XIII.

Twas a fair summer night, and the broad moon
Sailed in calm glory through the skies of June,
Pouring on earth its pale and silv’ry light,
Till roughest forms were softened to the sight;
And on the western hills its faintest ray
Kissed the yet ruddy streaks of parted day. 
The stars were few, and, twinkling, dimly shone,
For the bright moon in beauty reigned alone. 
One cloud lay sleeping ’neath the breathless sky,
Bathed in the limpid light; while, as the sigh
Of secret love, silent as shadows glide,
The soft wind played among the leafy pride
Of the green trees, and scarce the aspen shook;
A babbling voice was heard from every brook,
And down the vale, in murmurs low and long,
Tweed poured its ancient and unwearied song. 
Before, behind, around, afar, and near,
The wakeful landrail’s watchword met the ear. 
Then Edmund leaned against the hallowed tree,
Whose shade had been their temple, and where he
Had carved their names in childhood, and they yet
Upon the rind were visible.  They met
Beneath its branches, spreading as a bower,
For months—­for years; and the impassioned hour
Of silent, deep deliciousness and bliss,
Pure as an angel’s, fervid as the kiss
Of a young mother on her first-born’s brow,
Fled in their depth of joy they knew not how;
Even as the Boreal meteor mocks the eye,
Living a moment on the gilded sky,
And dying in the same, ere we can trace
Its golden hues, its form, or hiding-place. 
But now to him each moment dragged a chain,
And time itself seemed weary.  The fair plain,
Where the broad river in its pride was seen,
With stately woods and fields of loveliest green,
To him was now a wilderness; and even
Upon the everlasting face of heaven
A change had passed—­its very light was changed,
And shed forth sickness; for he stood estranged
From all that he had loved, and every scene
Spoke of despair where love and joy had been. 
Thus desolate he stood, when, lo! a sound
Of voices and gay laughter echoed round. 
Then straight a party issued from the wood,
And ere he marked them all before him stood. 
He gazed, he startled, shook, exclaimed aloud,
“Helen!” then burst away, and as a shroud
The sombre trees concealed him; but a cry
Of sudden anguish echoed a reply
To his wild word of misery, though he
Heard not its tone of heart-pierced agony. 
She, whom his fond soul worshipped as its bride,
He saw before him by her wooer’s side,
’Midst other proud ones.  ’Twas a sight like death—­
Death on his very heart.  The balmy breath
Of the calm night struck on his brow with fire;
For each fierce passion, burning in its ire,
Raged in his bosom as a with’ring flame,
And scarce he knew he madly breathed her name;
But, as a bark before the tempest tost,
Rushed from the scene, exclaiming wildly, “Lost!”