Poor lost Alonzo! Fate's neglected child! Mild be the doom of Heav'n-as thou wert mild! For oh! thy heart in holy mould was cast, And all thy deeds were blameless but the last. Poor lost Alonzo! still I seem to hear The clod that struck thy hollow-sounding bier! When Friendship paid, in speechless Sorrow drown'd, Thy midnight rites, but not on hallow'd ground! Cease, every joy, to glimmer on my mind, But leave-oh! leave, the light of Hope behind! What though my winged hours of bliss have been, Like angel-visits, few and far between! Her musing mood shall every pang appease, And charm-when pleasures lose the power to please! Yes! let each rapture, dear to Nature, flee; Close not the light of Fortune's stormy sea Mirth, Music, Friendship, Love's propitious smile, Chase every care, and charm a little while; Ecstatic throbs the fluttering heart employ, And all her strings are harmoniz'd to joy !— But why so short is Love's delighted hour? Why fades the dew on Beauty's sweetest flow'r? Why can no hymned charm of music heal The sleepless woes impassion'd spirits feel? Can Fancy's fairy hands no veil create To hide the sad realities of Fate? No! not the quaint remark, the sapient rule, Nor all the pride of Wisdom's worldly school, Have pow'r to sooth, unaided, and alone, The heart that vibrates to a feeling tone! When, 'reft of all, yon widow'd sire appears Say, can the World one joyous thought bestow What plaintive sobs thy filial spirit drew, What sorrow chok'd thy long and last adieu ! Daughter of Conrad! when he heard his knell, The martyr of his crimes, but true to thee? Thrice from his trembling lips he murmur'd low The plaint that own'd unutterable woe; Till Faith, prevailing o'er his sullen doom, As bursts the morn on night's unfathom'd gloom, Lur'd his dim eye to deathless hopes sublime, Beyond the realms of Nature and of Time! "And weep not thus," he cried, "young Ellenore, My bosom bleeds, but soon shall bleed no more! Short shall this half-extinguish'd spirit burn, And soon these limbs to kindred dust return! But not, my child, with life's precarious fire, These shall resist the triumph of decay, When time is o'er, and worlds have pass'd away! Cold in the dust this perish'd heart may lie, But that which warm'd it once shall never die! With living light, eternal, and the same, Shall beam on Joy's interminable years, Unveil'd by darkness-unassuag'd by tears! "Yet, on the barren shore and stormy deep, One tedious watch is Conrad doom'd to weep; |