| |
| SHE loved him e’en in childhood, with that pure | |
| Devotion, which the bosom feels secure | |
| In youthful innocence—when first the heart | |
| Elects its idol, sacred and apart | |
| From other beings:—oh! there is a truth, | 5 |
| A beam, that wakes not when the glow of youth | |
| Is past,—’t is like the ray that morning throws, | |
| Upon the bosom of the blushing rose. | |
| She was a creature—such as painters love | |
| To draw,—like her who to imperial Jove | 10 |
| The nectar’d goblet bore; just such an eye, | |
| And such a cheek was hers—its roseate dye | |
| Seem’d borrow’d from the morning—her bright hair | |
| Like braided gold, wreath’d round a brow as fair | |
| As Parian marble—all those curving lines | 15 |
| That mark perfection—and which taste defines | |
| As beautiful, gave to her youthful form | |
| A loveliness, a grace, so thrilling warm | |
| That every motion seem’d to speak a soul | |
| Whose inborn radiance illumed the whole. | 20 |
| He too, was in life’s joyous spring; the glow | |
| Of sunny health was on his cheek—his brow | |
| Was bold and fearless,—his keen eagle eye | |
| Was looking forth to scenes of victory; | |
| For War had plumed his crest—and nerved his arm— | 25 |
| And there was breathing round him, all the charm | |
| Of high devotion to his country’s weal;— | |
| While the bright panoply of gold, and steel, | |
| That mail’d his breast—and flash’d upon his brow— | |
| Gave proud assurance of the soldier’s vow. * * * * | 30 |
| He dream’d not that he loved her—for in truth | |
| He knew the child e’en from her earliest youth. | |
| Oft had he look’d upon the young Eloise | |
| As a sweet being whom he wish’d to please— | |
| To gather roses for, and braid her hair, | 35 |
| To guard her with a brother’s tender care— | |
| But never dream’d of love, for haply he | |
| Had fix’d his hopes on higher destiny. | |
| With pride he heard his summon to the field: | |
| Yet, had his heart its secret thoughts reveal’d, | 40 |
| Some shades of sadness had been lingering there, | |
| On leaving home, and friends, and scenes so fair | |
| He came to bid adieu—’t was a mild night | |
| Of softest moonshine—and its dewy light | |
| Was on the shrubs, and flowers that bloom’d around— | 45 |
| And there was music in the soothing sound | |
| Of the bright rill that murmur’d through the glade, | |
| And sparkled ’neath the willow’s pensile shade, | |
| The summer breeze was sighing through its boughs | |
| In whispers, soft as youthful lovers’ vows. | 50 |
| She was reclining in the latticed bower— | |
| Musing, as ’t were upon the stilly hour. | |
| “Dear Eloise!” he said—(the sudden flush | |
| Of new-born feeling call’d a crimson blush | |
| On her young cheek, that made the life-blood start | 55 |
| In thrilling eddies round his conscious heart,) | |
| “Dear Eloise—I come to bid adieu— | |
| To these fair scenes, to happiness, and you. | |
| Hast thou no wish—no blessing, for thy friend? | |
| Who, far from thee, and all he loves, shall wend | 60 |
| His pilgrimage, through wilderness and toil, | |
| Uncheer’d by friendship’s voice—or Beauty’s smile. | |
| He laid his hand upon her seraph head, | |
| Press’d a warm kiss upon her brow, and said— | |
| “May heaven preserve thee, pure, as angels are— | 65 |
| The world is wicked—lovely one—beware! | |
| Thou art an orphan—would that title might | |
| Protect thy innocence from the fell blight | |
| Of those who hover in fair virtue’s way, | |
| To tempt the steps of guileless youth astray. | 70 |
| Would I could guard thee—but my path of life | |
| Lies through the ranks of war, ’mid battle’s strife— | |
| There duty calls me—should I ne’er return, | |
| Say—wouldst thou sorrow o’er thy soldier’s urn? | |
| Yet if some future day I dare to claim | 75 |
| The dear bought honors of a hero’s name— | |
| May Eloisa’s fond remembrance prove | |
| Her youthful friendship ripen’d into love?” | |
| Pure as a vestal’s hymn that breathes to heaven! | |
| That night, their vows of mutual faith were given. * * * * | 80 |
| Years have roll’d on—but yet no warrior came | |
| With laurell’d brow, his youthful bride to claim— | |
| Years have roll’d on—the wintry frosts have shed | |
| Their sparkling crystals o’er his lowly bed. | |
| Where proud St Lawrence wreathes his crested wave, | 85 |
| That youthful hero found an early grave. | |
| But though unwept by fond affection’s tear— | |
| A soldier’s honors graced his funeral bier. | |
| Years have roll’d on since Nature’s loveliest child, | |
| Within her garden bower in beauty smiled— | 90 |
| Years have roll’d on, and spring with annual bloom | |
| Still twines her wreath o’er Eloisa’s tomb, | |
| While kindred spirits hymn her requiem there, | |
| And freight with sweetest sounds the balmy air. | |
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