FROM THE SICILIAN OF VICORTAI.
blown lightly from the crested wave To glitter in the sun,
So from my heart love gave
These airy fancies to the eyes of a beloved one.
But who shall guess
From the blown foam that in the sunbeam shines
What secret stores there be
Of unsunn'd sea?
Ah! how much less
The depths of what I feel from these poor broken lines I dedicate to thee!
The mountain-tops above the mist
Like summer islands lie-
Now we together both were blest
If thither we could fly.
And you, while at
Your feet I sat,
Would gaze into the skies;
But I would be
Content to see
Their glory in your eyes.
Winter is it? Summer splendour
Never was so fair to see!-
All because a maiden tender
Gave to-day her heart to me.
Heaven a happy lifetime lend her,
Long, and from all evil free;
For the graces that commend her
Make her life the life of me.
Lassic wi' the face sac bonnic,
An' the bricht bewitchin' ce,
Is there, tell me, is there ony
Danger I can dare for thee?
That I lo'e thee thou mayst know it,
But it's hard for me to bear
A' my love till I can show it
By some danger I maun dare!
The woodland! And a golden wedge
Of sunshine slipping through!
And there, beside a bit of hedge,
A violet so blue!
So tender was its beauty, and
So douce and sweet its air,
I stooped, and yet withheld my hand,—
Would pluck, and yet would spare.
Now which were best?-for spring will pass
And vernal beauty fly-
On maiden's breast or in the grass
Where would you choose to die?
VI.-FELIX, FELIX TER QUATERQUE!
Shout and sing, ye merry voices
Of the mountain-forest free!
What, but late, were jarring noises
Now as music are to me!
Earth in bridal bloom rejoices,
Heaven benignly bends to see!
He, beloved of her his choice is,
Blest of all the boys is he!
Blest of all the world of boys is
Hle that's telling this to thee!
Shout and sing, ye merry voices!-
Fill the forest with your glee!
It is the hour when all things rest:
The sun sits in the bannered West
And looks along the golden street
That leads o'er occan to his feet.
Sca-birds with summer on their wing
Down the wide West are journeying,
And one white star serenely high
Peeps through the purple of the sky.
O sky, and sea, and shore, and air,
How tranquil are ye now, and fair!
But twice the joy ye are were ye
If one that's dead companioned me.
Awake, beloved! it is the hour
When earth is fairyland;
The moon looks from her cloudy bow'r,
The sea sobs on the sand.
Our steps shall be by the dreaming sea
And our thoughts shall wander far
To the happy clime of a future time
In a new-created star!
Arise, my fair! a strange new wind
Comes kindly down from heaven;
Its fingers round my forehead bind.
A chaplet angel-given.
I'll sing to thee of the dawns to be
And the buds that yet shall blow
In the happy clime of a future time
Which only the angels know!
Dear love, we have left them behind us!
Behind us, and far below!
They will search a month ere they find us
In the hill-wood where we go.
Listen! . . . that is the voice of the forest,
It is whispering us words of cheer:
Ah, my heart, when my heart was sorest,
Has often been healed up here!
Why do you cling to me, darling,
And bury your face in my breast?
You may well be at case where the starling
Has grown a familiar guest.
The forest and the mountain
And I are old, old friends,
And the wild birds and the fountain
And the sky that over them bends;
And the friends of my youth and my childhood, Thou maiden of the sea
That hidest thy face in the wild wood,
How could they be foes to thee?
Look up, my own heart maiden!
No foot of man comes here;
'Tis tenantless as Eden
Throughout the tranquil year!—
But I am nearly forgetting
Old Philip and his wife:
From sunrise to sunsetting
They lead a simple life.
'Tis sixty years since he brought her
To share his board and bed;
And they had a son and a daughter-
But she is long since dead.
And the boy became a soldier
And marched to the wars away:
And the old couple grow still older
In the wood here where they stay.
How brightly your eyes are shining,
And but the trace of a tear!
With your cheek on my arm reclining,
Dear heart, you should have no fear.
They sit far up on the mountain
Beside their clean-swept hearth,
Where the river is only a fountain
And heaven is nearer than earth.
The goodwife knits her stocking,
And Philip should trap the game; But he's old, so the birds are flocking And the blue hares are quite tame.
The mother thinks of her daughter
And her hair that outshone the sun;
But Philip dreams of slaughter,
And of his wayward son.
There is none, you know, to advise her,
Excepting her prejudiced mate.
Ah, heaven! the mother is wiser
As love is better than hate.
So the mother knits and fondles
In fancy the flaxen hair,
While Philip a sabre handles,
And starts in his sleep in his chair.
How far to their cottage is it?
A good hour's climb, I should say:
Of course, we must pay them a visit,
And they're sure to ask us to stay.
So now, sweetheart, if you're rested,
We'll farther up the wood:
Many a night have I nested
Here in the solitude.
It's grand in the wood in the sunlight
As the sunlight's falling now,
But I like it too when the wan light
Of the moon is on each bough.
Look back! she is floating yonder-
I saw her between the trees
When their fringes were drawn asunder
By the fingers of the breeze.
How naked and forsaken
She shrinks through the blue day-sky! At night, never fear, she'll awaken And lift her horn on high.
Look up through the boles before us,
And the long clear slanting lines
Where the light that shimmers o'er us
Is sifted through the pines!
It's a good hour yet till gloaming,
And then we've Selene's light;
And it's pleasant this woodland roaming
In search of a home for the night.
Give me your hand, my darling!
We're safe in the solitude;
In the world beneath us there's snarling-
There's peace in the mountain wood.
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