Lays Of Ancient Virginia, And Other Poems Part 19

Here Blannerha.s.set[E] dwelt; a blest recluse, In this green Eden of the leafy West; And felt sweet Peace her softest balm infuse, Into his once too world-disturbed breast: There did he find a deep and quiet rest: The mockbird sang his vespers, while the star Shone sweetly o'er the rippling river's crest; There no rude sound the halcyon calm did mar, And Grief was absent still, and Hate was banished far.

So Blannerha.s.set with his partner, dwelt, In kind connubial tenderness, in this Most gay and blooming scene; here, here they felt That feeling which if earth hath aught like bliss, Is bliss! the tender look! the touch! the kiss!

And, often mid this sylvan scene was heard, (Where no vile Envy gave its serpent hiss,) The voice of love, the only, joyous, word Which blended with the notes of wind, and rill, and bird.

Sweet pair! with all that's best of life, possest, Wealth, love, refinement, learning, genius, birth; Bright, blooming offspring, virtuous, good and blest Charming their hearts, with that young, pangless mirth; And, when at evening mild, they saunter'd forth, Beneath the rosy sky, they looked toward heaven, And wondered why this was so bright an earth, And why that G.o.d whose gifts to man are even, This wondrous happiness to them alone had given.

Then came a dark-soul'd man, with magic eye, And glozing tongue, and Blannerha.s.set's mind, Became his slave, he could not now deny His devilish spell, a villian, smooth refin'd, Whose mighty arts his thoughtless victim bind, In fearful chains: Burr was this Satan's name, Who crept into this Eden unconfin'd, And drove this erring pair of later fame, Like that of old, to roam and sigh o'er earth the same.

"Come, go with me," said Burr, "and you shall find, Strange honors, riches, and a deathless name,"

And Blannerha.s.set thought the villian kind, Who fed his soul, on novel dreams of fame, While Burr aspir'd to breathe a sinful flame, Through Blannerha.s.set's sweet and guiltless wife, But she his artful cozening overcame, And brav'd the demon with victorious strife, And sacredly maintained the whiteness of her life.

But they were ruin'd, this sequester'd pair, Who shunn'd the world's alluring charms to crime, Soon they were driven forth in dark despair, Like the sad consorts of that earlier time.

A grief fell on that island's blooming prime.

They pa.s.s'd away, and never saw again, Their island home amid that pleasant clime.

Awhile they roamed o'er earth's most desolate plain, But soon securely slept from life's wild woe and pain.

This is real history of that isle, That ever draws the weary traveller's eye, He sees its fairy greenness brightly smile, Amid that river; as he pa.s.seth by, Perchance his human eye's no longer dry, While he recalls that mournful history; And he may ask, with sudden sorrow, why, The dream of rapture doth so early flee And souls so meek and good, the prey of fiends should be.

That isle is now as lovely as of yore, Gay Nature smiles as sweetly, the wild air Is resonant with music; the green sh.o.r.e Exhales a constant fragrance, sweet and rare, But those who made its borders still more fair, Have slept the sleep of death, long years ago, Yet is their memory fresh, and ever there The pilgrim's heart will feel the thought of woe, His eye will blend a tear with yon fair river's flow.

[Footnote E: Transcriber's note: Spelling is different in the t.i.tle of the poem; both have been kept as in the original.]

TO BETTIE.

Give me thy heart, give me thy hand, Thy love, thy dower, thy goods, thy land; Give me o'er thee a free command, Then shall I be a monarch grand.

This brave great world is little worth, Its largest wealth is but a dearth; But fond and mutual love can make, Another richer for its sake.

Give me thy love, thy heart, thy soul, O'er thee a sovereign control, Then though huge seas of sorrow roll, I will defy their wish'd control.

Give me thy destiny, thy all Which thou dost best and dearest call; Then let the darts of envy fall, Let ruffian malice ban and brawl.

I will contemn their power; I will Still strain with joy's ecstatic thrill, Thee to this bosom, dearest! till I rest in heaven from earthly ill.

Give me thy heart, thy unstained hand, And though I scorn it, give thy land, Then, by a rainbow sweet and bland, Shall life's cerulean arch be spann'd.

Beneath that arch of beauty, flowers Brilliant as bloom in heaven's own bowers, And bathed in joy's ambrosial showers, Shall strew the earth through charmed hours.

Beneath that bow, rich melodies, Like odors that in heaven arise, Sweet as an angel's breathing sighs, Shall rise and kiss the smiling skies.

Give me thy heart, hand, bosom, all Which thou dost nearest, dearest call, Than let the darts of envy fall, Let ruffian malice ban and brawl.

Till life's long summer shall depart, The tender thrill of joy shall start, We'll laugh at Boreas' icy dart, Beside the fire which warms the heart.

EPITAPH FOR AN INFANT.

Sweet bud of life, G.o.d knew this earth, Was not a home for thee; He took thee, even from thy birth, To bless Eternity.

THE MILLENNIUM.

The promis'd years, the better times, By G.o.d himself foretold, Have dawn'd, and banish'd hateful crimes, The latest age of gold.

Not now a brother fears to tread The way a brother goes, Not now the wife's sad heart is fed, On brutal cuffs and blows.

Not now the human eye is fierce With cruel thirst of gore; Not now the angry spear doth pierce The bosom. Such are o'er.

This scene become a Paradise, A scene of peace and love, Wherein each living being tries To work for G.o.d above.

The Bible fills the mighty world, The end is drawing nigh, When, earth in burning fragments hurl'd, The soul shall rise on high.

The promis'd years, the better times, By G.o.d himself foretold, Have dawned with their triumphal chimes, On the sweet air unroll'd.

TO A POET'S WIFE.

Thou art indeed a happy one, And hast a charmed life, A n.o.ble triumph thou hast won, A bright-eyed Poet's wife.

His fancy plucks all glittering gems From mountain caves and sea, To form that best of diadems, He proudly gives to thee.

That realm that doth thy power obey, Is richer far than these, More sweet its nights, more bright its day, More bland its wandering breeze.

And gentle creatures move and kiss The sceptre in thy hand, And gather garlands, wreaths of bliss, Amid thy fairy land.

The Angels' song comes down at times, And flows into his song, Like the triumphal, silver chimes, That steal the heavens along.

LILLY LANE.

Come to my calling, Lilly Lane, Like music falling, Come again.