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As the shades of glamory depart—
Strange thoughts are glimmering round her';
Deeper and deeper her cheek is glowing,
Quicker and quicker her breath is flowing,
And her eye gleams out from its long dark lashes,
Fast and full, unnatural flashes;
For hurriedly and wild
Doth Reason pour her hidden treasures,
Of human griefs, and human pleasures,
Upon her new-found child.
And "oh !" she saith, "my spirit doth seem
To have risen to-day from a pleasant dream;
A long, long dream—but I feel it breaking!
Painfully sweet is the throb of waking;"
And-then she laughed, and wept again:
While, gazing on her heart's first rain,
Bound in its turn by a magic chain,
The silent youth stood there:
Never had either been so blest;—
You that are young may picture the rest,
You that are young and fair.
Never before, on this warm land,
Came Love and Reason hand in hand.
When you are blest, in childhood's years
With the brightest hopes and the lightest fears,
Have you not wandered in your dream,
Where a greener glow was on the ground,
And a clearer breath in the air around, And a purer life in the gay sunbeam, And a tremulous murmur in every tree, And a motionless sleep on the quiet sea 1
And have you not lingered, lingered still,
All unfettered in thought and will,
A fair and cherished boy;
Until you felt it pain to part
From the wild creations of your art,
Until your young and innocent heart
• Seemed bursting with its joy?
And then, oh then, hath your waking eye
Opened in all its ecstacy,
And seen your mother leaning o'er you,
The loved and loving one that bore you,
Giving her own, her fond caress, s
And looking h,er eloquent tenderness 1
Was it not heaven to fly from the scene
Where the heart in the vision of night had been,
And drink, in one o'erflowing kiss,
Your deep reality of bliss?
Such was Lillian's passionate madness,
Such was the calm of her waking gladness.
Enough! my tale is all too long:
Fair children, if the trifling song,
That flows for you to-night,
Hath stolen from you one gay laugh,
Or given your quiet hearts to quaff
One cup of young delight,
Pay ye the rhymer for his toils
In the coinage of your golden smiles,
And treasure up his idle verse,
With the stories ye loved from the lips of your nurse.
A LEGEND OF THE RHINE.
Where foams and flows the glorious Rhine,
Many a ruin wan and gray O'erlooks the corn-field and the vine,
Majestic in its dark decay. Among their dim clouds, long ago, They mocked the battles that raged below, And greeted the guests in arms that came, With hissing arrow, and scalding flame: But there is not one of the homes of pride That frown on the breast of the peaceful tide, Whose leafy walls more proudly tower Than these, the walls of Belmont Tower.
Where foams and flows the glorious Rhine,
Many a fierce and fiery lord
Did carve the meat, and pour the wine,
For all that revelled at his board.
Father and son, they were all alike,
Firm to endure, and fast to strike j
Little they loved but a Frau or a feast,
Nothing they feared but a prayer or a priest;
But there was not one in all the land
More trusty of heart, or more stout of hand,
More valiant in field, or more courteous in bower,
Than Otto, the Lord of Belmont Tower.
Are you rich, single, and ' your Grace' 1
I pity your unhappy case;
Before you leave your travelling carriage,
The women have arranged your marriage;
Where'er your weary wit may lead you,
They pet you, praise you, fret you, feed you;
Consult your taste in wreaths and laces,
And make you make their books at Races,
Your little pony, Tam O'Shanter,
Is found to have the sweetest canter;
Your curricle is quite reviving,
And Jane 's so bold when you are driving!
Some recollect your father's habits,
And know the warren, and the rabbits!
The place is really princely—only
They 're sure you '11 find it vastly lonely.
You go to Cheltenham, for the waters,
And meet the Countess and her daughters;
You take a cottage at Geneva—
Lo! Lady Anne and Lady Eva.
In horror of another session,
You just surrender at discretion,
And live to curse the frauds of mothers,
And envy all your younger brothers.
Count Otto bowed, Count Otto smiled, \
When My Lady praised her darling child;
Count Otto smiled, Count Otto bowed,
When the child those praises disavowed;
As a knight should gaze Count Otto gazed,
Where Bertha in all her beauty blazed;
As a knight should hear Count Otto heard,
When Liba sang like a forest bird—
But he thought, I trow, about as long
Of Bertha's beauty and Liba's song,
As the sun may think of the clouds that play
O'er his radiant path on a summer day.
Many a maid had dreams of state,
As the Count rode up to her father's gate;
Many a maid shed tears of pain, j
As the count rode back to his Tower again;
But little he cared, as it should seem,'
For the sad, sad tear, or the fond, fond dream-
Alone he lived—alone, and free
As the owl that dwells in the hollow tree:
And the Baroness said, and the Baron swore,
There never was knight so shy before!
It was almost the first of May:
The sun all smiles had passed away;
The moon was beautifully bright;
Earth, heaven, as usual in such cases,
Looked up and down with happy faces;
In short, it was a charming night.
And all alone, at twelve o'clock,
The young Count clambered down the rock,