« السابقةمتابعة »
'Twas hither a youth of dreamy mood,
A hundred winters ago,
Had wandered over the mighty wood,
When the panther's track was fresh on the snow,
And keen were the winds that came to stir
Too gentle of mien he seemed and fair,
The kingly Hudson rolls to the deeps;
And here he paused, and against the trunk
When the broad clear orb of the sun had sunk
And the crescent moon, high over the green,
On that icy palace, whose towers were seen
Is that a being of life, that moves
'Tis only the torrent tumbling o'er,
In the midst of those glassy walls,
He thinks no more of his home afar,
Where his sire and sister wait.
He heeds no longer how star after star
Looks forth on the night as the hour grows late. He heeds not the snow-wreaths, lifted and cast From a thousand boughs, by the rising blast.
His thoughts are alone of those who dwell
Who pass where the crystal domes upswell
Where the frost-trees shoot with leaf and spray,
“And oh that those glorious haunts were mine!"
He speaks, and throughout the glen
There pass the chasers of seal and whale,
There are mothers-and oh how sadly their eyes
On their children's white brows rest!
There are youthful lovers—the maiden lies,
They eye him not as they pass along,
But his hair stands up with dread,
When he feels that he moves with that phantom throng,
The glittering threshold is scarcely passed,
In which there is neither form nor sound;
Slow passes the darkness of that trance,
Huge shadows and gushes of light that dance
On a couch of shaggy skins he lies;
Come round him and smooth his furry bed,
They had found at eve the dreaming one
THE STRANGE LADY.
THE summer morn is bright and fresh, the birds are darting by, As if they loved to breast the breeze that sweeps the cool clear sky; Young Albert, in the forest's edge, has heard a rustling sound, An arrow slightly strikes his hand and falls upon the ground.
A dark-haired woman from the wood comes suddenly in sight; Her merry eye is full and black, her cheek is brown and bright; Her gown is of the mid-sea blue, her belt with beads is strung, And yet she speaks in gentle tones, and in the English tongue.
"It was an idle bolt I sent, against the villain crow; Fair sir, I fear it harmed thy hand; beshrew my erring bow!" "Ah! would that bolt had not been spent! then, lady, might
A lasting token on my hand of one so passing fair!"
"Thou art a flatterer like the rest, but wouldst thou take with me A day of hunting in the wilds, beneath the greenwood tree, I know where most the pheasants feed, and where the red-deer
And thou shouldst chase the nobler game, and I bring down