And saw him vainly sue:
Who, for he was not high allied,
Had banish'd him his plighted bride,
So loving, loved, and true.
And say,-what misery befel
The maid he left and loved so well?
Did she for him love's vigils keep?
Sleep but to dream? wake but to weep?
Tend but the flower which he had brought?
Sing but the lay which he had taught?
Kiss but the token he had left,
Of all but memory's joy bereft ?
O, memory! how great thy power
When absence clogs the lagging hour!
To lovers, parted but by fate,
Soft comfort dost thou bring:
But, O, if sin them separate,
If one, by error, both divide,
Man's faithlessness, or woman's pride,
A sharp envenom'd sting!
Yet still to Leonora thou
Mayst prove the only comfort now:
Oft bidding her with sighs to trace
Each favour'd path and resting place;
Each open lawn and woodland, whither
Herself and love had roam'd together.
Among the galley's crew was one,
Beloved by each, but known to none :
His forehead, as a girl's was bland;
Small as a girl's his snow-white hand;
His shape as slim withal :
All hid from sight his glossy hair,
His cheek was as a maiden's fair,
His stature maiden tall.
And it was oft observ'd that he
Would cast a fond look fixedly
On Oswald's manly form;
Yet still that boy could never brook
The fearful frown in Oswald's look,
More low'ring than the storm.
And often, when that piercing sight
Would, in its thoughtless wanderings, light
Upon the youth, he blush'd:
But Oswald saw it not; for he
Was all engross'd in misery;
The prey of maddening memory,
Which o'er his mind oft rush'd.
And, oh! did sickness e'er assail
Young Oswald's manly brow, or veil
The lustre of his eye;
In vain the stripling might conceal
Those feelings which his looks reveal,
Nor less could that fond boy restrain
His joy, when Oswald's cheek again
Resumed its wonted hue :
Then would a smile supplant each sigh,
And pleasure sparkle in his eye,
Of dark and brilliant blue.
But to recur unto my tale :-
While, listless as the hanging sail,
The seaboy lay asleep,
Young Oswald, stranger to alarm,
Paced to and fro with folded arm,
And gazed upon the long bright gleam
Made by the moon's mild silver beam
Upon the stilly deep.
But though 'twas seeming silence all,
Nought heard save Oswald's light foot-fall,
It was not all repose:
For there were three among the crew
Who now their treacherous sabres drew,
And, as the moon's deep searching ray
Behind a dark cloud died away,
From wakeful couch arose !
A sound assail'd young Oswald's ear;
He started, paused, but not with fear :
He listen'd with supended breath—
No-all was still-serene as death-
You might have heard a sigh.
He drew his mind toward happier years;
He thought on Leonora's tears-
Her love, when suddenly he hears
A shrill and piercing cry!
Quick as the light his sword he flash'd,
And dauntless 'mid the strife he dash'd;
While through the ship the alarm was spread,
And from his couch each sailor sped
To quell the mutiny!
Brief was the fray-the desp'rate three
So well they fought, and manfully
The danger they withstood;
They might have dar'd a treble power,
And won the fame of that short hour,
Had but their cause been good.
They fall-but have not striv'n in vain
For, of the loyal, two are slain;
And Oswald never more may he
His Leonora hope to see!
Behold him where he lies
Within the arms of that fond youth
That boy-but, oh, reveal the truth
Ere hapless Oswald dies!
No boy is there-but only she-
First pattern of fidelity!
Beneath the ruffian's hand, her vest
Had open'd to the view,
What she before had half confess'd
By blushes oft-a maiden's breast,
Which heav'd o'er a devoted heart,
That well might break, but could not part,
So deep it lov'd—so true.
And she had left her father's hall
To answer young affection's call;
And, in a wandering page's guise
To bask her in young Oswald's eyes,
Yet still her joy conceal;
With aim some future day t'intrude
Upon her lover's solitude,
And thus herself reveal.
But Oswald's life is ebbing fast :
He cannot speak—but looks his last!
Pale is his lip, and dim his eye,
Weaker his grasp, fainter his sigh,
His cheek is blanch'd, his eyelids close
Upon his love-upon his woes ;
And now, on Leonora's breast
His head hath sunk in seeming rest:
She gaz'd―he stirr'd! 'Twas life: 'tis gone :
'Tis but a corpse she looks upon!
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