THE FOREST SANCTUARY. Ihr Plätze aller meiner stillen Freuden, So ist des Geistes Ruf an mich ergangen, Long time against oppression have I fought, Have bled and suffer'd bonds. Remorse, a Tragedy. The following Poem is intended to describe the mental conflicts, as well as outward sufferings, of a Spaniard, who, flying from the religious persecutions of his own country in the 16th century, takes refuge with his child in a North American forest. The story is supposed to be related by himself amidst the wilderness which has afforded him an asylum. THE FOREST SANCTUARY. PART SECOND CONTINUED. XLV. TORTURE-the sorrow of affection's eye, May pierce than many swords!—and this I bore Silence rose up where hearts no hope could share : -Alas! for those that love, and may not blend in prayer! XLVI. We could not pray together 'midst the deep, Unto the mighty Cordillera-land, With men whom tales of that world's golden strand Had lured to leave their vines.-Oh! who shall say What thoughts rose in us, when the tropic sky Touch'd all its molten seas with sunset's alchemy? XLVII. Thoughts no more mingled!-Then came night-th' in tense Dark blue-the burning stars!-I saw thee shine Once more, in thy serene magnificence, O Southern Cross! (16) as when thy radiant sign Since those fresh days, and now thy light divine But thou, the clear, the glorious! thou wert pouring As it still sought thee through the Heaven's expanse, XLIX. I knew not all-yet something of unrest Where through rich clouds of foliage o'er her head, L. Yes! as if heaven upon the waves were sleeping, All moveless through their blue transparence keeping, While she-oh! strongest in the strong heart's wo-- Steal o'er the fair of earth, the adored too much! LI. A fearful thing that love and death may dwell Of her low voice, and in her words a flight LII. And a clear sparkle in her glance, yet wild, LIII. And I could hope in that strange fire!—she died, -The day was melting from the waters wide, And through its long bright hours her thoughts had been, It seem'd, with restless and unwonted yearning, To Spain's blue skies and dark sierras turning; For her fond words were all of vintage-scene, And flowering myrtle, and sweet citron's breath-Oh! with what vivid hues life comes back oft on death! LIV. And from her lips the mountain-songs of old, In wild faint snatches, fitfully had sprung; Songs of the orange bower, the Moorish hold, The" Rio verde,(17) on her soul that hung, And thence flow'd forth.-But now the sun was low, And watching by my side its last red glow, That ever stills the heart, once more she sung Her own soft" Ora, mater!"-and the sound Was even like love's farewell-so mournfully profound. LV. The boy had dropp'd to slumber at our feet;"And I have lull'd him to his smilling rest "Once more!" she said :-I raised him-it was sweet, Yet sad, to see the perfect calm which bless'd His look that hour;-for now her voice grew weak; And on the flowery crimson of his cheek, With her white lips a long, long kiss she press'd, Yet light, to wake him not.-Then sank her head Against my bursting heart.-What did I clasp?-the dead! VOL. II. 2 |