Classic Poem

A TALE.

B Y H ARRIET F ALCONAR .

When blooming spring, in rosy grace attir'd,
Had chas'd the wintry blast and deck'd the May,
As slow retiring eve with parting beams
Cast o'er the antique spires a crimson light,
Where rolls Sabrina her smooth stream along,
On whose sweet banks gay Flora's gaudy pride
Persum'd with odours mild the passing breeze:
On the green marge a tow'ring grove appears,
Within whose maze the woodlark's warbled note,
Responsive, echoes through the winding path
And dies in whispers on the list'ning ear:
There young Lebeus with his Anna stray'd;
Oft from his bosom burst the quick-heav'd sigh,
While to the maid he whispered tales of love.
Ah! little knows the cold unfeeling heart
What anguish struggled in young Anna's breast
As down his cheek the tear of sorrow stole;
Nor knew he why she sigh'd; yet would not Anna,
As wept Lebeus, share his bosom's grief?
She would; for, in the breast that love has soften'd
Benign compassion has her temple rear'd.
In Anna's bosom ev'ry virtue dwelt,
Benevolence in mildest looks array'd,
Celestial Piety, fair child of heav'n,
With Love and Virtue dancing hand in hand,
While Resignation, ever soft and calm,
Cast o'er her brow a mild seraphic grace.
So smiles the good man at the hour of death
When heav'nly glories burst upon his view.
Yet for Lebeus oft her bosom bled;
Oft had she mark'd, when, with the early sun,
He rose to tend his flock on Severn's side,
The tear fast flowing from his downcast eye.
Awhile in meditation fix'd she sate,
Gazing with pity on the mourning youth;
Then rais'd her doubtful voice and thus began:
Long, my Lebeus, have I sought the source
Whence this sad constant stream of sorrow flows;
Oft in thy breast have I repos'd my cares,
And, by dividing, made that anguish less:
Oh! if thy love, like mine, be fond as true,
No longer veil the suff'rings of thy soul.
She paus'd; and thus the pensive youth reply'd;
Long have I strove, my Anna, to conceal
The griefs that prey upon my tortur'd heart;
In vain; — a miserable wretch I rove:
Yet, stay a while, and thou shalt hear my tale.
In that embow'ring wood, whose lofty shade
Veils from the wand'ring eye each distant prospect,
Time wastes the relics of an ancient dome
And spreads its ruins o'er the lonely plain;
No chearful footsteps tread the faded ground,
And death's pale terrors seem to haunt the gloom;
Yet there, with innocence and peace benignant,
First in these plains the young Amethion stray'd:
Serene, he saw the gentle morning smile,
The gentle morn of life's precarious day,
Where fortune changes like the summer's breeze.
The strangers woe to pity and relieve,
The drooping heart of injur'd worth to chear,
And bid the latent sparks of genius glow;
To these fond tasks his earliest youth inclin'd;
For, in his bosom, Pity fix'd her throne.
Full bright the gems of virtue there had blaz'd,
Yet, ere the tender blossom well had sprung,
The frosts of vice nipp'd all its blooming beauties:
The charms of pleasure seiz'd his op'ning mind,
As soft enchantments warbled from her tongue.
The gay delusive sounds, that charm'd his ear,
His sire Philintes heard with secret pain;
He heard, yet sought not with the eye of reason
To mark the latent virtues of the youth,
While from his rage the gay Amethion flew.
So, when declining Sol, in gath'ring glooms,
Hides his last beam and leaves the sorrowing world,
The golden crocus droops her lovely head;
Thus from Philintes' heart the last faint gleam
Of fond affection, lost in gloomy rage,
Slowly withdrew; in pleasure's flow'ry path
Amethion wander'd consciously perplex'd,
But from her mazes ne'er return'd again.
Seest thou, beneath that hill, yon lowly cottage?
There good Evander and his only daughter,
She late the loveliest of the village fair,
And he the pride of all the rustic swains,
Once dwelt; there first Amethion learnt to love;
Love, the sad source of every future woe!
In all its loveliest bloom the full-blown flow'r
Ne'er match'd the beauties that adorn'd her form,
Or the sweet May, in purple blossoms dress'd,
The various virtues that inspir'd her bosom.
But, ah! the luckless chance! her unkind fortune
Consign'd those beauties to the lowly cot;
Such charms, as, in a more exalted state,
Might lustre through the regal palace beam,
Ere youth's sweet blossom droop'd by sorrow faded, —
Sorrows, that might have pierc'd the steely heart!
O'er the dread fane that saw their secret marriage
Pale Misery hover'd with malignant joy,
And seem'd that hour to mark her future prey;
For, babbling fame, loquacious of their loves,
Now to Philintes' ear the news convey'd.
Some few months pass'd, my Anna, thou didst notice
When the rude whirlwind swell'd our Severn's tide;
It rush'd, impetuous, o'er the rising hills,
And with the torrent whelm'd thy father's flock;
So from Philintes' bosom burst the storm,
The winds of disobedience long had gather'd.
The door, that once was open to receive
Its master, was for ever shut against him;
Spurn'd by his father, and that father too
His only friend, and exil'd even from home,
He vow'd to quit his dear, his native, land; —
But would he leave his lovely Helenissa?
And young Vincentio too, his only hope?
He whom thou call'st Lebeus was that infant:
For, know, I am not old Malvolio's son!
Ah! gaze not on me thus, but patient hear
The sequel of my tale, so shalt thou say
Ne'er was a fate so big with misery!
To old Evander flew my weeping sire;
But, ah! what terrors shook the good man's frame
When young Amethion told the fatal tale!
The woe-struck lovers sat in speechless grief;
Evander clasp'd their trembling hands and spoke;
My children! for, alike ye share my love,
Ye know I long have fear'd th'impending storm;
Yet do not droop, I am not yet so weak,
But these old hands can labour for you all!
Thou more than man, the prostrate youth reply'd,
Bathing Evander's seet in tears of love;
Yet for a little time and I must leave you,
But soon Amethion happier shall return;
Nor long, my Helenissa, shalt thou droop;
And, though thy sight should never bless me more,
Yet with my parting soul thy much-lov'd name
Shall rise to heav'n with prayers for my Vincentio!
He would have said adieu, but from his tongue
The plaintive accent fell, and, falt'ring, died!
No more, alas! his fainting heart could bear;
Trembling he flew and press'd the midnight path,
With tott'ring step; fast o'er the rugged hill
And dreary plain he bore his trembling form,
While distant hamlets rose upon his view.
At length a shepherd's humble roof he gain'd,
And ask'd to rest awhile his weary limbs:
The swain agreed; but, when he saw the tears
Fast flowing down Amethion's livid cheek,
Compassion seiz'd his soft'ning heart, and now
He begs Amethion to reveal the cause:
But, when he heard the melancholy tale,
A flood of melting sorrow bath'd his cheeks,
And thus reply'd the swain: Hard is thy fate,
But learn with hope to bear; these words receive
From one who strives to make thy misery less.
Ere morn again shall light the face of heav'n,
And gild with earliest rays the orient wave,
Speed hence thy course, fortune may smile upon thee,
And thou mayst yet return and yet be bless'd
With joys, by sufferings past but made more sweet.
The youth obey'd; and, rising with the dawn,
A port he sought, whence the bold vessel sailing
Bore him in safety to a distant shore;
And, whilst five years successive roll'd away,
Heav'n bless his smallest labours, and he now
Prepar'd once more his native land to see;
While Helenissa droop'd beneath her sorrows,
Like roses blasted with the northern wind!
Oft the dear letter, to Amethion sent,
Implor'd him once again her sight to bless:
Nor wish'd he less; but never would return
Till fortune bless'd him with a store of wealth.
And now, once more embark'd upon the seas,
His love, his prayers, are pour'd for Helenissa.
Now Britain's verdant hills salute his sight,
But, ah! how transient was the fleeting hope
That he should e'er behold his much-lov'd home!
For, while the vessel's jovial crew were hailing
The happy moment of their near return,
She bulg'd upon the rock, and sunk a wreck,
Casting Amethion, with the vessel's master,
Upon a craggy steep, whose hanging brow,
Impending, dreadful, o'er the foaming waves,
Threaten'd destruction on the trembling pair!
Fearful they ventur'd up its rocky side,
And from the summit view'd a dreary plain,
Wild as the prospect of Arabia's deserts!
But, scarce had they descended, when a vast
And pond'rous fragment of the sea-beat rock,
Roll'd from its top, with horrid thund'ring clash,
And crush'd Amethion 'neath its dreadful ruin!
In speechless anguish stood his fearful friend,
And hopeless view'd the dreary path before him,
When night approach'd, and, from a distant hill,
A twinkling taper caught his searching eye.
He flew, regardless of the dang'rous path;
For, wrapt in night, he saw not half its horrors;
Hope buoy'd him up awhile, and now, the day
Again appearing, chear'd his fainting heart.
As now his steps approach'd the welcome dwelling,
His eyes so long had sought with earnest view,
The rustic matron, at whose friendly door
The weary stranger never stood in vain,
Welcom'd, and with a smile receiv'd, her guest;
But, when he told the dangers he had pass'd,
The matron rais'd her pious hands in wonder,
Then bade Ernesto seek a short repose.
But rest his pillow fled; Amethion's form,
All gash'd and pale, still rose upon his sight.
Oft had he heard the luckless youth relate
His early sufferings, heard him oft describe
The peaceful spot where Helenissa dwelt,
While memory call'd the dreadful scene to view,
When his expiring friend had wav'd his hand,
Seeming to say, ah! speed to my lov'd home,
And tell my dear, my long-lost, Helenissa
My fatal end, so shall I rest in peace!
And now, resolving to fulfil the wish,
Ere morn again had lit her golden lamp,
His weary feet Amethion's dwelling sought,
Five suns had beam'd upon the vernal plains
Their animating lustre, when Ernesto
Reach'd the lov'd mansion of his lost companion;
But, ah! the weeping Helenissa fat
O'er the pale form of her expiring father,
Whose last breath quiver'd on his panting lip,
Just as Ernesto gain'd the lowly roof.
Pale as the image of some dying maid,
He gaz'd upon the woe-struck scene before him;
The good Evander breathless, and his child
Mourning the relics of her dear-lov'd sire:
But, when she heard Amethion's dreadful doom,
Her tears, suspended in the woe-wild eye,
That seem'd just starting from her madden'd brain,
Could stream no longer; on the trembling youth
She cast her death-fix'd eye, and thus began:
Hear me, O stranger; for this hapless child,
And his lost father, I preserv'd my being:
Lo! here Evander lies; and even Amethion,
My last, best hope, is gone; but thou, his intend,
O speed thy steps to good Malvolio's dwelling,
And charge him, if he ever lov'd my friendship,
To rear my infant with the tenderest care;
Vincentio call him not: all gracious Heaven,
My fate is cruel, but thy deeds are just!
Adieu, kind stranger, and, from others sufferings,
Ah! learn with patient hope to bear thine own,
But never may a fate like this await thee!
I would continue, but my falt'ring voice
Deceives my tongue: I come, my lov'd Amethion,
Into thy bosom! mighty God, receive
This weary soul! — No more, alas! she spoke,
But sunk upon Evander's icy breast,
A lifeless corse, the partner of his fate!