The Complete Poems of Sir Thomas Moore Part 106

And sleep came around her--but, starting, she woke, For still from the garden that spirit Voice spoke!

"I come," she exclaimed, "be thy home where it may, "On earth or in Heaven, that call I obey;"

Then forth thro' the moonlight, with heart beating fast And loud as a death-watch, the pale maiden past.

Still round her the scene all in loneliness shone; And still, in the distance, that Voice led her on; But whither she wandered, by wave or by sh.o.r.e, None ever could tell, for she came back no more.

No, ne'er came she back,--but the watchman who stood, That night, in the tower which o'ershadows the flood, Saw dimly, 'tis said, o'er the moonlighted spray, A youth on a steed bear the maiden away.

CUPID AND PSYCHE.

They told her that he, to whose vows she had listened Thro' night's fleeting hours, was a spirit unblest;-- Unholy the eyes, that beside her had glistened, And evil the lips she in darkness had prest.

"When next in thy chamber the bridegroom reclineth, "Bring near him thy lamp, when in slumber he lies; "And there, as the light, o'er his dark features s.h.i.+neth, "Thou'lt see what a demon hath won all thy sighs!"

Too fond to believe them, yet doubting, yet fearing, When calm lay the sleeper she stole with her light; And saw--such a vision!--no image, appearing To bards in their day-dreams, was ever so bright.

A youth, but just pa.s.sing from childhood's sweet morning, While round him still lingered its innocent ray; Tho' gleams, from beneath his shut eyelids gave warning Of summer-noon lightnings that under them lay.

His brow had a grace more than mortal around it, While, glossy as gold from a fairy-land mine, His sunny hair hung, and the flowers that crowned it Seemed fresh from the breeze of some garden divine.

Entranced stood the bride, on that miracle gazing, What late was but love is idolatry now; But, ah--in her tremor the fatal lamp raising-- A sparkle flew from it and dropt on his brow.

All's lost--with a start from his rosy sleep waking; The Spirit flashed o'er her his glances of fire; Then, slow from the clasp of her snowy arms breaking, Thus said, in a voice more of sorrow than ire:

"Farewell--what a dream thy suspicion hath broken!

"Thus ever. Affection's fond vision is crost; "Dissolved are her spells when a doubt is but spoken, "And love, once distrusted, for ever is lost!"

HERO AND LEANDER.

"The night wind is moaning with mournful sigh, "There gleameth no moon in the misty sky "No star over h.e.l.le's sea; "Yet, yet, there is s.h.i.+ning one holy light, "One love-kindled star thro' the deep of night, "To lead me, sweet Hero, to thee!"

Thus saying, he plunged in the foamy stream, Still fixing his gaze on that distant beam No eye but a lover's could see; And still, as the surge swept over his head, "To night," he said tenderly, "living or dead, "Sweet Hero, I'll rest with thee!"

But fiercer around him, the wild waves speed; Oh, Love! in that hour of thy votary's need, Where, where could thy Spirit be?

He struggles--he sinks--while the hurricane's breath Bears rudely away his last farewell in death-- "Sweet Hero, I die for thee!"

THE LEAF AND THE FOUNTAIN.

"Tell me, kind Seer, I pray thee, "So may the stars obey thee "So may each airy "Moon-elf and fairy "Nightly their homage pay thee!

"Say, by what spell, above, below, "In stars that wink or flowers that blow, "I may discover, "Ere night is over, "Whether my love loves me, or no, "Whether my love loves me."

"Maiden, the dark tree nigh thee "Hath charms no gold could buy thee; "Its stem enchanted.

"By moon-elves planted, "Will all thou seek'st supply thee.

"Climb to yon boughs that highest grow, "Bring thence their fairest leaf below; "And thou'lt discover, "Ere night is over, "Whether thy love loves thee or no, "Whether thy love loves thee."

"See, up the dark tree going, "With blossoms round me blowing, "From thence, oh Father, "This leaf I gather, "Fairest that there is growing.

"Say, by what sign I now shall know "If in this leaf lie bliss or woe "And thus discover "Ere night is over, "Whether my love loves me or no, "Whether my love loves me."

"Fly to yon fount that's welling "Where moonbeam ne'er had dwelling, "Dip in its water "That leaf, oh Daughter, "And mark the tale 'tis telling;[1]

"Watch thou if pale or bright it glow, "List thou, the while, that fountain's flow, "And thou'lt discover "Whether thy lover, "Loved as he is, loves thee or no, "Loved as he is, loves thee."

Forth flew the nymph, delighted, To seek that fount benighted; But, scarce a minute The leaf lay in it, When, lo, its bloom was blighted!

And as she asked, with voice of woe-- Listening, the while, that fountain's flow-- "Shall I recover "My truant lover?"

The fountain seemed to answer, "No;"

The fountain answered, "No."

[1] The ancients had a mode of divination somewhat similar to this; and we find the Emperor Adrian, when he went to consult the Fountain of Castalia, plucking a bay leaf, and dipping it into the sacred water.

CEPHALUS AND PROCRIS.

A hunter once in that grove reclined, To shun the noon's bright eye, And oft he wooed the wandering wind, To cool his brow with its sigh, While mute lay even the wild bee's hum, Nor breath could stir the aspen's hair, His song was still "Sweet air, oh come?"

While Echo answered, "Come, sweet Air!"

But, hark, what sounds from the thicket rise!

What meaneth that rustling spray?

"'Tis the white-horned doe," the Hunter cries, "I have sought since break of day."

Quick o'er the sunny glade he springs, The arrow flies from his sounding bow, "Hilliho-hilliho!" he gayly sings, While Echo sighs forth "Hilliho!"

Alas, 'twas not the white-horned doe He saw in the rustling grove, But the bridal veil, as pure as snow, Of his own young wedded love.

And, ah, too sure that arrow sped, For pale at his feet he sees her lie;-- "I die, I die," was all she said, While Echo murmured. "I die, I die!"