Classic Poem

Loud howl'd the storm, no star appear'd,
The lab'ring Moon was seen no more,
But oft, by fretful fits, was heard
The distant torrent's angry roar;

When studious of his wayward doom,
The wond'rous Orphan took his way
(So chanc'd it,) to the pictur'd room,
That in the Southern Gall'ry lay.

Full many a griesly form he view'd
Of warrior, who in battle dy'd,
By painting clad in armour rude,
Quaint casque, or morion's crested pride;

But most one semblance caught his sight,
Completely mail'd, of martial air,
And much he ey'd, with fond affright,
A chief so formidably fair.

When, sudden, oped by secret springs,
Portentous, from the living frame,
While hoarse the hollow casement rings,
Completely mail'd, the Robber came;

Robber no more!—in silent wrath,
The fearful calm of smother'd ire,
He mutters, as he points the path,
“Rise, recreant, and pursue thy sire!”

Thro' the long Gall'ry's winding maze,
Down the steep stairs, before unknown,
He follows slow, with dubious gaze,
While the dun archway seems to groan.

But what his horror? what his rage?
His horror great, his rage not less,
Led by U BALDO 's perjur'd Page,
When o'er the bridge throng'd foemen press.

“And now is come the destin'd hour,
And now my solemn vow is clear,
And now not earth's collected pow'r
Shall dare dispute my birthright here!

But still no dark assassin I,
In sleep to deal the murd'rous wound;
Small time will equal arms supply,
Th' alarum ring, the bugle sound!

Thy mother's wrongs remember well,
Remember, too, thy plighted word,
Remember how thy father fell,
And from that father take the sword!”

And now the slumb'rers rush to fight,
To fight they rush, nor know the cause,
'Till old U BALDO 's sacred sight
Gives to each side a dreary pause.

But soon as with the adverse host
His F LORIZEL the vet'ran spy'd,
In many a keen emotion lost,
“And thou, my Son!” he feebly cry'd.

“Not thine, nor of so vile a race,
Not thine,”—the Robber-sire exclaim'd,
Then rais'd the vizor from his face,
Which fiery red with choler flam'd.

Like some aerial shape, meanwhile,
Scar'd by th' unwonted din of arms,
Gleaming along the gloomy aisle,
Came A NGELA 's dishevel'd charms;

Th' enamour'd youth, at once, discern'd
The silent censure of her frown,
Quick from the hostile party turn'd,
And threw his sword, indignant, down,

Then cry'd, as down his pallid cheek
Each other the big drops pursu'd,
“N ATURE herself shall fail to break
The bonds of Love and G RATITUDE !”

While thus he spoke, with stedfast stare
The Baron mark'd the stranger-foe,
A moment first, entranc'd in pray'r,
The next, his tears began to flow.

“Oh! part'ner of my early prime,
Oh! deeply on my heart engrav'd,
Forgive, forgive, my father's crime!
It is, it is, thy son I sav'd!

S IR H UGO , on the bed of death,
Stung by remorseful conscience sore,
Did but these lands to me bequeath,
To hold, for thee or thine, in store;

Long have I sought thee, rightful heir,
Long pray'd the pitying Pow'rs divine,
To lift from me that load of care,
But ne'er could hear of thee or thine!

Mysterious Heav'n! the gloom is past,
No more I'm torn, no more distrest,
Thy child, a waif upon the waste,
That child I cherish'd in my breast;

And he is valiant, he is good,
Of gentle carriage, generous heart,
Methinks, he's mingled with my blood,
No, A RIEERT , we must not part!

One only gem on earth I prize,
One gem, which sure, would deck a throne,
Aught else I spurn beneath the skies;
B ELMONT , with A NGELA 's thy own!”

“And what for me, at length, remains?
Ah! what,” rejoin'd the tortur'd sire,
“Can blanch a Robber's hideous stains?
Water nor purifying fire.

Can I pollute these hallow'd dews,
Fast-welling from th' Eternal Spring,
Round the repentant couch t' effuse,
Which Ministers of Mercy bring?

Yet nigh yon chapel's ivy'd wall,
Scoop me a solitary cell;
There, by the cataract's foaming fall,
In lonely penance will I dwell;

There, as my orisons I breathe,
And drop with every bead a tear,
To smoothe the dark decline of death
My E MMA 's image will appear.

Shall I not view that angel frame,
Dim gleaming on the brow of ev'n?
When the west glows with faded flame,
And tender twilight creeps o'er Heav'n.

Or, when the moon, her empress fair,
Sails slowly thro' a lambent cloud,
Shall I not view her bosom bare
Long whit'ning thro' it's silver shroud?

Oh! yes, and woo her sainted shade,
To plead the cause of erring Love,
And fondly claim her partial aid,
To mediate for my sins above,

And pour the grateful rapture wild
To H IM , who link'd in wedded joy,
Sweet A NGELA , the Baron's child,
With A RIBERT , the Orphan-boy.”