XI. List to those ripe lips' warbled harmony! Sweet as the wind, o'er groves of spicery Blowing at eve, when burthened with the boon Of lute-notes, welcoming the rising moon. "My Natal Star! O, why delayed so long Thy radiant journey through yon starry throng? Full fifty moons have waned, since last as now Thou shed'st a flood of glory on my brow, And sent, as if a seraph from thy sphere, A smiling youth to kneel beside me here, And worship thee. . . . his natal planet too.... And waken love, till then I never knew— Love so ecstatic, ardent, and divine, Death cannot quench it, nor the grave confine. But why prate I of love, and still survive Him, my love's life, o'er whose dust haply thrive The rank weeds of a distant field of blood, Where he his country's bravest hero stood, And fell-unweeting who, around his form Clung, to protect it, in the battle-storm? That fearful eve, thine orb, like some red shield, Then, as my HAROLD breathed his last, sunk down Behind the mountains, with terrific frown, And left me with the ruthless, who denied The boon I asked, to perish by his side! "Wend on thy way!-My dream shall be fulfilled! This night, I'll seek the MAGIAN's castle, skilled In deep star-lore, that I his aid may crave To find my hapless lover's distant grave; In the rich vales of thy resplendent clime!” XII. Thus sings this lovely vision of the night; Then, while a moment, with a wild delight, Her eyes are sparkling turned, like moon-lit dew, To her loved star, she vanishes from view. END OF THE FIRST CANTO. |