HY did she love her mother's so?
It hath wrought her wondrous wo.
Once she saw an armed
In the pale sepulchral light;
When the sullen starbeams
Evil spells on earth below:
And the moon is cold and pale,
And a voice is on the gale,
Like a lost soul's heavenward cry,
Hopeless in its agony.
He stood beside the castle-gate,
The hour was dark, the hour was late;
With the bearing of a
Did he at the portal ring,
And the loud and hollow
Sounded like a Christian's knell.
That pale child stood on the wall,
Watching there, and saw it all.
Then she was a child as
As the opening blossoms are:
But with large black eyes, whose
Spoke of mystery and might.
The stately stranger's head was
With a bright and golden round;
Curiously inlaid, each
Shone upon his glittering mail;
His high brow was cold and dim,
And she felt she hated him.
Then she heard her mother's voice,
Saying, " 'Tis not at my choice!"We for ever, wo the hour,"When you sought my secret bower,"Listening to the word of fear,"Never meant for human ear."Thy suspicion's vain endeavour,"We! we! parted us for ever."Still the porter of the
Heeded not that crown'd knight's call.
When a glittering shape there came,
With a brow of starry flame;
And he led that knight againO'er the bleak and barren plain.
He flung, with an appealing cry,
His dark and desperate arms on high;
And from Melusina's
Fled away through thickest night.
Who has not, when but a child,
Treasured up some vision wild:
Haunting them with nameless fear,
Filling all they see or hear,
In the midnight's lonely hour,
With a strange mysterious power?
So a terror
Entered in that infant mind;—A fear that haunted her alone,
For she told her thought to none.
Years passed on, and each one threw,
O'er those walls a deeper hue;
Large and old the ivy
Heavy hung around the eaves,
Till the darksome rooms
Daylight never entered in.
And the spider's silvery
Was the only thing to shine.
Years past on,—the fair child
Wore maiden beauty on her brow—Beauty such as rarely
In a fallen world like ours.
She was tall;—a queen might
Such a proud imperial air;
She was tall, yet when unbound,
Swept her bright hair to the ground,
Glittering like the gold you
On a young laburnum tree.
Yet her eyes were dark as night,
Melancholy as moonlight,
With the fierce and wilder
Of a meteor on its ray.
Lonely was her childhood's time,
Lonelier was her maiden prime;
And she wearied of the
Wasted in those gloomy towers;
Sometimes through the sunny
She would watch the swallows fly;
Making of the air a bath,
In a thousand joyous rings:
She would ask of them their path,
She would ask of them their wings.
Once her stately mother came,
With her dark eye's funeral flame,
And her cheek as pale as death,
And her cold and whispering breath;
With her sable garments
By a mystic girdle round,
Which, when to the east she turned,
With a sudden lustre burned.
Once that ladye, dark and tall,
Stood upon the castle wall;
And she marked her daughter's
Fix'd upon the glad sunrise,
With a sad yet eager look,
Such as fixes on a
Which describes some happy lot,
Lit with joys that we have not.
And the thought of what has been,
And the thought of what might be,
Makes us crave the fancied scene,
And despise reality.'Twas a drear and desert
Lay around their own domain;
But, far off, a world more
Outlined on the sunny air;
Hung amid the purple clouds,
With which early morning
All her blushes, brief and bright,
Waking up from sleep and night.
In a voice so low and dread,
As a voice that wakes the dead;
Then that stately lady said:"Daughter of a kingly line,—''Daughter, too, of race like mine,—"Such a kingdom had been thine;"For thy father was a king,"Whom I wed with word and ring."But in an unhappy hour,"Did he pass my secret bower,—''Did he listen to the word,"Mortal ear hath never heard;"From that hour of grief and pain"Might we never meet again."Maiden, listen to my rede,"Punished for thy father's deed:"Here, an exile I must stay,"While he sees the light of day."Child, his race is mixed in thee,"With mine own more high degree."Hadst thou at Christ's altar stood,"Bathed in His redeeming flood;"Thou of my wild race had known"But its loveliness alone."Now thou hast a mingled dower,"Human passion—fairy power."But forefend thee from the last:"Be its gifts behind thee cast."Many tears will wash away"Mortal sin from mortal clay."Keep thou then a timid eye"On the hopes that fill yon sky;"Bend thou with a suppliant knee,"And thy soul yet saved may be;—''Saved by Him who died to save"Man from death beyond the grave."Easy 'tis advice to give,
Hard it is advice to
Years that lived—and years to live,
Wide and weary difference make.
To that elder ladye's mood,
Suited silent solitude:
For her lorn heart's wasted
Now repaid not hope's sweet toil.
Never more could spring-flowers grow,
On the worn-out soil below;
But to the young Melusine,
Earth and heaven were yet divine.
Still illusion's purple
Was upon the morning tide,
And there rose before her
The loveliness of life untried.
Three sweet genii,—Youth,
Love,
Hope,—Drew her future horoscope.
Must such lights themselves consume?
Must she be her own dark tomb?
But far other thoughts than these—Life's enchanted phantasies,
Were with Melusina now,
Stern and dark contracts her brow;
And her bitten lip is white,
As with passionate resolve,
Muttered she,—"It is my right;"On me let the task devolve:"Since such blood to me belongs;"It shall seek its own bright sphere;"I will well avenge the wrongs"Of my mother exiled here."Two long years are come and past,
And the maiden's lot is cast;—Cast in mystery and power,
Worked out by the watching hour,
By the word that spirits tell,
By the sign and by the spell.
Two long years have come and gone,
And the maiden dwells alone.
For the deed which she hath done,
Is she now a banished one;—Banished from her mother's arms,
Banished by her mother's charms,
With a curse of grief and pain,
Never more to meet again.
Great was the revenge she wrought,
Dearly that revenge was bought.
When the maiden felt her powers,
Straight she sought her father's towers.
With a sign, and with a word,
Passed she on unseen, unheard,
One, a pallid minstrel
On Good Friday's mystic morn,
Said he saw a lady there,
Tall and stately, strange and lair,
With a stern and glittering eye,
Like a shadow gliding by.
All was fear and awe next day,
For the king had passed away.
He had pledged his court at night,
In the red grape's flowing light.
All his pages saw him sleeping;
Next day there was wail and weeping.
Halls and lands were wandered o'er,
But they saw their king no more.
Strange it is, and sad to tell,
What the royal knight befell.
Far upon a desert land,
Does a mighty mountain stand;
On its summit there is snow,
While the bleak pines moan below;
And within there is a
Opened for a monarch's
Bound in an enchanted
She hath laid him still and deep.
She, his only child, has
That strange tomb where he is laid:
Nothing more of earth to know,
Till the final trumpet blow.
Mortal lip nor mortal ear,
Were not made to speak nor
That accursed word which sealed,—All those gloomy depths concealed.
With a look of joy and pride,
Then she sought her mother's side.
Whispering, on her bended knee,"Oh! my mother, joyous be;"For the mountain torrents spring"O'er that faithless knight and king."Not another word she spoke,
For her speech a wild shriek broke;
For the widowed queen upsprung,
Wild her pale thin hands she wrung.
With her black hair falling round,
Flung her desperate on the ground;
While young Melusine stood by,
With a fixed and fearful eye.
When her agony was past,
Slowly rose the queen at last;
With her black hair, like a shroud,
And her bearing high and proud;
With the marble of her brow,
Colder than its custom now;
And her eye with a strange
Seem'd to blast her daughter's sight.
And she felt her whole frame shrink,
And her young heart's pulses sink;
And the colour left her mouth,
As she saw her mother signing,
One stern hand towards the south,
Where a strange red star was shining.
With a muttered word and gaze,
Fixed upon its vivid rays;
Then she spoke but in a tone,
Her's, yet all unlike her own.—''Spirit of our spirit-line,"Curse for me this child of mine."Six days yield not to our powers,"But the seventh day is ours."By yon star, and by our line,"Be thou cursed, maiden mine."Then the maiden felt hot
Run through every burning vein.
Sudden with a fearful
Writhes she in her agony;
Burns her cheek as with a flame,
For the maiden knows her shame.
RT II.
By a lovely river's side,
Where the water-lilies glide,
Pale, as if with constant
Of the treasures which they bear;
For those ivory vases
Each a sunny gilt of gold.
And blue flowers on the banks,
Grow in wild and drooping ranks,
Bending mournfully above,
O'er the waters which they love;
But which bear off, day by day,
Their shadow and themselves away.
Willows by that river
With their leaves half green, half snow,
Summer never seems to
Present all with that sad tree.
With its bending boughs are
Tender and associate thought,
Of the wreaths that maidens
In their long neglected hair.
Of the branches that are
On the last, the funeral stone.
And of those torn wreaths that
Youthful minstrel's wasted lute.
But the stream is gay
With the full-moon's golden light,
And the air is sweet with singing,
And the joyous horn is ringing,
While fair groups of dancers
Circle the enchanted ground.
And a youthful warrior
Gazing not upon those bands,
Not upon the lovely scene,
But upon its lovelier queen,
Who with gentle word and
Courteous prays his stay awhile.
The fairy of the fountains, sheA strange and lovely mystery,
She of whom wild tales have birth,
When beside a winter hearth,
By some aged crone is told,
Marvel new or legend old.
But the lady fronts him there,
He but sees she is so fair,
He but hears that in her
Dwells a music yet unknown;
He but feels that he could
For the sweetness of her sigh.
But how many dreams take
With the dim enamoured night;
Cold the morning light has shone,
And the fairy train are gone,
Melted in the dewy air,
Lonely stands young Raymond there.
Yet not all alone, his
Hath a dream that will not
From that beating heart's recess;
What that dream may lovers guess.
Yet another year hath
In a stately hall alone,
Like an idol in a
Sits the radiant Melusine.
It is night, yet o'er the walls,
Light, but light unearthly, falls.
Not from lamp nor taper thrown,
But from many a precious stone,
With whose variegated
Is the azure roof inlaid,
And whose coloured radiance
Hues of violet and rose.
Sixty pillars, each one
With a wreath of rubies twining,
Bear the roof—the snow-white
Is with small stars studded o'er.
Sixty vases stand between,
Filled with prefumes for a queen;
And a silvery cloud
Odours like those fragrant gales,
Which at eve float o'er the
From the purple Araby.
Nothing stirs the golden
Of that dim enchanted room.
Not a step is flitting round,
Not a noise, except the
Of the distant fountains falling,
With a soft perpetual calling,
To the echoes which
Musical and mournfully.
Sits the fairy ladye there,
Like a statue, pale and fair;
From her cheek the rose has fled,
Leaving deeper charms instead.
On that marble brow are
Traces of impassioned thought;
Such as without shade or
Leave their own mysterious sign.
While her eyes, they are so bright,
Dazzle with imperious light.
Wherefore doth the maiden bend?
Wherefore doth the blush ascend,
Crimson even to her brow,
Sight nor step are near her now?
Hidden by her sweeping robe,
Near her stands a crystal globe,
Gifted with strange power to
All that she desires to know.
First she sees her palace gate,
With its steps of marble state;
Where two kneeling forms seem weepingO'er the watch which they are keeping,
While around the dusky
Of a gloomy forest close,
Not for those that blush arose.
But she sees beside the gate,
A young and anxious palmer wait;
Well she knows it is for her,
He has come a worshipper.
For a year and and for a day.
Hath he worn his weary way;
Now a sign from that white hand,
And the portals open stand.
But a moment, and they meet,
Raymond kneels him at her feet;
Reading in her downcast eye,
All that woman can reply.
Weary, weary had the
Passed within her fairy bowers;
She was haunted with a
Of the knight beside the stream.
Who hath never felt the
Of such charmed influence.
When the shapes of midnight
One beloved object keep,
Which amid the cares of
Never passes quite away?
Guarded for the sweetest
Of our happy solitude,
Linked with every thing we love,
Flower below, or star above:
Sweet spell after sweet spell
Till the wide world is its own.
Turned the ladye deadly pale,
As she heard her lover's tale,"Yes," she said, oh! low sweet word,
Only in a whisper heard."Yes, if my true heart may
Worthy,
Christian knight, of thee,
By the love that makes thee mineI am deeply, dearly thine.
But a spell is on me thrown,
Six days may each deed be shown.
But the seventh day must
Mine, and only known to me.
Never must thy step
On its silent solitude.
Hidden from each mortal
Until seven years pass by.
When these seven years are flown,
All my secret may be known.
But if, with suspicious eye,
Thou on those dark hours wilt pry,
Then farewell, beloved in vain,
Never might we meet again."Gazing on one worshipped brow,
When hath lover spared a vow?
With an oath and with a
Did he win the prize he sought.
Never was a bride so
As the bride that Raymond
From the wood's enchanted
To his old ancestral towers.——Oh, sweet love, could thy first
Linger on the steps of time,
Man would dream the unkind
Sheltered still a Paradise.
But, alas, the serpent's
Is amid our garden still.
Soon a dark inquiring
On the baron's spirit wrought:
She, who seemed to love him so,
Had she aught he might not know?
Was it wo, how could she
Grief he did not soothe nor share?
Was it guilt? no—heaven's own
Lightened in that loveliest face.
Then his jealous fancies rose,(Our Lady keep the mind from those!)Like a fire within the brain,
Maddens that consuming pain.
Henceforth is no rest by night,
Henceforth day has no delight.
Life hath agonies that
Of their late left native hell.
But mid their despair is
Like that of the jealous one.'Tis again the fatal day,
When the ladye must away,
To her lonely palace
Far within the forest shade,
Where the mournful fountains
With a voice that seems to weep.
On that morn Lord Raymond's
Ere the daybreak leaves his side.
Never does the ladye
But her tears are on his cheek,
And he hears a stifled
As she leaves him thus alone.
Hath she then complaint to make,
Is there yet some spell to break?
Come what will, of weal or wo,'Tis the best the worst to know.
He hath followed—wo, for both,
That the knight forgot his oath.
Where the silvery fountains fall,
Stands no more the charmed hall;
But the dismal yew-trees droop,
And the pines above them stoop,
While the gloomy branches spread,
As they would above the dead,
In some churchyard large and
Haunted with perpetual fear.
Dark and still like some vast grave,
Near there yawns a night-black cave.
O'er its mouth wild ivy
There the daylight never shines.
Beast of prey or dragon's lair,
Yet the knight hath entered there.
Dimly doth the distant
Scatter an uncertain ray,
While strange shapes and ghastly
Mid the spectral darkness rise.
But he hurries on, and
He sees a sudden light appear,
Wan and cold like that strange
Which amid the charnel's
Shows but brightens not the
Of the corpse and of the tomb.
With a cautious step he
To the cave that light reveals.'Tis such grotto as might be,
Nereïd's home beneath the sea.
Crested with the small bright
Of a thousand rainbow spars.
And a fountain from the
Pours beneath its crystal tide,
In a white and marble
Singing on its silvery path;
While a meteor's emerald raysO'er the lucid water plays.—Close beside, with wild flowers laid,
Is a couch of green moss made.
There he sees his lady lie;
Pain is in her languid eye,
And amid her hair the
Half obscures its golden hue;
Damp and heavy, and unbound,
Its wan clusters sweep around.
On her small hand leans her head,—See the fevered cheek is red,
And the fiery colour
To her brow in hectic blushes.—What strange vigil is she keeping!
He can hear that she is weeping.—He will fling him at her feet,
He will kiss away her tears.
Ah, what doth his wild eyes meet,
What below that form appears?
Downwards from that slender waist,
By a golden zone embraced,
Do the many folds escape,
Of the subtle serpent's shape.—Bright with many-coloured
All the glittering scales arise,
With a red and purple
Colouring the waves below!
At the strange and fearful sight,
Stands in mute despair the knight,—Soon to feel a worse despair,
Melusina sees him there!
And to see him is to
With the idol of her heart,
Part as just the setting
Tells the fatal day is done.
Vanish all those serpent rings,
To her feet the lady springs,
And the shriek rings through the cell,
Of despairing love's farewell,—Hope and happiness are o'er,
They can meet on earth no more.
Years have past since this wild tale—Still is heard that lady's wail,
Ever round that ancient tower,
Ere its lord's appointed hour.
With a low and moaning
She must mark approaching death,
While remains Lord Raymond's
Doomed to wander and to pine.
Yet, before the stars are bright,
On the evening's purple light,
She beside the fountain
Wringing sad her shadowy hands.
May our Lady, as long
Pass with their atoning tears,
Pardon with her love
The fountain fairy—Melusine!
