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In the freshness of joyous morning we remember his beaming smiles and bounding gayety; and when sober evening returns with its gathering shadows and subduing quiet, we call to mind many a twilight hour of gentle talk and sweet-souled melancholy. Each lonely place shall him restore, For him the tear be duly shed; Beloved till life can charm no more, And mourn'd till pity's self be dead.
And bitter dregs of love thou ne'er didst know: The coldness that your husband oft has mourn'd, Does vanish quite, when warm'd on Turkish ground. For Fame does say, if Fame don't lying prove, You paid obedience to the Sultan's love. Who, fair one, then, was your imperious Lord?
Pensive she mourn'd, and hung her languid head, Like a fair lily overcharg'd with dew.
And was it thus you mourn'd my Funeral? Let. I will not justify my hated Crime: But Oh! remember I was poor and helpless, And much reduc'd, and much impos'd upon. Bel. And Want compell'd thee to this wretched Marriage did it? Let. 'Tis not a Marriage, since my Bellmour lives; The Consummation were Adultery. I was thy Wife before, wo't thou deny me? Bel.
I could not see her gentle bosom bleed, And quite forgot the father, in the son; For her I mourn'd for her, through bitter years, Pour'd forth my soul in unavailing tears. "The world approved the act; but on my soul There lay a gnawing consciousness of guilt, A biting sense of crime, beyond control: By my rash hand a father's blood was spilt, And I abjured for aye the death-drugg'd bowl.
You left the plain and soar'd mid richer views! So nature mourn'd, when sank the first day's light, With stars, unseen before, spangling her robe of night! Still soar my friend those richer views among, Strong, rapid, fervent, flashing fancy's beam!
"Each lonely scene shall thee restore; For thee the tear be duly shed: Beloved till life could charm no more, And mourn'd till pity's self be dead." Collins. An hour later, and the principal actors in the foregoing scene had disappeared. There remained only the widowed Narra-mattah, with Dudley, the divine, and Whittal Ring.
"The throng that mourn'd, as their dead favorite pass'd, The grac'd respect that claim'd him to the last; While Shakspeare's image, from its hallow'd base, Seem'd to prescribe the grave and point the place."
Flitted that fond ideal world, And to the shore in tumult tost The realms of fairy bliss were lost. Yet, with a stern delight and strange, I saw the spirit-stirring change, As warr'd the wind with wave and wood, Upon the ruin'd tower I stood, And felt my heart more strongly bound, Responsive to the lofty sound, While, joying in the mighty roar, I mourn'd that tranquil scene no more.
Flitted that fond ideal world, And to the shore in tumult tost The realms of fairy bliss were lost. Yet, with a stern delight and strange, I saw the spirit-stirring change, As warr'd the wind with wave and wood, Upon the ruin'd tower I stood, And felt my heart more strongly bound, Responsive to the lofty sound, While, joying in the mighty roar, I mourn'd that tranquil scene no more.
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