spring — the winter's storms were o'er;
That mother's heart was glad once more;
For they who in her arms once slept,
And o'er whose cradle she had wept,
Now to maturer years had grown; —
She felt that she was not alone —
Yet there were moments when the past
A shadow o'er her spirit cast.
Oh! chide her not if memory's tear
Would sometimes tremble in her eye;
And thoughts of one she held most dear
Awoke too oft the unbidden sigh.
And though affection gently strove
To smoothe for her each rugged spot,
The depths of grief 'twas hers to prove,
A grief that could not be forgot.
" Dear mother, " Edward oft would say,
" What can we do to chase away
The gloom that on thy brow I see?
It grieves poor Isabel and me.
Think not thy happy days are o'er; —
No, dearest mother! smile once more.
Thy comfort still our care shall be,
Thou liv'st for us and we for thee. "
'Twas eve, and from that vine-clad cot
Young Edward to a favorite spot
Had wandered forth to gather there
A chaplet for his sister's hair; —
The task complete, he turned away,
And homeward bent his steps again.
As near a wood he chanced to stray,
He caught the echo of a lay,
And wondered whence the music came.
Ah! would that he had never known
The voice that breathed that thrilling tone!
For if his lips no vow had spoken
A trusting heart had not been broken.
He wandered to that grove once more, —
Heard the sweet echo as before,
And the soft glance of Lucy's eye
First taught his youthful heart to sigh.
They met, they parted, met again; —
To them that lone retreat became
A hallowed place; they loved its shade,
Where balmy zephyrs nightly played,
And Nature's dewy tears were wept
O'er flowers that in this shadow slept.
Unmindful of each busy care,
The moments flew unheeded there;
Or lost in a delicious dream,
The longest hours but moments seem.
For there affection's smiles were shed,
And time passed by with softest tread.
One lovely morn by Edward's side
The blushing Lucy stood his bride,
And from her lips the solemn word
By many an anxious ear was heard; —
For ever his! till death should part
The links that bound them heart to heart.
Now fervently the humble prayer
Ascended to the throne of God,
That he would bless the youthful pair,
And guard from ill the path they trod.
In that brief moment who can tell
The thoughts of gentle Isabel?
For oh! she never felt till then
How dear to her had Edward been.
And should he err, would Lucy chide,
Or strive like her his faults to hide? —
Would Lucy's heart for him alone
Beat ever warmly like her own?
How oft is friendship but a name!
A look, a word, may break its chain;
Still 'round some kindred heart we twine
As clings the ivy to the vine;
A brother's heart may faithless prove,
But naught can crush a sister's love.
Whate'er a brother's faults may be
A faithful monitor is she; —
Though steeped in guilt that brother's name,
She weeps, and loves him still the same;
And from the world's cold glance conceals
The pangs her aching bosom feels.
O COULD I snatch from the chill blight of time
One little flower that in thy path might bloom,
Alas! the fairest wreaths that mortals twine
Bear the sad impress of an early tomb.
Oh! how we love, in solitude unbroken,
To linger on some well remembered voice,
That to the heart one soothing word hath spoken,
When grief oppressing, robbed it of its joys.
Can I forget how close thine anxious ear
Hath bent to catch the sufferer's faintest sigh?
Can I forget how oft the gathering tear
Hath trembled in thy mild expressive eye?
This harp perchance may lose its charms for thee,
Its strings may broken and neglected be,
Yet till the torch of feeling cease to burn
Thy name shall live in memory's sacred urn.
Farewell! yet stay, there is a simple flower,
That I have gathered from earth's greenest spot;
It long hath blossomed in affection's bower,
Then take it — 'tis the sweet Forget-me-not.
O N the green margin of a rill,
Whose crystal waters calm and still,
Meandering through a valley fair,
Were lost in quiet murmurs there,
A cottage stood, half hid from view
By the tall trees that 'round it grew.
In years gone by beneath their shade
A brother and a sister played —
Their widowed mother's only joy.
She looked upon her darling boy,
Then closer to her bosom pressed
Her precious charge, and wept, and blessed,
And prayed that heaven would deign to spare
The objects of her tender care; —
That their young hearts might never know
The sorrow she had known — the woe.
Oh! if our sun shone ever bright —
We knew not of affliction's night —
If cankering thorns were never strown,
But blossoms decked our path alone;
If hearts were ever fond and true,
And friendship's smiles no changes knew;
Too much our thoughts were centred here,
'Mid scenes so lovely and so dear.
'Twas spring — the winter's storms were o'er;
That mother's heart was glad once more;
For they who in her arms once slept,
And o'er whose cradle she had wept,
Now to maturer years had grown; —
She felt that she was not alone —
Yet there were moments when the past
A shadow o'er her spirit cast.
Oh! chide her not if memory's tear
Would sometimes tremble in her eye;
And thoughts of one she held most dear
Awoke too oft the unbidden sigh.
And though affection gently strove
To smoothe for her each rugged spot,
The depths of grief 'twas hers to prove,
A grief that could not be forgot.
" Dear mother, " Edward oft would say,
" What can we do to chase away
The gloom that on thy brow I see?
It grieves poor Isabel and me.
Think not thy happy days are o'er; —
No, dearest mother! smile once more.
Thy comfort still our care shall be,
Thou liv'st for us and we for thee. "
'Twas eve, and from that vine-clad cot
Young Edward to a favorite spot
Had wandered forth to gather there
A chaplet for his sister's hair; —
The task complete, he turned away,
And homeward bent his steps again.
As near a wood he chanced to stray,
He caught the echo of a lay,
And wondered whence the music came.
Ah! would that he had never known
The voice that breathed that thrilling tone!
For if his lips no vow had spoken
A trusting heart had not been broken.
He wandered to that grove once more, —
Heard the sweet echo as before,
And the soft glance of Lucy's eye
First taught his youthful heart to sigh.
They met, they parted, met again; —
To them that lone retreat became
A hallowed place; they loved its shade,
Where balmy zephyrs nightly played,
And Nature's dewy tears were wept
O'er flowers that in this shadow slept.
Unmindful of each busy care,
The moments flew unheeded there;
Or lost in a delicious dream,
The longest hours but moments seem.
For there affection's smiles were shed,
And time passed by with softest tread.
One lovely morn by Edward's side
The blushing Lucy stood his bride,
And from her lips the solemn word
By many an anxious ear was heard; —
For ever his! till death should part
The links that bound them heart to heart.
Now fervently the humble prayer
Ascended to the throne of God,
That he would bless the youthful pair,
And guard from ill the path they trod.
In that brief moment who can tell
The thoughts of gentle Isabel?
For oh! she never felt till then
How dear to her had Edward been.
And should he err, would Lucy chide,
Or strive like her his faults to hide? —
Would Lucy's heart for him alone
Beat ever warmly like her own?
How oft is friendship but a name!
A look, a word, may break its chain;
Still 'round some kindred heart we twine
As clings the ivy to the vine;
A brother's heart may faithless prove,
But naught can crush a sister's love.
Whate'er a brother's faults may be
A faithful monitor is she; —
Though steeped in guilt that brother's name,
She weeps, and loves him still the same;
And from the world's cold glance conceals
The pangs her aching bosom feels.