He builds, in the starlight clear and cold, For whom are those glorious chambers wrought, Is there neither spirit nor motion of thought "Twas hither a youth of dreamy mood, A hundred winters ago, Had wandered over the mighty wood, When the panther's track was fresh on the snow, And keen were the winds that came to stir The long dark boughs of the hemlock fir. Too gentle of mien he seemed and fair, The kingly Hudson rolls to the deeps; And here he paused, and against the trunk When the broad clear orb of the sun had sunk And over the round dark edge of the hill And the crescent moon, high over the green, On that icy palace, whose towers were seen ΙΟ 20 330 40 Is that a being of life, that moves Where the crystal battlements rise? At the twilight hour, with pensive eyes? 'Tis only the torrent tumbling o'er, In the midst of those glassy walls, He thinks no more of his home afar, Where his sire and sister wait. He heeds no longer how star after star Looks forth on the night as the hour grows late. Who pass where the crystal domes upswell Where the frost-trees shoot with leaf and spray, 'And oh, that those glorious haunts were mine!' There pass the chasers of seal and whale, And herdsmen and hunters huge of limb. 50 60 70 There are mothers-and oh, how sadly their eyes In a seeming sleep, on the chosen breast; They eye him not as they pass along, 80 When he feels that he moves with that phantom throng, The glittering threshold is scarcely passed, In which there is neither form nor sound; Slow passes the darkness of that trance, Huge shadows and gushes of light that dance And walls where the skins of beasts are hung, On a couch of shaggy skins he lies; Hard-featured woodmen, with kindly eyes, Is scarcely set and the day is far. They had found at eve, the dreaming one, When over his stiffening limbs begun And they cherished the pale and breathless form, 90 100 THE STRANGE LADY THE summer morn is bright and fresh, the birds are darting by, As if they love to breast the breeze that sweeps the cool clear sky; Young Albert, in the forest's edge, has heard a rustling sound, An arrow slightly strikes his hand and falls upon ground. the A dark-haired woman from the wood comes suddenly in sight; Her merry eye is full and black, her cheek is brown and bright; Her gown is of the mid-sea blue, her belt with beads is strung, And yet she speaks in gentle tones, and in the English tongue. 'It was an idle bolt I sent, against the villain crow; Fair sir, I fear it harmed thy hand; beshrew my erring bow!' ΙΟ 'Ah! would that bolt had not been spent! then, lady, might I wear A lasting token on my hand of one so passing fair! !' 'Thou art a flatterer like the rest, but wouldst thou take with me A day of hunting in the wilds, beneath the greenwood tree? I know where most the pheasants feed, and where the red-deer herd, And thou shouldst chase the nobler game, and I bring down the bird.' Now Albert in her quiver lays the arrow in its place, And wonders as he gazes on the beauty of her face: Those hunting-grounds are far away, and, lady, 'twere not meet, 19 That night, amid the wilderness, should overtake thy feet.' Heed not the night; a summer lodge amid the wild is mine 'Tis shadowed by the tulip-tree, 'tis mantled by the vine; The wild plum sheds its yellow fruit from fragrant thickets nigh, And flowery prairies from the door stretch till they meet the sky. There in the boughs that hide the roof the mock-bird sits and sings, And there the hang-bird's brood within its little hammock swings; A pebbly brook, where rustling winds among the hopples sweep, Shall lull thee till the morning sun looks in upon thy sleep.' Away into the forest depths by pleasant paths they go, He with his rifle on his arm, the lady with her bow, Where cornels arch their cool dark boughs o'er beds of winter green, 31 And never at his father's door again was Albert seen. That night upon the woods came down a furious hurri cane, With howl of winds and roar of streams, and beating of the rain; The mighty thunder broke and drowned the noises in its crash; The old trees seemed to fight like fiends beneath the lightning-flash. Next day, within a mossy glen, 'mid mouldering trunks were found The fragments of a human form upon the bloody ground; With bones from which the flesh was torn and locks of glossy hair; They laid them in the place of graves, yet wist not whose they were. 40 |