Where grey Glenfinlas lies, o'erhung
By rocks in wild disorder flung.
VI.
"These are the realms," she said, "where long
"Have I with guardian care surveyed
"The scenes that once awoke the song
"Of bards divine, that hither strayed.
"The genius of that land am I,
"Where every pine-clad steep on high,
"Each lonely sheal, or ruin grey,
"Or even the trembling of a spray,
"Recalls the marvellous deeds of yore,
"And legends of mysterious lore.
* For the words marked with commas in this stanza, the writer is indebted to the unpublished MSS. of a friend ; and shall rejoice, if the liberty here taken shall induce him to follow, with more assiduity and less diffidence, those poetical avocations for which his talents are eminently adapted.
"O seize their beauties ere they die,
"While yet the pastoral life remains;
"My willing aid shall still be nigh,
"To prompt for thee the impassioned strains.
"Even yet the hoary seer may tell
"The fortunes strange that here befell
"Full many a mighty chief of old,
"In legendary fame enrolled :
"O listen, ere their charms are fled,
"And mixed for ever with the dead!"
I woke; the lovely dream was gone
Yet on the balmy gale of even
Celestial melodies were thrown,
And now retreating, rose to heaven.
Each object in the woodland range,
By moonlight seemed more wild and strange :
The lengthening vale below was lost
In shadowy mist and dazzling frost ;
The silvery beams, with glittering play,
Danced on the waves of Loch Achray;
And, as I hailed the charms of night,
Mine inward gleams were passing bright.
THE GENIUS AND THE BAYADERE.
An Indian Legend. From the German of the celebrated Von Goethe, Au thor of Herman and Dorothea, the Sorrows of Werter, &c.
* MAHADOC, the lord of earth,
Once more quits his blissful state,
Rises in a mortal birth,.
Bound to mortals' changeful fate
Resolved of human joy and woe
Every sympathy to share,
From human sympathy to know,
When to pity, when to spare.
His ken had all the various city eyed,
From modest worth obscure to glittering pride:
He sets at evening forth, an unknown course to steer.
* The measure is the same with the original German.
Streets and suburbs left behind,
A damsel meets him on the way;
How from innocence declined,
The leer and crimson'd cheek display
"Damsel, good evening"-accents mild
"Good night," reply:" Pray enter here!".
"And who art thou, my beauteous child?"
"I am your humble Bayadere."
Beneath her hand the cymbal gaily sounds,
With nimble feet she winds the
Then graceful bends, and to present fresh flowers draws near
With gentle force she leads him in;
"Come, fair stranger, come and see
These mysterious bowers within,
The house of Love adorn'd for thee.
Art thou weary ? here repose;
My cares shall soften every pain;
Rest or revelry propose,
Here thou shalt not wish in vain."
All his feign'd sufferings kindly she relieves.
The Genius smiles; with pleasure he perceives
A heart, though sunk in vice, that sweet compassion knows.
Menial services required,
Well she play'd the practised part ;
But cares, that first cold art inspired,
Touch the springs that move the heart;
When the fragile flower is shed,
The lasting fruit succeeds instead;
Affection's unbought feelings raise
The breast that willingly obeys.
The pitying Genius, all her heart to sound,
Leads her to rapturous joys and woes profound:
The last recesses of her soul his view surveys.
On her warm lip the kiss imprest,
Her veins with subtle poison glow;
And soon, upon her sighing breast,
Sharp tears involuntary flow;
Torments unknown her bosom tear,
Pleasure and gain have lost their sway;
Her limbs refuse their load to bear,
Down at his feet she sinks away.
Night round the couch her secret mantle threw,
Of heaven wrought texture and celestial hue,
To veil those blissful hours from every mortal view.
In sportive pleasure closed, her eyes
Open from short late-taken rest;
Lifeless the lovely stranger lies,
Pale and cold upon her breast.
With piercing cries she rends the air;
Alas, her love no more can hear!
Soon his corse away they bear;
She sees him on the funeral bier.
Hark! 'tis the requiem chaunted for the dead!
Swift as an arrow to the place she fled.
"Who art thou, maid?" they said, "what do'st thou here?"
Wild with ungovernable pain,
On the rude ground her body thrown,
"Restore," she cries," my spouse again!
I to the vault with him go down.
O place not on the burning hearth
Those limbs divine! Did Heaven but give
Him mine, and only mine on earth,
One blessed night alone to live?"
Meanwhile the dirge proceeds-" Death's arrows strike
The tottering old and vigorous young alike;
Exempted from his power nothing of mortal birth!
"The priest's behest, sad damsel, hear
He was not thy wedded spouse;
Thou hast lived a Bayadere,
That estate no claim allows;
The shadow on the body waits,
The wife her husband follows still,
Fame the duty celebrates
That our holy rites fulfil.—
Strike, strike amain the timbrel's sacred round,
That earth and skies may hear the awful sound,
While purified by flame the soul to heaven ascends!"
Deaf to her cries, they light the pile,
The fires are blown with Heaven's breath,
Darting around a radiant. smile,
She springs upon the bed of death-
His godlike form the Genius rears;
Unhurt, the flames about him play;
Aloft the damsel lightly bears,
To realms of pure etherial day.
Repentant sinners are the joy of Heaven;
To the lost child a fonder portion given,
And all offences past for ever wiped away.
|