style="font-size:15px;"> On the huge hearth the hospitable flameLit the dark portrait in its mouldering frame;
Statesmen in senates, knights in fields, renown'd,
On their new daughter ominously frown'd;
To the young Stranger, shivering to behold,
The Home she enter'd seem'd the tomb of old.
VI.
"Doth it so chill thee, Constance? Dare I own,
The charm that haunts what childhood's years have known,
How many dreams of fame beyond my sires,
Wing'd the proud thought that now no more aspires!
Here, while I paced, at the dusk twilight time,
As the deep church-bell toll'd the curfew chime;
In the dim Past my spirit seem'd to live,
To every relic some weird legend give;
And muse such hopes of glorious things to be,
As they, the Dead, mused once;—wild dreams—fulfill'd in thee!
Ah, never 'mid those early visions shone,
A face so sweet, my Constance, as thine own!
And what if all that charm'd me then, depart?
Clear, through the fading mists, smiles my soft heav'n—thy heart!
What, drooping still! Nay love, we are not all
So sad within, as this time-darken'd hall.
Come!"—and they pass'd (still Juliet by her side)
To a fair chamber, deck'd to greet the bride.
There, all of later luxury lent its smile,
To cheer, yet still beseem, the reverend pile.
What though the stately tapestry met the eyes,
Gay were its pictures, brilliant were its dyes;
There, graceful cressets from the gilded roof,
In mirrors glass'd the landscapes of the woof.
There, in the Gothic niche, the harp was placed,
There ranged the books most hallow'd by her taste;
Through the half-open casement you might view
The sweet soil prank'd with flowers of every hue;
And on the terrace, crowning the green mountain,
Gleam'd the fair statue, play'd the sparkling fountain:
Within, without, all plann'd, all deck'd to greet
The Queen of all—whose dowry was deceit!
Soft breathed the air, soft shone the moon above—
All save the bride's sad heart, whispering Earth's Hymn to Love!
As Ruthven's hand sought hers, on Juliet's breast
She fell; and passionate tears, till then supprest,
Gush'd from averted eyes. To him the tears
Betray'd no secret that could rouse his fears—
For joy, as grief, the tender heart will melt—
The tears but proved how well his love was felt.
And, with the delicate thought that shunn'd to hear
Thanks for the cares, which cares themselves endear,
He whisper'd, "Linger not!" and closed the door,
And Constance sobbed—"Thank Heaven, alone with thee once more!"
VII.
Across his threshold Ruthven lightly strode,
And his glad heart from its full deeps o'erflow'd,
Pass'd is the Porch—he gains the balmy air,
Still crouch the night winds in their forest lair.
The moonlight silvers the unrustling pines,
On the hush'd lake the tremulous glory shines.
A stately shadow o'er the crystal brink,
Reflects the shy stag as its halt to drink;
And the slow cygnet, where it midway glides,
Breaks into sparkling rings the faintly heaving tides.
Wandering along his boyhood's haunts, he mused;
The hour, the heaven, the bliss his soul suffused;
It seem'd all hatred from the world had flown,
And left to Nature, Love and God alone!
Ev'n holiest passion holier render'd there,
His every thought breathed gentle as a prayer.
VIII.
Thus, as the eve grew mellowing into night,
Still from yon lattice stream'd the unwelcome light—
"Why loitering yet, and wherefore linger I?"
And at that thought ev'n Nature pall'd his eye;
He miss'd that voice, which with low music fill'd
The starry heaven of the rapt thoughts it thrill'd;
He gain'd the hall—the lofty stair he wound—
Behold, the door of his heart's fairy-ground!
The tapestry veil'd him, as its folds, half-raised,
Gave to his eye the scene on which it gazed:
Still Constance wept—and hark what sounds are those
What awful secret those wild sobs disclose!—
"No, leave me not!—I cannot meet his eyes!
O Heaven! must life be ever one disguise!
What seem'd indifference when we pledged the troth,
Now grown—O wretch!—to terrors that but loathe!
Oh that the earth might swallow me!" Again
