Classic Poem

How sweet it is when day is new,
And Summer is bathed in her young dew,
To contemplate, 'twixt sun and sod,
Each miracle that tells of God!

Thus Edgar mused in dreamy mood,
Next morn, on the upland solitude,
As, slowly pacing, he gained the site
Of the one great oak that crowned the height.
He threw him on a mossy mound,
His whole soul flooded with the sense
Of that delightful recompense
Which ever in the fields is found,
Which lifts the heart when tempest-bowed,
And sets the rainbow on the cloud.
He saw the river where it flowed
Under the morn, a golden road, —
Saw ships upon that highway free
Moving out to a boundless sea.
He saw the mist-dispelling sun
Mount, proudly conscious there was none
Sceptred beside himself, to hold
High state upon that throne of gold,
And thought of Freedom's glorious light
Conquering the dull mists of night.
He saw the moon with anxious stare
Walk down the cloudless western air,
Seeking the stars with pale dismay,
Like a shepherdess whose flocks
From the fields have gone astray
Among dusky woods and rocks,
In the wilderness to roam,
Till the eve shall bring them home.
But he thought decaying Tyranny
Might search for his lost flock in vain.
Those stars now seeking to be free
No gloomy eve should bring again.

Long, long he gazed on Berkley Hall,
And then on his native cottage small, —
The one embowered in tall, proud trees,
The one with its woodbine porch and bees;
And never before they struck his sense
With such a hopeless difference.
He felt how often heart from heart
Are kept by the mason's walls apart,
Even though the doors were open, free,
As Wealth can afford his doors to be.

Gliding along the garden-walks,
Gathering blossoms from the stalks,
He saw the heiress of Berkley Hall,
And fancied he heard the rise and fall
Of the melody he knew must be
Flooding her lips incessantly:
For song was native to her tongue
As to a runnel valeward flung,
As wind to a cloud, as mist to a fall,
As dew to the rose, and as sunshine to all.
His full heart ached with love's sweet pain,
Like a sealed fountain, charged with rain,
That longs to sing in the summer air,
Yet faints in its cavern of despair.

From plot to bower, from vase to vase,
Down to the very garden-base,
He watched her gliding, fawnlike pace;
The branches bowed to her forehead fair
And shed their blooms on her golden hair.

Oh, what is so like an embodied May
As a frolic maiden, with laughter gay,
Chasing her fancies as they flit
Out of her heart of innocent wit,
Shrining herself in the blowing bowers,
Her tresses flecked with falling flowers?
O Heaven, when I am old and bent,
And into the valley deathward sent,
Be the last sweet vision which charms my way
A breathing, bright, embodied May,
That, while I lean upon my staff,
I may see her smile and hear her laugh,
That my heart may be fresh, till its life is null,
With the sun and the dew of the beautiful!

A tree blown bright with summer blooms,
O'errun with honeysuckle-vines,
A very fount of sweet perfumes,
Stood in the garden, where the bees
Toiled ever in these murmurous mines:
And Edgar might have envied these;
For some which mined that odorous store
Brought back their sweets to his father's door.

Around this tree a stairway led
Into the branches overhead,
And there, mid spreading antler-boughs,
A little room was fitted well,
Where a votaress might make her vows
Secure within her flowery cell.

Such a one there stands to-day
In a poet's garden far away,
Where on many an afternoon,
His great soul full of marvellous tune
Cloistered among flowers and leaves,
He sings, and all the world receives.

Lightly up the vine-like stair,
Light of heart and light of foot,
Flitted the maiden into the bower.
Never in enchanted air
Held a vine so fair a flower
Or tree so sweet a fruit.

She sat; the flickering sun and shade
Like winged sprites about her played;

The wren peered in with curious eye,
The bluebird carolled closely by,
The robin from her nest above
Looked, and resumed her task of love.

The maiden's lap was full of flowers,
Culled from the lavish garden-bowers.
Mid these her fingers gayly played,
Entwining happy shade with shade,
And, as she wrought the flowers among,
Her sweet thoughts rippled into song.

I.

The blue-eyed lady of the morn,
While she wreathes her flowers of light,
Knows for whom those flowers are bright,
By whom they shall be worn:
She knows the golden locks of Day
Shall bear that flashing wreath away.

II.

Though she knows their shape and hue
May be crushed and tarnished soon,
And the battle-heat of noon
Waste their precious dew,
Yet she knows when day is through
He shall wear his wreath anew.

III.

Would I knew some hero now!
He should wear the wreath I make.
Not for mine, but Freedom's sake,
I would deck his brow;
Should his arm victorious prove,
He should wear the wreath of love.

IV.

Should he fall, I would outgrieve
All who ever grief possessed;
I would weep upon his breast,
Overveiled like dewy Eve,
And above my hero dead
Pour my tears till life had fled.

The music on its golden wing
Dropt from those dewy lips of spring;
Scarce had the cadence ceased to flow,
There was a sound of footsteps fleet,
And suddenly, with cheeks aglow,
Young Edgar knelt before her feet.
She started with surprise — not fear —
To find the stranger youth so near.
He read the question in her eye,
And, ere she spoke, he made reply: —

" Oh, lady, if I err, forgive:
I know not, scarcely, if I live,
Or that it is my soul is drawn
By witching music, on and on,
To kneel to thee in holier guise,
While its poor dwelling yonder lies
I was as one within a land
Where all he sees is dead and sere,
Who droops with thirst, till near at hand
He hears a fountain singing clear,
Then, without further question, flies
To find the spring which life supplies.
In sooth, the music drew me near,
And left me, lady, kneeling here.
I heard the wish your song expressed,
And echo answered in my breast,
Oh, bid me wear that wreath you make,
For thine as well as Freedom's sake! "

The maiden's lips no word replied;
But still the youth could well descry
That there was pleasure in her eye
And that her cheek was double-dyed.

A moment, with extended hands,
She held the precious wreath in air,
Looked in his face her sweet commands,
Then pressed it on her hero's hair,
And would have fled with girlish bound,
But suddenly a whirring sound
Made her light foot recoil a pace,
And drove the roses from her face.

A winged arrow fiercely near
Had lightly grazed the stranger's ear,
Dislodged one garland-bloom, and sunk
Quivering in the gnarled trunk,
And firmly there the angry dart
Transfixed the blossom's odorous heart.

Her flashing eye the maiden turned:
One hurried glance the truth discerned.
Near by, upon the gravel path,
Holding his attitude of wrath,
The wild-eyed boy defiant stood.
His black hair in a flashing flood.

Flung back, the quivering bow's advance,
The right hand to the shoulder drawn,
The knitted brow, the fiery glance
Still following where the dart had gone, —
He looked the great Apollo's child,
Born in a forest dark and wild.

A moment thus his posture kept
The young soul burning in his face,
Then suddenly, as in disgrace,
He flung him on the grass and wept.

Her heart was moved, her pity stirred:
She fled to him as flies a bird
Which hears its lonely fledgling call;
She raised his head, smoothed back his hair,
Looked in his eyes of wild despair.
He smiled, and she forgave him all,
Then led him calmly up the lawn,
Glanced at the bower, — the youth was gone.

Young Edgar passed the garden-gate
With dazzled brain and heart elate;
The very landscape seemed to quiver,
As if the burning pulse of love
Was throbbing in the sky above,
Thrilling the forest, field, and river.

His spirit's wings had sudden birth;
He felt beneath no heavy earth:
He trod as on a field of air,
And the flowers like stars shone everywhere.

Down through the grove he gained the stream,
Which flowed before him like a dream,
Its ripples whispering to the shore,
And love their burden evermore;
Stream, flower, and tree, and breeze, and bird,
Were eloquent with that one word.

He knelt, with very joy o'erweighed,
Beneath a flowering poplar's shade,
And seized the coronal and kissed
The blossoms, — (Love must have his will,) —
And held them to his lips until
His eyes were full of blissful mist,
Through which the bright scene brighter shone
In iris colors all his own.
Then solemnly the flowers he prest
Beneath the crossed hands on his breast,

And cried, " In face of Death and Heaven,
This sacred wreath by thee was given,
And it shall not dishonored be!
Here, in face of Heaven and Death,
I pledge my life, my latest breath,
To Freedom and to thee! "

" A valiant oath, — and nobly sworn! "
Exclaimed a voice of thunder near;
" And, if it be no idle boast,
Go forth to-day, and take your post:
For hark! 'tis Freedom's bugle-horn
Which summons you from here!

Mount yonder steed, — unless I err,
He will not wait for whip or spur, —
And I have one as good beside.
'Tis well: we both have far to ride. "

The youth sprang up. The speaker's height
Loomed o'er him like a cloud of night:
The palm on Edgar's shoulder flung
In friendship, wellnigh made him reel:
The pledging right hand ached and stung,
Grasped in the wagoner's grip of steel.

" Our place of secret rendezvous, "
He said, " is only known to few, —
A cavern in a wild ravine,
Hid by the friendly oak and vine,
Where naught is heard but the Brandywine,
Which rolls a shadowy flood between;
A hidden place, that well might be
The stronghold of a robber crew:
Of such persuasion are not we,
Save in our royal tyrant's view.

Your guide I cannot be to-day;
My course lies far another way;
But there is one will guide you true:
Already, with a heart of joy,
By yonder wall he waits for you,
Henceforth your friend, — the frolic boy.
Mount you, and place the youth behind, —
The wildest steed may carry double, —
And in the holsters you will find
Two trusty guards in case of trouble.

And when you meet the wild-eyed dame
Who reigns within our secret place,
If she looks strangely in your face,
Speak kindly, — simply name my name, —
That my command has brought you hence,
No further it behooves to know:
'Twere well you give her no offence:
She may be — — Well, no matter: go. "

They parted, and the youth obeyed,
And when the friendly evening laid
Concealment over rock and wave,
He gained the river and the cave.