The Legendary and Poetical Remains of John Roby Part 8

And I deem'd thee some hallow'd, some heaven-given thing, Entwined round my bosom for ever to cling.

I had perill'd my all On that treacherous bark, A woman's fond love;-- When the billows grew dark, The bright sea was ruffled, the loud storm rush'd on, My hopes are all wreck'd, and that light bark is gone.

Go, faithless, and weep!

For I scorn thy words now; Yet no tears thou wilt shed Can heal one broken vow; No weeping can cleanse that one foul perjured stain, Or quench the keen fire that now scorches my brain.

Yet stay, false one, stay; There's a worm in thy breast, A gloom on thy soul Where no sunshine shall rest; To which e'en the agony thou hast made mine Is blessing and bliss when compared but with thine.

FOOTNOTE:

[J] This song, and one from the "Traditions of Lancashire," "They bade me sing, they bade me smile," were set to music by Mr. Charles Smith, author of "Hohenlinden" and other popular songs. The stanzas immediately following were also set by him as a glee. Cramer, Addison, & Co. 201 Regent Street.

THE FAIRIES' SONG.

Merry, merry elves we be, O'er the bright and bounding sea, Dancing merrily.

We glide to the sh.o.r.e in our fairy bark, When the moon looks out on high, And the waves twinkle round us in many a spark, Like radiant melody.

We dance to the sound of the calm cold billow, Ere it sleeps on the sand, ere it dies on its pillow.

Merry, merry elves we be, Under the greenwood tree, Dancing merrily.

And the moon through yon white and fleecy cloud, Pale, silent, and softly creeps, Like a spectre clad in a silvery shroud, While nature quietly sleeps.

We merrily trip it with twinkling feet, As the leaves rustle o'er us in melody sweet.

Away, away, At break of day, For night is the fairies' holiday.

STANZAS FOR MUSIC.[K]

Fare thee well! the dream is o'er; Loved one fare thee well!

Tears and vows deceive no more, When broken every spell.

Stars that fade in morning light, Suns that set shall rise; But no dawn illumes the night, When Hope's last glimmer dies!

Oh! lay me where the willows weep, On some dreary sh.o.r.e; Calm shall be that colder sleep, Life's dark vision o'er.

Though earthly joys for ever fled, Yet mercy whispers nigh, Immortal life beyond the dead, And bliss beyond the sky.

FOOTNOTE:

[K] These stanzas have been set to a Spanish air by T. Ashworth.

D'Almaine & Co., Soho Square.

STANZAS FOR MUSIC.

On yon dark bosom'd mountain The sunbeams are glancing, On lake and on fountain, The light ray is dancing.

But yon mountain is dark, though the sunbeams are bright, And yon fountain is cold, though 'tis quivering with light.

So one bosom with sadness Feels dark and opprest, While around, mirth and gladness Illumine each breast.

And the smiles that to others with rapture may glow, Leave that bosom alone to its darkness and woe.

STANZAS FOR MUSIC.

I've seen the smile on woman's cheek, The tear in woman's eye; But as I gazed, that smile grew dim, That liquid fount was dry.

Oh, I have heard her say she loved, And kiss'd the plighted token:-- But I have lived to feel how false What woman's lip hath spoken!

Yes, lighter than the lightest breath That skims the morning air Is woman's vow, that binds the heart In witchery or despair!

How she hath wrung this bleeding breast, I may not, dare not tell!

I only know that I have loved Too fondly, and too well.

STANZAS.

Say, what is Love?--a bubble On life's dull current fleeting, A thousand hues and visions bright On its frail surface meeting; It breaks, and where that vision fair?

Ocean's dark depth may answer, Where?

Say what is Love?--'tis light On life's dark billows thrown; Oh, glorious the first glance That on those waters shone!

'Tis gone,--those waves, illum'd no more, Roll darkly on life's desert sh.o.r.e.

Say what is Love?--a glimpse, Life's stormy clouds between, Of that bright heaven, where all Is cloudless and serene; A look, ere night and darkness come, Beyond the terrors of the tomb!

Come all whose blighted bosom, Love's cruel pangs deceive, Say what shall be the garland For lovers' brows to weave?

A lone leaf on a blasted tree, This, this Love's coronal shall be!

SONG.