BY MISS LANDON, (L. E. L.)
RAISED on the rocky barriers of the sea
Stands thy dark convent, fair St Valerie !
Lone like an eagle's nest; the pine-trees tall
Throw their long shadows on the heavy wall,
Where never sound is heard, save the wild sweep
Of mountain-waters rushing to the deep,
The tempest's midnight song, the battle-cry
Of warring winds, like armies met on high,
And in a silent hour the convent chime,
And sometimes, at the quiet evening time,
A vesper song-those tones so pure, so sweet,
When airs of earth and words of heaven do meet !
Sad is the legend of that young saint's doom!
When the Spring Rose was in its May of bloom,
The storm was darkening; at that sweet hour
When hands beloved had rear'd her nuptial bower,
The pestilence came o'er the land, and he
With whom her heart was died that very morn―
Her bridal morn! Alas, that there should be
Such evils ever for affection born!
She shrank away from earth, and solitude
Is the sole refuge for the heart's worst pain;
Life had no ties—she turn'd her unto heaven,
And on the steep rock rear'd her holy fane.
It has an air of sadness, as just meet
For the so broken heart's last lone retreat.
A portrait here has still preserved each charm:
I saw it one bright evening, when the warm
Last glow of sunset shed its crimson ray
Over the lovely image. She was fair
As those most radiant spirits of the air
Whose life is amid flowers; like the day,
The golden summer day, her glossy hair
Fell o'er a brow of Indian ivory;
Her cheek was pale, and in her large dark eye
There was a thought of sorrow, and her brow
Upon one small snow hand lean'd pensively,
As if to hide her tears; the other press'd
A silver crucifix upon her breast.
I ne'er saw sadness touching as in thee
And thy lorn look, O fair St Valerie!
BY JOHN MALCOLM.
ENDLESS, ever-sounding sea,
Image of eternity!
Troubled, with unconscious breast,
Like the dead without their rest;
Deaf unto thy own wild roar,
Heard at once on every shore;
Stretching on from pole to pole,
Far as suns and seasons roll,
Far as reign of night and day,
Sounding on, away-away!
Oh! what precious things there be,
Shrined and sepulchred in thee!
Gems and gold, from every eye,
Hid within thy bosom lie.
Many a treasure-laden bark
Rests within thy caverns dark;
And where towers and temples rose,
Buried continents repose:
Giant secrets of thy breast,
With their thousand isles of rest-
With their brave and beauteous forms,
Undisturb'd beneath thy storms;
In a safe and peaceful home,
Where the mourner may not come,
Nor the stranger rudely tread
O'er their calm and coral bed.
Where the ocean buried lies
May no monuments arise,
For thy bosom bears no trace
Of our evanescent race:
On thy wild and wandering wave
Bloom no laurels for the grave;
O'er thy read, unfathom'd gloom,
Tower no trophies for the tomb.
But there comes a day of dread,
To reclaim thy thousand dead;
Bursting from thy dark control,
While in fire thy billows roll,
Shall that countless multitude
Soar from out thy shrinking flood,
Thy mistress moon be changed to blood!
And the sun, with aspect drear,
Look upon this parting sphere,
As once his startled orb look'd wan,
On His cross who died for man.
Then shall the archangel stand,
One foot on sea, and one on shore,
And swear with an uplifted hand—
That time shall be no more!
And while Heaven's last thunders roll,
Sounding Nature's parting knoll,
Like a burning, blackening scroll,
Reeling from the face of day,
Earth and sea shall flee away!
There's Beauty in the Deep.
~HERE'S beauty in the deep :—
The wave is bluer than the sky;
And though the light shine bright on high,
More softly do the sea-gems glow
That sparkle in the depths below;
The rainbow's tints are only made
When on the waters they are laid,
And sun and moon most sweetly shine
Upon the ocean's level brine.
There's beauty in the deep!
There's music in the deep:-
It is not in the surf's rough roar,
Nor in the whispering, shelly shore-
They are but earthly sounds, that tell
How little of the sea-nymph's shell,
That sends its loud, clear note abroad,
Or winds its softness through the flood,
Echoes through groves with coral gay,
And dies, on spongy banks, away.
There's music in the deep!
There's quiet in the deep :
Above, let tides and tempests rave,
And earth-born whirlwinds wake the wave;
Above, let care and fear contend
With sin and sorrow to the end.
Here, far beneath the tainted foam,
That frets above our peaceful home,
We dream in joy, and wake in love,
Nor know the rage that yells above.
There's quiet in the deep!
EEP mists hung over the mariner's grave
When the holy funeral rite was read;
And every breath on the dark-blue wave
Seem'd hush'd to hallow the friendless dead.
And heavily heaved on the gloomy sea
The ship that shelter'd that homeless one,
As though his funeral hour should be
When the waves were still, and the winds were gone.
And there he lay in his coarse cold shroud,
And strangers were round the coffinless :
Not a kinsman was seen among that crowd—
Not an eye to weep, nor a lip to bless.
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