XL. The torrent of that wide and raging river Is past, and our aërial speed suspended. We look behind; a golden mist did quiver Where its wild surges with the lake were blended: Our bark hung there, as on a line suspended Between two heavens, that windless waveless lake; Which four great cataracts from four vales, attended By mists, aye feed; from rocks and clouds they break, And of that azure sea a silent refuge make. XLI. Motionless resting on the lake awhile, I saw its marge of snow-bright mountains rear The charmed boat approached, and there its haven found. ROSALIND AND HELEN, A MODERN ECLOGUE; WITH OTHER POEMS. ADVERTISEMENT. THE story of "Rosalind and Helen" is, undoubtedly, not an attempt in the highest style of poetry. It is in no degree calculated to excite profound meditation; and if, by interesting the affections and amusing the imagination, it awaken a certain ideal melancholy favourable to the reception of more important impressions, it will produce in the reader all that the writer experienced in the composition. I resigned myself, as I wrote, to the impulse of the feelings which moulded the conception of the story; and this impulse determined the pauses of a measure, which only pretends to be regular inasmuch as it corresponds with, and expresses, the irregularity of the imaginations which inspired it. I do not know which of the few scattered poems I left in England will be selected by my bookseller, to add to this collection. One, which I sent from Italy, was written after a day's excursion among those lovely mountains which surround what was once the retreat, and where is now the sepulchre, of Petrarch. If any one is inclined to condemn the insertion of the introductory lines, which image forth the sudden relief of a state of deep despondency by the radiant visions disclosed by the sudden burst of an Italian sunrise in autumn on the highest peak of those delightful mountains, I can only offer as my excuse, that they were not erased at the request of a dear friend, with whom added years of intercourse only add to my apprehension of its value, and who would have had more right than any one to complain, that she has not been able to extinguish in me the very power of delineating sadness. Naples, Dec. 20, 1818. ROSALIND AND HELEN. Rosalind, Helen and her Child. Scene, the Shore of the Lake of Como. HELEN. COME hither, my sweet Rosalind. 'Tis long since thou and I have met; Come sit by me. I see thee stand None doth behold us now: the power Will be but ill requited If thou depart in scorn: oh! come, And we are exiles. Talk with me Of that our land, whose wilds and floods, Barren and dark although they be, Speak to me. Leave me not.-When morn did come, When evening fell upon our common home, When for one hour we parted,—do not frown: 25 30 I would not chide thee, though thy faith is broken: 35 Of woven hair, which thou wilt not disown, And not my scornèd self who prayed to thee. ROSALIND. Is it a dream, or do I see And hear frail Helen? I would flee Seeks yet its lost repose in thee. I share thy crime. I cannot choose But weep for thee: mine own strange grief Though mourning o'er thy wickedness Bewildered by my dire despair, Wondering I blush, and weep that thou Let us sit on that grey stone, Till our mournful talk be done. HELEN. Alas! not there; I cannot bear It stirs Less like our own. The ghost of peace And I will follow. ROSALIND. Thou lead, my sweet, HENRY. 'Tis Fenici's seat Where you are going? This is not the way, 65 70 75 80 But it might break any one's heart to see HELEN. It is a gentle child, my friend. Go home, The boy Lifted a sudden look upon his mother, Which lightened o'er her face, laughed with the glee 85 |