Darkness lowered!-the earth-the sky-the ocean, Were wrapp'd in gloom; the waves, in dread commotion, Roll'd, hoarsely echoing to the storm, that rush'd Wild and impetuous o'er the earth, and crush'd Huge mountain pines, and from their summits tore Fragments of rocks, that, with tumultuous roar, From peak to peak leap'd thundering to the vale, Where, sweeping fiercely on, the raging gale Scatter'd the sweet flowers with its wasting breath! While lightning, flying on the wings of death, Flash'd through the darkness;-at the thunder's peal, Heaven seem'd to shake, and conscious earth to reel, As though the jarring elements would mix
In one eternal chaos, and so fix
The death of all things, swifter than the light
Flies down to earth, from heaven's ethereal height!
Again fierce lightning glared along the sky,
Hoarse thunder roll'd, so deep-so awfully,
That the pale moon shook in her sphere, and fled
Behind the thick, the sombre clouds, that spread
O'er earth and heaven, where darkness reign'd alone,
A gloomy tyrant, on his ebon throne!
O'erwhelm'd by terror, in that fearful hour,
Rush'd Anna, wildly, from love's guilty bower!
The life-blood chill'd upon her conscious heart;
Her cheeks were pale-her trembling lips apart-
And they were quivering ghastly, while her eye
Flash'd in the lightning, as it hurried by !
Her dark disorder'd tresses loosely flew
Back on the rough and wanton blast that blew
With igneous breath, from clouds of fire, that stream'd
With blue sulphureous flame, and hideous gleam'd
O'er her flush'd cheek, while shame, remorse, despair,
Mingled their dark and hectic shadows there!
Near the lone rocks, beside the billowy deep,
Lorn Anna wander'd-wander'd but to weep!
Yet Machin's kind and gentle look of love,
Soft as the smile with which the saints above
Soothe the repentant soul-that look imprest,
Hope's magic signet on her throbbing breast!
Oh! when the eye that weeps for error,
To gaze on heaven above, through burning tears;
It turns for hope, to something loved below,
To that which caused those burning tears to flow!
So the fair flower, that loves the God of day,
If scathed and blighted by his dazzling ray,
Still constant turns to that attractive sun,
Whom yet alone it worships-though undone !
Still raged the tempest, while the furious waves
Lash'd the huge rocks, and shook their dreary caves;
Near the rough beach lay broken sail and mast,
And shrouds, wide scatter'd by the vengeful blast;
Unwelcome tokens of some founder'd bark,
O'erwhelm'd by waters, fathomless and dark!
Then started Anna, at the fearful dash
Of ruthless billows ;-while the lightning's flash
Gleam'd o'er the earth, with lurid light, and gåve
A frightful glimmering to the sombre wave,
Deep rolling, foaming, boiling, dark beneath!
Then rose the frenzied cry-the cry of death;
The last the wild farewell-the shriek-that burst
From drowning men, who, struggling, dying-curst
Their fate in bitterness, e'en while the deep
Chill'd their departing souls to dreamless sleep!
She heard-she wept-Oh! hour of wrath divine!
Despair-remorse-and grief-and shame, are thine,
Distracted Anna! and thy hope is now
But like a green leaf on a wither'd bough!
THE BEECH TREE'S PETITION.
OH! leave this barren spot to me—
Spare, woodman, spare the beechen tree;
Though shrub or floweret never grow
My dark unwarming shade below;
Nor fruits of autumn, blossom born,
My green and glossy leaves adorn;
Nor murmuring tribes from me derive
The ambrosial treasure of the hive,
Yet leave this little spot to me
Spare, woodman, spare the beechen tree.
Thrice twenty summers have I stood
In bloomless, fruitless solitude,
Since childhood in my rustling bower
First spent its sweet and sportive hour-
Since youthful lovers in my shade
Their vows of truth and rapture paid;
And on my trunk's surviving frame
Carved many a long-forgotten name.
Oh! by the vows of gentle sound,
First breathed upon this sacred ground;
By all that love hath whisper'd here,
Or beauty heard with ravish'd ear:
As Love's own altar honour me-
Spare, woodman, spare the beechen tree.
Good morrow to the sable beak
And glossy plumage, dark and sleek;
Thy crimson moon, and azure eye,
Cock of the heath, so wildly shy!
I see thee slily cowering through
The wiry web of silver dew,
That twinkles in the morning air,
Like casement of my lady fair.
A maid there is in yonder tower,
Who, peeping from her early bower,
Half shews, like thee, with simple wile,
Her braided hair, and morning smile.
The rarest things, with wayward will,
Beneath the covert hide them still;
The rarest things, to light of day**
Look shortly forth, and shrink away.
A fleeting moment of delight,
I sunn'd me in her cheering sight,
And short, I ween, the day will be,
That I shall parley hold with thee.
Through Snowdon's mist red beams the day,
The climbing herd-boy chaunts his lay,
The gnat-flies dance their sunny ring:
Thou art already on the wing.
O, HEARD ye yon pibroch sound sad on the gale,
Where a band cometh slowly with weeping and wail?
'Tis the chief of Glenara laments for his dear,
And her sire, and the people, are call'd to her bier.
Glenara came first with the mourners and shroud;
Her kinsmen they follow'd, but mourn'd not aloud;
Their plaids all their bosoms were folded around;
They march'd all in silence-they look'd on the ground.
In silence they march'd oyer mountain and moor,
To a heath, where the oak-tree grew lonely and hoar:
"Now here let us place the grey stone of her cairn :
Why speak ye no word?" said Glenara the stern.
"And tell me, I charge you, ye clan of my spouse,
Why fold ye your mantles, why cloud ye your brows ?”
So spake the rude chieftain, no answer is made,
But each mantle unfolding a dagger display'd.
"I dreamt of my lady, I dreamt of her shroud," Cried a voice from the kinsmen, all wrathful and loud;
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