Classic Poem

PART THE FIRST.

S AD-SWELLING on the ev'ning gale,
That moan'd along the purple heath,
Was heard an Infant's helpless wail,
By him that pensive walk'd beneath;

The Shepherd turn'd in haste around,
And, as he turn'd, a beauteous child,
Cradled in moss, and wild flow'rs, found:
The little mourner faintly smil'd.

And as his charge the peasant ey'd,
Thro' the brown hawthorn's blossom'd shade,
A burst that forc'd the boughs aside,
Some Stranger's guilty flight betray'd.

Not far from thence, in peaceful state
U BALDO'S ancient castle rose,
Whose master's heart, and open gate,
Did ne'er on weeping wanderer close;

Thither the swain his treasure bore,
And as he told, in simple guise,
The mystic story o'er and o'er,
Fond tears bedew'd the Baron's eyes.

Within his arms the babe he caught,
Sweet babe, by heav'n at once supply'd!
And melting thus in tender thought,
The venerable chieftain cry'd,

“Fair offspring of a sire unknown!
Pure snow-drop of the barren waste!
Henceforth, I mark thee as my own,
For ever in my garden plac'd.

There, next to A NGELA , expand,
In artless pride, thy balmy bloom,
And foster'd by no sparing hand,
Shed o'er my age a soft perfume.”

Fly swift, ye years! on turtle-wing,
Nor let one cloud obscure the skies;
Fly swift o'er childhood's genial spring,
And let youth's ardent summer rise!

The years on turtle-wing are past,
Nor did one cloud the skies obscure;
Behold the fated pair, at last,
In youthful sympathy mature!

How often, F LORIZEL , hast thou,
Ere dawn withdrew her dappled shade,
Pluck'd from the mountain's thymy brow
A wreath to grace the blushing maid.

Or, when the am'rous marigold
Shut it's broad breast with closing day,
How oft, where moonlight, calm, and cold,
Threw its wan lustre, would'st thou stray!

Oft, where with silver foot unseen,
Soft-sliding from her pebbly bed,
Some Naïad sleek, through rushes green
Th' insinuative current led,

Did'st thou her liquid lab'rinth trace,
That stole adown the fairy dale,
And pausing often in thy pace,
List to the blackbird's mellow tale!

But most by haunted copse's side,
Romantic hill, or arbor trim,
Where the vex'd rivulet seem'd to chide
The lilies nodding o'er it's brim,

Thy flute was heard: hard-by, enshrin'd
A poplar's trembling leaves among,
The night-bird, wailing to the wind,
Married her sweet note to thy song.

Thy song was A NGELA ! and she,
In sooth, deserv'd the fairest meed;
For where a nobler theme could be,
To suit the stop of shepherd's reed?

Have you not seen the fragrant spot,
Where clust'ring cowslips sweetly blow?
Such, ripe for love, and fancy-fraught,
Her swelling bosom's lucid anow!

Have you not seen the azure stream,
Kist sportive by the sunny ray?
So, o'er her blue eye's bashful beam,
The golden ringlets wildly play!

Blooms not a floret on the plain,
Breathes not a violet-scented breeze,
Could match her pure cheek's vermil stain,
Could like her honey'd accents please.

And she was gentler still than fair;
Pity could move her feeling mind,
Soon as the filmy gossamer
Moves lightly to the dallying wind.

And Merit never met her scorn,
And modest Worth her soul approv'd,
And Truth she priz'd, tho' humbly born,
No wonder F LORIZEL she lov'd!

No titled birth had he to boast,
Son of the desart! Fortune's child!
Yet, not by frowning Fortune crost,
The Muses on his cradle smil'd;

He joy'd to con the fabling page
Of prowess'd chiefs, and deeds sublime,
And e'en essay'd in infant age,
Fond task! to weave the wizard rhyme.

Whate'er Romancer's magic skill,
Of wonderful, or wild, bestow'd,
Since from B OYARDO'S fluent quill
The long-continued fiction flow'd,

He knew; and when some action brave
Inspir'd the legendary lay,
He sigh'd, and blest that laurell'd grave,
That held the hero's happier clay.

The sunshine of the song alone,
As yet, its influence could impart,
And splendors, from the Poet thrown,
Rear'd seeds of honor in his heart.

Nor e'er did he eschew the strain,
By Genius hung on Beauty's hearse,
Which told the soft P ROVENÇAL'S pain,
When V AUCLUSE eccho'd to his verse.

'Mid shadows brown he lov'd to roam,
Where Stillness held her lone retreat,
Where ne'er the hermit's distant home
Was visited by vagrant feet;

Him, at his supper, oft he found,
Of cates, the ambient woods afford,
And prest with awe the holy ground,
And join'd to share the frugal board;

Wherever Misery appear'd,
A constant guest, the drop of woe
That wet the beggar's silver beard,
He wip'd, and bade no more to flow.

Nor did the Knight disdain to heed
Those workings of a noble soul,
Nor bounteous act, nor social deed,
Did e'er his stinted store controul;

But by the charm of virtues rare,
Congenial virtues, closely won,
Scarce did the darling Daughter share
More favor, than th' adopted Son.