But, companions of spring-time! 'tis vain thus repining
My spirit is link'd with your phantom-like band;
I feel the last fibre of strength is declining
That binds me to life in this desolate land.
Farewell to the winter!-too long have I tarried,
In the grave of my kindred soon, soon shall I be!
It ceased-on an eddying gust it was carried—
And thus died with song "the last leaf of the tree!"
THE GIPSY'S TENT.
ELIZA COOK.]
[Music by S. GLOVER.
Our fire on the turf, and our tent 'neath a tree-
Carousing by moonlight, how merry are we!
Let the lord boast his castle, the baron his hall,
But the house of the Gipsy is widest of all.
We may shout o'er our cups, and laugh loud as we will,
Till echo rings back from wood, welkin, and hill;
No joys seem to us like the joys that are lent
To the wanderer's life and the Gipsy's tent.
Some crime and much folly may fall to our lot;
We have sins, but pray where is the one who has not?
We are rogues, arrant rogues-yet remember! 'tis rare
We take but from those who can very well spare.
You may tell us of deeds justly branded with shame,
But if great ones heard truth, you could tell them the
And there's many a king would have less to repent
If his throne were as pure as the Gipsy's tent.
Pant ye for beauty ?-Oh, where would ye seek
Such bloom as is found on the tawny one's cheek?
Our limbs, that go bounding in freedom and health,
Are worth all your pale faces and coffers of wealth.
There are none to control us; we rest or we roam;
Our will is our law, and the world is our home:
E'en Jove would repine at his lot if he spent
A night of wild glee in the Gipsy's tent.
Oh, never heed, my mother dear!
The silent tears I shed;
Indeed I will be happy here,
But ask me not to wed!
By day you shall not see me weep,
Nor nightly murmur in my sleep:
But ask me not to be a bride,
For when my own dear Lara died,
I kiss'd his brow-I breathed a vow-
Ch, ask me not to break it now!
Oh, never heed, &c.
He was the first love of my heart,
My last love he will prove:
But, mother, we will never part-
Name not another love.
At morn I deck'd him for the fight,
I bathed his blood-stain'd brow at night;
And now in his cold grave he lies,
There is no joy for these sad eyes.
Speak not of bridal robes to me-
No, mother, no-it cannot be !
There was a brave old mariner
Kept watch upon the deck,
The dangers of the deep he'd braved
And thrice survived the wreck;
A patriarch of the ocean seem'd
That mariner to be,
For his hair was grey, and like the spray
That dashes o'er the sea.
Yet deem not that he only gazed
Upon the waters green,
His heart look'd back to years long past,
And many a woodland scene,
He heard, amid the winds aloft,
And 'mid the raging seas,
The voices of remember'd friends,
And the waving of the trees.
Years pass'd away-a merry crowd
Were gather'd on the strand;
The absent ship return'd at last,-
Her sailors sprang to land;
An old man came amid the crew,
His eyes were sad and dim,
There was no friend to greet him there,
No kind voice call'd for him.
Alas! that brave old mariner,
He oft had braved the deep,
But he whom fear could never bow
Now turn'd aside to weep;
He saw no more the forms he knew,
His early friends were gone;
He only lived to breathe their names-
The old man stood alone!
THE RETURN OF THE ADMIRAL.
How gallantly, how merrily
We ride along the sea!
The morning is all sunshine,
The wind is blowing free;
The billows are all sparkling,
And bounding in the light,
Like creatures in whose sunny veins
The blood is running bright.
All nature knows our triumph-
Strange birds about us sweep;
Strange things come up to look at us,
The masters of the deep:
In our wake, like any servant,
Follows even the bold shark.
Oh, proud must be our admiral
Of such a bonnie bark!
Proud, proud must be our admiral
(Though he is pale to-day),
Of twice five hundred iron men,
Who all his nod obey;
Who fought for him, and conquered;
Who've won, with sweat and gore,
Nobility!-which he shall have
Whene'er we touch the shore.
Oh! would I were our admiral,
To order with a word-
To lose a dozen drops of blood,
And so rise up a lord!
I'd shout e'en to yon shark, there,
Who follows in our lee,
"Some day I'll make thee carry me
Like lightning through the sea.'
The admiral grew paler-
And paler as he flew:
Still talked he to his officers,
And smiled upon his crew;
And he look'd up at the heavens,
And he look'd down on the sea,
And at last he spied the creature
That kept following in our lee.
He shook 'twas but an instant;
For speedily the pride
Ran crimson to his heart,
Till all chances he defied:
It threw boldness on his forehead,
It gave firmness to his breath; And he stood like some grim warrior New risen up from death.
That night a horrid wnisper
Fell on us where we lay;
And we knew our fine old admiral
Was changing into clay;
And we heard the wash of waters,
Though nothing could we see.
And a whistle and a plunge
Among the billows in our lee!
Till dawn we watch'd the body
In its dead and ghastly sleep,
And next evening, at sunset,
It was slung into the deep.
And never from that moment-
Save one shudder through the sea-
Saw we or heard the creature
That had followed in our lee!
Solemnly, mournfully, dealing its dole,
The curfew bell is beginning to toll.
Cover the embers, and put out the light;
Toil comes with the morning and rest with the night.
Dark grow the windows, and quench'd is the fire;
Sound fades into silence, all footsteps retire.
No voice in the chambers, no sound in the hall!
Sleep and oblivion reign over all.
The book is completed and closed like the day,
And the hand that has written it lays it away;
Dim grow its fancies-forgotten they lie-
Like coals in the ashes they darken and die.
Song sinks into silence, the story is told,
The windows are darken'd, the hearthstone is cold;
Darker and darker the black shadows fall;
Sleep and oblivion reign over all.
|